Gunnar
Ace gritted, looking up at me with rage burning in his hazel eyes — the flecks of green were almost non-existent.
"I'm not her father. I will never be him."
"You're developing a soft spot for her," Ace accused, narrowing his eyes into slits. He stood toe-to-toe, leveling our gazes, "it doesn't matter what you do or how fucked up you are toward her, that soft spot is still there." He shoved his finger into my chest, lips curling down in a grimace.
His words were absurd. I was, under no circumstances, developing a soft spot for Quinn, "Get the fuck out of my face, cub."
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