The Wrong Kind Of Right
The air charged with their presence, the weight of Virelli’s empire pressing into the night.
Reid froze only a fraction of a second, then he laughed. It was hollow, sharp, a sound that scraped against the walls. “So, the little sister slithers into the serpent’s den.” He turned, angling Julian’s chair so the gun pressed against Julian’s temple. “How quaint.”
“Let him go,” Rhea snapped, her jaw clenched, eyes burning.
Julian, though his body screamed in pain, let his lips curl into something vicious. “What’s wrong, Reid? Weren’t you about to show me your genius? Looks like the show just got an audience.”
Bab Populer