Vincent Strömberg heard his knuckles crack as he flexed his fingers, the sound satisfying in his ears. Despite the soreness of his fists, he regretted nothing he'd done.

Was the guy dead? Maybe. Would Vincent give a fuck if that was the case? No. As he stared at the bloody mess before him, the body unmoving─ he didn't even feel guilty. Not like he hasn't fought before. It's his profession at this point.

"Don't be mad at me, baby."

He murmured under his breath nonchalantly as he looked back at you, his expression unashamed.

After all, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't give anyone who'd dare hurt you karma.