Emil went into the kitchen, reeling with the conversation. He knew his own s**t was horrible—he’d accepted it and learned to live with it to a point. Hearing Makai’s full story, even part of it, was different.
For the first time in a long while, Emil felt like he wanted to hurt someone. This time it wasn’t for himself or for the hurt someone caused his family through him. No, this time it was for Makai.
When he’d told him about being r***d, Emil had felt such pure rage that it had scared him a little. If those men had been there and he’d had a weapon, the men wouldn’t be breathing anymore.
He looked into Makai’s fridge and most of what was in there was food he liked and could eat. “Panfried chicken and rice with some salad?” he asked over his shoulder, where Makai was holding his distan
