Fire With Fire

Skyla

I was back here – back in his freaking office that looked like a fortress of polished woods and cold steel, sunlight slanted through towering windows, casting long shadows over the leather chairs and the cityscape beyond.

The freaking mayor sat behind a desk bigger than my apartment, fingers steepled in his front like he was weighing my very soul, trying to figure my very existence out.

“Skyla James,” he said, voice smooth but guarded. “To what do I owe the pleasure,?” He asked, his voice calm and calculating as he watched me wearily. His calmness unnerved every bones in my body, he was a fucking snake, a traitor. One that didn’t even deserved to be called my uncle.

Masking all my emotions with a taught smile, I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “I want to talk about my mother. Her rehab placement, you know she was attacked recently, so I wanted to ask if you could move her somewhere safer, again.” I muttered through gritted teeth, livid that he had the audacity