He says it with a straight face, as if I’m supposed to have any f*****g clue what that means.
“Uh-huh. Sounds important.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“Are you one of those annoying people who can never get to the point?”
“And now you’re insulting me.” He shakes his head. “When Pakhan said you were short on charm, he wasn’t kidding.”
Fighting the urge to take his skull between my hands and crush it, I say slowly, “Get. To. The f*****g. Point.”
His tone dry, he says, “Since you asked so nicely.” He reaches over, picks up my cup of coffee, and takes a sip. “Hmm. That’s quite good.”
I’m about to smash a fist into his nose, when he says, “Pakhan has cancer. Pancreatic. He’s got a few months left, if that.”
It sets me back onto my heels. I sit with that piece of information for a mome
