I sat at my kitchen table sipping coffee and staring off into space. The only thing that saved me from having my throat torn out was that little extra bit of speed I'd gained from all the metaphysical shit. He was barely conscious in that after great sex kind of way. You didn't shoot someone begging for their life, not if you were a good guy.
There was also the matter of Jean-Claude and Asher, and Nathaniel, but I didn't want to muddy the waters, so I didn't bring them up. A hand touched my arm, and I jerked away from it. It didn't really look like blood, not if you'd seen enough of the real deal, but it was still a less than comforting image to take away into the night. My voice was breathier than I thought it would be, as if my pulse was interfering.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.