KIERAN
The Macallan 25 burned a path down my throat like liquid fire.
Good. I needed to feel something other than this.
I slammed the glass down on the granite bar top hard enough that the crystal base cracked. A spider web fracture spread across the bottom, catching the light from the pendant fixtures above. I didn't give a f**k.
The anger was still there. It had been there for days now—weeks, maybe—burrowing deeper into my chest with every passing hour. Hollowing me out until there was nothing left but rage and something darker underneath. Something I didn't want to name.
All because of her.
I closed my eyes and pressed my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose, trying to push back the image that kept surfacing. The Apollo magazine. Felix Harrington's face staring up at
