EDWARD’S POV
“I still can’t believe he did that.” Eliot mutters as I drag a small towel across my bloodied knuckles. His hand lands on my shoulder and I turn slightly. “That wasn’t even a proper beat down.”
I straighten and toss the towel to his chest. “Any more and he’d be dead.”
"He'll heal fine by morning." He argues.
I shake my head and he curses under his breath, kicking at the base of a nearby tree. Eliot is usually composed but the moment I told him Colt touched Layla, every ounce of reason drained out of him. That’s why he still wants to go back to his lodge and break whatever bones are left, even though I doubt there’s much to work with. I took my time with the bastard.
You should’ve heard him crying, and begging with his voice breaking like he didn’t leave bruises on her bo
