Jenkins
Zeldric hasn’t said a single word since we left his house.
We’re nearing the city center. A black SUV carrying Gambo and Oscar follows closely behind the sports car we’re in.
And yes, once again, I’m wearing an uncomfortable dress that probably costs more than what I used to make—or used to, because now I don’t even have a job. I don’t know if I’ll get it back when I return if I return. Too many questions and no answers, especially when it comes to the man driving beside me, staring straight ahead at the road.
I watch him in the dim lighting from the headlights of oncoming cars. His jet-black hair is slicked back again. Damn, the bastard looks good in a dark gray three-piece suit and a white shirt.
"Is there something you want to ask?" I hear him say. He turns his head toward
