I don’t have a computer at the moment. Please bear with me while I catch up with all of your blogs!
Last week, Nick found out courtesy of the late news Rhys had been murdered. Now, he’s sitting in his apartment, alone with his thoughts.
A familiar feeling twisted Nick’s chest, suffocating him. Just like the night he shot Rhys, it took his breath, then lingered, toxic and dark. But it didn’t choke him out.
Something wasn’t right.
He toyed with his phone, dialing the same seven numbers over and over, hitting delete instead of send. Would the man he knew only as Cutter be willing to talk?
*warning: this WIP has not yet met the brutal hand of my editor.*
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