Liam pushed through the restaurant doors, his jaw tight, his hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline.
He'd scrubbed the blood off in the bathroom down the block, checked his reflection twice to make sure there were no stains on the suit, no evidence of what he'd just done.
His mind was still on Kelvin, on his friend's swollen face, the blood, the way he'd groaned trying to push himself up off the pavement.
Liam's fists clenched at his sides as he walked back toward the table.
Elena was standing near the windows, phone pressed to her ear, her face twisted in irritation. Her free hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.
"I don't care," she snapped into the phone. "Figure it out. I'm not paying you to make excuses."
She ended the call with a sharp jab of her thumb and looked up just as Liam reached the table.
"What was that just now?" Her voice was cold, sharp enough to cut. The warmth from earlier had evaporated completely.
