The taste of unfinished war on the back of my tongue.
“Which is?” Mylene asked, her diamond-crusted manicure tapping the table. Her hair—too glossy, too expensive, too victorious—bounced as she turned toward me. Everything about her screamed, I beat your casino, now I’m just playing for fun.
I grinned. It was slow.
Hungry.
Like a lion who smelled blood on the wind.
I wanted Alec unhinged. Confused. I wanted to slip into the edges of his mind and make him question every memory, every moment. I wanted him pacing his glass-walled office, whispering “Leon?” into the dark like a man haunted by a ghost he helped bury.
“Send him a bouquet,” I said, sliding my phone toward Jhing-Jhing who already had three florists saved under ‘Doom Petals.’
“Include Leon’s old signature card.” My voice low
