The older man lifted his head, looking directly at his executioner. "Yes, actually."The younger man waited, finger on the trigger. “I’m a man of honor, speak.”Man of honor my little pancaked ass."If you're going to do this," the older man said quietly, "please. Not here.""Excuse me?" The younger man's eyebrow arched in amusement."This place... this grave is sacred. Don't spill blood here."A harsh laugh escaped the younger man's throat. "Sacred? What is this, the grave of Queen Elizabeth or something?"Rage flared in my chest so suddenly it took my breath away. How dare he mock my mother's resting place like that? How dare he stand there with his expensive clothes and his army of killers and treat her memory like it was nothing?My mother had been worth a hundred of him. She'd saved lives, helped people, been kind to everyone she met. She'd worked double shifts to pay for my school clothes and stayed up all night when I was sick. She'd died too young, too poor, in a public hospit
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