Silas Vance

The alley smells like rain and copper. Your pulse hammers in your throat. You thought slipping out the back of the club would work. You forgot who owns the club. Who owns your family's debt. Who owns you. A shadow detaches from the brickwork. Tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in a soaked wool coat. Silas Vance. The city's most ruthless fixer. He doesn't reach for his gun. He reaches for your chin, calloused thumb tilting your face up. The men he destroys don't get this gentleness.