8
Rebel Leader Star
Whisky resolved many ills.
At least according to Michael.
It took the edge off a minor stress headache—or so he said. I’d never tried it.
It mellowed an overactive mind. That one I knew firsthand.
But it did absolutely nothing for heartache.
And while that was what Michael was experiencing, he didn’t let its ineffectiveness slow him down.
“Heartache.” He lifted his second glass of whisky in a toast to me, then Star, and finally Boone. “It’s not just a lover who can break your heart.”
And this was before we’d even figured out which of his friends had killed those women. And it was a friend, because they were all friends, Michael had explained.
Every cupid belonged to a pod, that was the pack of three to five cupids that Anton had referenced, but even beyond the
