I AM YOURS TO PLAY
Mayers sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey, his cheap suit wrinkled, his eyes darting as I slid onto the stool beside him.
“Mr. Mayers’,” I said, my voice low, calm, but laced with steel. “We need to talk about Ethan Caldwell.”
He froze, his glass halfway to his lips, recognizing me instantly. “The Reaper,” he stammered, his face paling. “I—I don’t want trouble.”
“I didn’t come here for trouble,” I said, leaning closer, my eyes locking on his. “I’m here for Ethan Caldwell. What’s the play?”
Bab Populer