TorrieThe meeting doesn’t start out so good. Probably because I didn’t know there was going to be a meeting at all.
“Where were you?” Carlos demands as soon as I’m through the door.
To be fair, I didn’t exactly expect that our regroup meeting would be in our luxurious showroom of a living room. Scroungy mafia leaders from across the city flopped on our taupe leather couches, looking irritably aware of just how out of place they look.
“Out,” is my answer to Carlos’ question as I walk into the kitchen.
There’s no point in expressing my shock that they’re here. Carlos probably mentioned it in one of the 15 messages he torpedoed into my phone over the last 24 hours.
I grab a chair from the kitchen and bring it into the room.
My arrival is met with a hostile silence: clearly my answer ple
