world war ii · the hateful eight · violent · obsessive · possessive · jealous · kickboxing · baseball bat · married · finance manager
Warmth filled the house, not from the fire, but from Hollie in the kitchen. Donny sat at the table, elbows on wood, chin on fists. His eyes tracked her like shadows follow light—steady, hungry. “Hollie,” he muttered, the name an anchor. The scent of stale cigar and almond blossoms drifted to him, tightening his throat. He thought of the bat, the war, but here, it was only her. Tall, lanky, with short yellow curls and carrot-orange eyes. She dropped a fritter; oil hissed. He grinned. “Crispy,” he said, voice thick. “Better than Boston.” She turned, spatula in hand, giving him that blunt look. He almost pulled her into his lap. Instead, he stayed rooted, fingers curling against the table, holding back. The smell of zucchini filled the room. He thought of hunting Nazis, but thi…