Blake
I sit, tapping my fingers impatiently, while glares at his phone like it owes him an apology. I get it—he’s pissed—but honestly, he kind of deserves Demitri rubbing it in his face that he f****d Alissia. I say “f****d,” but who knows?
Though, that picture Demitri sent definitely screamed it. I glance over at Lucas, hoping for a clue. He just shrugs.
“We can handle this ourselves, leave him out of it,” he says, casual as ever.
I snort. “Oh, sure. Let’s just stroll up to the Russian mob boss without backup.” I laugh, but it’s humorless. “Has he said anything at all? He demanded to be the first one told, and now? Crickets.”
Lucas chuckles, and I squint at him, realization dawning. “You didn’t tell him, did you? Seriously?”
I’ve been sitting here for hours, waiting for some kind of
