And I hate myself for it.
A black car rolls up to the curb, anything but covert. Due to Barry’s love of cars, I can immediately tag this one as a Lykan Hypersport. Rare, only seven in the world, and of course this dude owns one of them.
The tinted passenger window rolls down, taking my bedraggled reflection with it.
In its place is a silhouette who melts out of the luxury interior’s shadows, his angles cutting through the dark as seamlessly as sharpened weapons.
I gulp.
Yes, for nine years, I was able to accept being invisible.
Until I met Tempest Callahan.