Tristan’s P.O.V

I kept pacing, back and forth, the concrete floor scraping under my shoes as I stared at my phone like it might suddenly sprout wings and fly me out of here. Diego was leaning against a stack of crates, hands behind his head, grinning like a man already retired.

“Bro, once that twenty billion hits? I’m gone. I’m talking about Bora Bora, Fiji, Maldives…anywhere I can drink something with a tiny umbrella in it.”

Remy snorted, stretching his legs ...