41
Peter
Sara’s heart-shaped face leaches of all color. She doesn’t look like she’ll be able to speak any time soon, so I turn to the two men gaping at me.
“Peter Garin,” I say, using my new identity, and extend my hand. “And you two are?”
I know who they are, of course, but if I’m to integrate myself into Sara’s life for good, I need to act like a regular citizen, not someone who does extensive background checks on every person close to my ptichka. That also means I can’t put my blade against their throats and slice deep enough that they’d never salivate over her again.
Not in the middle of the bar, at least.
The chubby one recovers first, reaching over to shake my hand. “Hi. I’m Phil Hudson.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say and resist the urge to crush the bones in that ridiculously sof
