He doesn’t identify just who that man is, but I have a sinking suspicion regardless.
“Do you understand, Little Rose?”
“Fair enough.” I breathe the words against the window glass and watch them burst into puffs of fog. Just as quickly, they fade into nothing.
“Fair? I don’t do fair. I calculate risk and I weigh my benefits.”
And the benefits of keeping me alive? He doesn’t reveal them, and maybe I prefer it that way. Few things could entice a man like Mischa. As a matter of fact, he’s already named them:“I deal in what I can taste. Feel. Blood. Killing. Fucking.”
One item can already be checked off that list, leaving just two…
Blood and killing.