Good news? You recognized the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up toward you. It belonged to one of your brother’s friends, which meant you wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight. Bad news? The person driving said Aston Martin was the last person you wanted to pick you up.
“Get in.”
He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but you still heard him loud and clear over the rain.
Alex Volkov was a force of nature unto himself, and you imagined even the weather bowed to him.
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