Leon’s POV
Sweat soaked my collar. Thick and cold. It slid down my neck in slow trails, pooling at the base of my throat like ice melting against my hot skin. Every breath pulled whiskey fumes and blood into my lungs—sharp, and burning.
I gripped the desk so hard the edge carved red lines across my palms, tearing my skin. Fresh blood welled up fast. Warm pulses ran between my fingers, dripped on the wood.
Mr. Hale’s hand shook as he poured his third glass. The bottle neck scraped glass. Ice clattered. His face was now flushed purple. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolled down his temples, dripped from his jaw. He looked like a man already drowning. He was having a blast while I was about to explode.
He dropped into the chair. Took a swallow. His throat bobbed hard. Glass rattled against
