was covered in blood.
Her left arm was wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet torn from a curtain.
At her feet lay Gillette’s armored body.
Dead.
Briana held a bottle of Lucas’s finest, oldest scotch in her uninjured hand and took a slow, shaky sip straight from the neck.
Lucas froze.
His gun dropped to his side.
For the first time in years, his brilliant, ruthless continue reading …
