Scarlett’s POV"I swear," he said, "I will cut his tongue out." His grip on my wrists tightened fractionally, not painfully, just with the increased pressure of someone whose body was expressing what their voice was trying to keep controlled. "You are mine. Mine alone. That has not changed because he showed you a rooftop and smiled at you.""You won't do anything," I said."You know me, Scarlett." His forehead dropped toward mine, not touching, just close, the proximity of something that wanted to close the distance and was holding itself at the last inch. "I don't bluff. Dare me, and I will serve you his tongue on a silver platter.""I dare you," I said."Scarlett." My name came out of him the way it sometimes did, like a sound he had not decided to make, like the word itself had escaped before he could route it through anything more controlled, a low, rough thing that came from somewhere below the anger and the jealousy and all the managed surfaces.I looked at him, at the dark eyes
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