I came to Sable Creek for two weeks. A failing hotel. A difficult client. A contract I couldn't afford to lose.
I didn't come here for him. Tariq Al-Amin has been dead for a hundred and thirteen years. He built this town from the shadows, ran an empire nobody knew was his, and sat down at his own negotiation table knowing exactly what was coming. He didn't leave. Now he's in my rental house. In my dreams. Under my skin in a way I can't explain and can't shake and am running out of reasons to fight. The world I came from is getting quieter every day. The world he's pulling me into is getting louder.