"Babe, that's rude."
Ethan lounged lazily on the cushioned recliner, one arm draped over the side, watching Kathrine absolutely obliterate the punching bag in front of her. The bag swung violently back and forth, its printed face—unfortunately resembling Roseline—taking hit after merciless hit.
"You didn't even spare the nose," he added with a wince. "That thing had a family."
Kathrine ignored him.
Her fist connected with a loud thud, followed by a sharp exhale that sounded more like a growl than a breath.
"HAH!"
The bag jerked again.
Ethan shifted slightly, reconsidering his position in the room. Not that he planned on stepping in—he valued his life far too much—but watching Kathrine vent all her bottled rage without pausing to breathe made him rethink how close he wanted to be to ground zero.
"Just saying," he muttered, inching the recliner back a fraction, "I support emotional release. I just don't support being collateral damage."
Kathrine finally stopped.
