The mounting exasperation tightened his throat. Cassian was pissed. Oh, he was fucking pissed. And everything hurt. The insistent pounding in this head, the grind of his jaw, and the tightness in his chest.
The man was already on the ground when Cassian hit him the third time.
The sound of bone meeting skin echoed off the warehouse walls; a dull, wet crack that made his men flinch even from several steps away. Cassian didn't care. He barely felt the ache in his knuckles or the sweat crawling down his spine.
He didn't care what the man was saying, didn't care that his voice had gone hoarse from screaming, or the face that had become disfigured. When he finally stopped, the man's breathing came ragged and harsh, the air thick with metallic scent.
"Take care of him," Cassian said quietly to them.
