OWAIN LUTHER
In all the years we’d been friends, I had never—ever—seen that kind of look on Malcom’s face.
We weren’t exactly the typical kind of friends who shared common ground. Anyone could take one look at us and tell we didn’t fit the mold. Still, somehow, the bond we had ran deep, almost like family.
He was the suit. The dreamer. The pacesetter and the rule-follower kind of guy.
But me? I was the guy popping champagne on the streets while he was buried in business management textbooks. The guy was such a nerd. One time, I had to force him to even look at a girl, and still, nothing. Hell, the man got drunk after two shots of vodka.
But tonight? It wasn’t my strip club that had him boiling. Not even the fact I’d kept it from him. No, there was something in his eyes, something heav
