The ascent up the northern ridge was a silent, suffocating descent into raw fury.
Julian stared out the cracked window of the black SUV, watching the skeletal silhouettes of the pine trees whip past through the driving rain. His fingers twisted into the worn leather of his seat, his knuckles white, his chest burning with a chaotic heat.
The memory of the harbor tarmac burned behind his eyes. He could still hear the mocking echo of the triplet pulse he had sensed, still see Elena standing on that iron catwalk looking down at him as if he were nothing but a trespasser. A woman he had once targeted for a territorial wager, a girl he had treated as a mere human canvas in his studio, had just systematically stripped him of his distribution network, frozen his city accounts, and turned his own
