Harlow, on the other hand, wasn't looking away, and Killian cocked a brow at him. He was like a whole different person, the usual boyish expression on his face was long gone, replaced by a dangerous look.
Hell, his eyes had gone blank, devoid of any trace of human emotion—replaced only with cold, murderous intent.
The sound of something scratching along the counter forced Killian to lower his gaze. Harlow's claws were extended, sharp, and itching to kill.
"Harlow, snap out of it," he demanded.
Harlow didn't budge. His eyes stayed locked on Stefanos. "How dare he keep Ms. locked up in his home and still come out here to be a whore?"
"Harlow—"
"Let me deal with him. I'll take him out in the worst way possible. I'll make it painful too—drag it out. And when I'm done, I'll make him crawl back to her and apologize. I'll make him eat sand—"
Killian smacked both his palms against his cheeks. "Snap the hell out of it!"
