Poison Turning Upon the Plotter
"Also, that guy named Julian is here too. If he falls for it, arrange for a few ugly women for him to enjoy, take some photos, and post them online."
"Once he's exhausted, finish him off."
Lucas continued to command, his tone almost casual, as if he were discussing the placement of cutlery rather than a man's humiliation and death.
Wine shimmered in his glass under the amber light.
His pale face looked calm.
Too calm.
Cold enough to make murder sound refined.
Since the man had delivered himself to their doorstep, he wouldn't be polite.
Not only did he want Julian dead—
he wanted his reputation dragged through mud first.
Disgrace.
Scandal.
Then death.
That, in Lucas's mind, was elegance.
As for himself, he would not act personally.
Julian carried that same strange, unknowable aura that still lingered in Lucas's mind like a wound not healed.
The memory of that punch had never truly faded.
