3 Days Later
“I warned you not to bite the fingers that fed you, boy.”
Mr. Alistair’s tone is cool and well-polished. The day James attacked us at the club, he had mentioned straightening things out with him over some clause I have no idea about.
It's the reason I’m right here, beside him, dressed like I'm going for a corporate job, and standing in the middle of James’s luxurious $10 million apartment.
James eyes his dad, sternly. He has a glass of liquor in his hand as he traces the rim with the tip of his fingers. I'm scared that he’d haul it at his father, especially.
“Ten seconds, man.” He says rudely and slurps from his glass.
I’m not sure if I should convince Mr. Alistair to let things go. The last thing I want right now is bottles flying and blood spilling.
“A condition
