He would kill anything that hurt his Katie. Anything. But he could not kill her.
So how the f**k did he deal with a woman intent on doing herself harm? Hell. The extent of the harm she had done herself was incredible. It nauseated him to picture her sitting on her bed, or a toilet seat somewhere with a little mirror, her pale legs stretched wide and a razor blade clutched between her slim fingers. Why the f**k had she done it? It must have been agonizing to feel the blade tearing through such tender skin. He should know, he'd been stabbed enough times in his youth before he became top of the food chain.
Her poor, tiny c******s. Why had she gone there? Wasn't it enough that she'd scarred up her thighs so bad she could never wear a bathing suit in public again? Did she also want to damage
