Page 30 of Sardonic Burn

Everything about this man is irritating. His face, his attitude and the way he walks and talks. There isn’t a single likable thing about him. Why is he smiling like a moron?

“Anyway,” I drawl out. “Ray and Henrick said we should take care of this, right? So how about you do that and let me live in peace?”

“And why would I do that?” He takes a step backward. “Seeing you angry is quite amusing. It’s almost too easy to get under your skin, and I can’t say I’m not enjoying myself.”

I ignore his words completely.

“Aside from the phone number, is there anything else to go on?”

“Four of them were seen at the same bar a week apart. It’s a long shot but worth checking out.”

I blink. “So why are you here wasting my time instead of checking it out?”

“You didn’t think I’d be doing all the work, did you?”

I lift a shoulder. “I’m already my father’s heir, while you still need to prove yourself to yours. This is an opportunity for you, little De Santis.”

Hudson takes in a sharp intake of breath, closing his eyes. The moment his eyes flutter open, I’m met with a different person. The amused Hudson is gone, replaced by the man with the deadliest eyes I’ve ever seen.

His plump lips are thinned into a line, and his jaw is clenched. His eyes flicker to the glass in my hands before he returns his gaze to my face. It’s inexplicable, but, right now, Hudson is far more dangerous than he’s ever been.

The atmosphere around us shifts, and the thick air makes it hard for me to breathe. My stare is glued to his face, pulling me in like a magnet. My body starts trembling, and I can’t understand why.

It’s fear mixed with an emotion I’ve never felt before.

“I’ve been too patient with you.” Hudson takes one step forward, closing the distance between us. There is still the kitchen table separating us, and I find myself wishing it was more than that.

“You killed my brother,” he spits out, voice dangerously low. “I want nothing more but to snap your pretty little neck as we speak. But I can’t do that; because as much as I fucking hate everything about you, I need you.”

“You’re just deluding yourself.” I lick my bottom lip. “You can do it without me.”

“You’re right,” he agrees almost instantly. “But I also need your sources. I know you’ve made friends in all the right placesover the years, and it’s something I lack. If it’s the two of us, all of this can be resolved within four months.”

I take a deep breath and ask the question I dread the most.

“What happens after that?”

“The game resumes.” He smirks. “You and I, we were born to kill each other. Let’s see who does it first, shall we?”

“That’s not—”

“Stop fighting me.”

“I warned you.” I give him the verbal reminder of my previous threat and throw a piece of glass at his face. “I wasn’t done speaking.”

I was nine years old when I found my passion for knives. I started collecting them, cleaning them, and keeping them in my room as souvenirs. They were scattered all around—my pride and joy.

Father signed me up for some classes, and I learned how to throw them.

I never miss, no matter what I throw at my opponent.

The sharp piece of glass slices across Hudson’s left cheek before falling down to the floor behind him. The sound of it falling is the only thing I can hear before it sets in.

Regret.

Oh, God.

No, no, no.

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