DAMIEN
I light the cigar and watch the flame eat its way down the tip. I hate smoking. The taste, the smell, the way it clings to everything—it’s revolting.
Still. It looks good on me.
The men around me are screaming, bleeding, begging. A messy bunch. They thought it was a brilliant idea to cut through my territory and intercept my shipments like I wouldn’t notice. Like I wouldn’t care.
Adorable.
I flick a bit of ash onto the man Bones has forced to his knees. It lands on his cheek.
He hisses.
I snort. “Relax. If you’d behaved, this would’ve been over by now.”
I crouch in front of him, resting my forearms on my thighs, cigar dangling between my fingers. “You know what fascinates me?” I say mildly. “Every i***t who crosses me thinks he’s the exception. That I’ll wake up one day and
