NOAH
The air in the suite was so thick with tension I could practically see it swirling like smoke. Cassian didn't just look angry; he looked like he'd crawled out of the deepest circle of hell and found out someone had moved his furniture.
I stood there, frozen, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The sight of him, disheveled, unbuttoned, nursing a whiskey in the dark, was devastating. My brain, ever the traitor, didn't immediately scream danger. Instead, it whispered, Oh, God, he looks incredible.
I hated myself. I was officially a pervert.
Then my eyes caught it. Tiny, dark flecks of dried blood on his white cuff. The metallic tang hit my nose, faint but unmistakable. My stomach did a slow, nauseous somersault. Alex's words from the bar echoed in my head, louder than the pounding of my heart: They say he murdered people, Noah. Multiple people.
