under his control
He had been circling for months, sliding whispers through the cracks, dangling himself as an ally while feeding King information.
And yet he hadn’t made a direct move not until now.
When the meeting adjourned, most of them filed out quickly, eager to escape the pressure cooker.
Only Grant lingered, sliding into the chair opposite me.
“You’re bleeding, Carter,” he said, his voice smooth as oil.
“And if you don’t cauterize the wound, you’ll bleed out on King’s floor.”
I tilted my head. “Funny. You sound like a man who knows a lot about blood.”