Dominic
Anger rushes back through me as soon as I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam still clings to the glass, softening the edges, but not enough to hide the damage.
A thin scratch splits my eyebrow, dark against my skin. A souvenir from Xander Chen.
Lower down, a bruise is spreading across my chest, just under the ink. I drag my finger along the cut and feel my mouth harden.
It better fade.
It better not scar.
I don’t need another mark. My body already carries enough history. Enough reminders of what I’ve done and who I’ve crossed.
The Golden Phoenix should have been dealt with years ago. I should have crushed them the first time they tested the line.
Instead, they kept pushing. First Bellavista. Then the Dockside. Slow, deliberate moves. Poison spreading street
