Eleanor's POV
The pained, high-pitched squeak that escaped Dickson's lips was immensely satisfying. He crumpled to the floor, clutching himself, his face a mask of shocked agony.
But the rage wasn't satisfied. It was just getting started.
"What the fuck!" he finally managed to wheeze.
I dropped to my knees beside him, grabbed a fistful of his expensive shirt, and yanked him up. My hand cracked across his face with a sound that echoed in the small room.
"This," I snarled, "is for sucking me dry." Slap.
"This is for making me feel worthless." Slap.
"And this," I said, my voice trembling with a fury so pure it felt clean, "is for the audacity to think you can still use me."
I delivered one final, stinging blow. "And that's nothing compared to what you've put me through. Consider it a returned favor for the one you gave me."
