K I L L I A N
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“Misery sure loves company,” Nicolas muttered, sauntering into my office and snatching the whiskey from my desk to down it in a single gulp. He slammed the glass down, his face twisted with irritation. He turned to me, opened his mouth, but decided to keep the comment to himself.
“He knows about Selene’s weakness.” I uncap the vintage alcohol, grabbed another glass from underneath my desk, then paused. F*ck it. I chugged the expensive liquor straight from the bottle.
“Pass some,” Nicolas grumbled, holding out his glass.
“Go find your own,” I snorted, leaning back in my seat with a tight grip on the bottle’s neck.
I could find a thousand other things to replace the alcohol with, starting with Selene’s silky hair wrapped around my finger. How I’d love to tug her hair
