Grant

“I’ve been calling. What the fuck is wrong with you, bro?”

I exhaled through my nose and dragged a hand down my face. Some people are just built like filth. Dress them up, toss them a clean slate, hell, give them a crown, and they’ll still crawl back to the nearest gutter like it’s home. Hunter Pembroke was the prototype.

I dropped into the chair across from him, jaw tight. A server hovered nearby, smart enough to sense this wasn’t a table she wanted to linger near. I waved ...