Spill, Ho
From the window upstairs, Harry had seen enough to know something wasn’t right. The street below was quiet, lit by a single streetlamp that flickered like it hadn’t decided if it was working or not. Then, a car pulled up. Sleek. Black. Not one of Stacey’s usual lifts. Not Kayla’s hatchback, not a taxi. He leaned closer, careful not to be spotted, and that’s when he saw her, Stace, climb out. His stomach twisted. It wasn’t the way she moved, though that was telling. It was the face. Her face. Even under the dim orange light, he could see it, bruised, puffy. Her lip was still swollen. She didn’t flinch from it. Didn’t hide it either. Just walked to the front door like she had nothing left to lose. And then there was the driver. Aidan Callahan. Harry’s eyes narrowed, watching as the man b
- Writer
