Nursing the Murderer Alpha King
And we haven’t even hit the main strip yet.
The crowd’s thick, chaotic. Music’s blaring from every direction—Eurotrash remixes, kids screaming, teenagers dry-humping on the tilt-a-whirl. And Dante’s beside me, sniffing the air, which he might just be trying to find which part of this place he wants to murder first.
I clutch my phone tighter, my thumb swiping over the screen one more time.
‘I need you to plant actors at the carnival. People Dante will believe. Old neighbors, fake friends, I don’t care. Anyone who can say they knew us as a couple. I need him convinced. Please.’