Tempted By Dr. Dangerous
escaping his lips.
I step forward, my doctor’s instincts kicking in even as my stomach turns. "Who the fuck that?" I ask, looking into the box.
Prez looks at me, his eyes hollow and filled with a sudden, icy rage. "It’s my fucking informant," he whispers.
Inside the box, resting on a bed of blood-soaked packing paper, is a severed head. The eyes are still open, frozen in a final scream of fear. And pinned to the forehead with a single, rusted nail is a note written in dark, drying blood, L.A. IS OURS.
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