Cassandra stood in the center of the living room, her fingers tightening around her phone until her knuckles bleached white.

The question she’d whispered to herself, “Should I call him?” still echoed in her skull like a taunt.

The memory of the last time she dialed the big boss’s number flashed through her mind. His cold, gravelly voice. The way he never breathed between words.

The way she felt was like she was making a deal with a devil that Booker would never forgive her for ...