Chris trembled, his eyelids clamped shut, every muscle in his body coiled in anticipation of the cold steel of the muzzle pulling the trigger. He waited for the flash, the bang, the sudden void but the shot never came.
Instead, a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the air, echoing from the suite's private bar. Chris snapped his eyes open, his breath hitching as he realized Lowin Vance wasn't alone.
Debrin and Damien Salvatore were perched casually on the leather barstools, swirling amber whiskey in crystal glasses with a languid arrogance, looking like they owned the damn city and everyone in it.
"I have to say, you were a real b***h to track down, Chris," Debrin remarked, a cruel, predatory smirk playing on his lips.
"Not for me," Damien countered proudly, lifting a tablet to show the
