POV: Victor Lang

The city lights flickered across my penthouse’s glass walls, a restless pulse matching the one in my veins. My burner phone buzzed on the obsidian desk, Frankie’s update: Vasquez is back at the mansion. Kane’s driving. Want us to move? I smirked, swirling the scotch in my glass. Not yet. Let Alexander think he’d won this round, bringing his little spitfire home after she’d fled. Elena Vasquez was a live wire, and I’d rigged the circuit to blow.

I leaned over my ...