Dear Billionaire, I'm Back For Your Name
"How is your head?"
"Like someone ran a printing press over it," I muttered, leaning back into the pillows. The memories of the highway suddenly flashed through my mind,the screeching tires, the deafening cracks of gunfire, the shattering glass. "The men who shot at us... who were they? Did you kill them?"
Gregory’s expression didn't change, but his fingers drifted down to trace the line of my jaw, his thumb smoothing over my lower lip. "They are….handled."
There was a strange, heavy pause. I looked closely at his face, trying to read the micro-movements of his muscles. “You're keeping something from me," I stated. "Who sent them, Greg? Who were they and what did they want?"
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