The Ruthless King's One And Only Master

o death saving a teenage boy, leav

ealthy hedge-fund manager, serving as his unpaid assistant

to throw me to Manhattan's most ruthless shadow banker as a disposable peace off

ed high-proof whiskey over my raw burns, and even g

nife. He pressed the tip against my eyeball, wanting to carve my eyes out himself

ing on his velvet tray-the exact one I ha

only to face being butchered by the

. I didn't beg

the blood spill from my mouth and softl

t, St

pte

lia

anhattan's shadow banking titan, Jax Ross, comes due. He is using me as a pe

all stand-in for his socialite girlfriend. Now Karmen is back from Par

oors even opened, he o

cotton shift at my face. "When your chest was burned, I gave you food and a bed. Now Karmen is back, and you're just in the way. Put

The last little girl the Vance brothers sent into Ross's parlor was carried out in trash bags before midnight. Ross hates it when p

y head. The coarse fabric scraped against the unhealed burn on my left colla

table. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared to reach for their drinks. At the head of the table sat Jax Ross, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit with his shirt unbuttone

e small velvet tray s

kers from Brooklyn punk bands. The scroll wheel was stained with ancient coffee marks. Th

scratch on

or twelve dollars. I filled it with acoustic tracks and gave it to a starvin

e had healed slightly crooked from an old break. The bruised kid who used to eat dry

into the back of my left knee. I cra

ub manager, Dennis Wheel

inch. He turned ov

oss, sir, Brandt sent this 'merchandise' over to pay his r

making a sound. "Two hundred million dollars is due at midnigh

nt to her. Cut her skin, break her fingers, hold her under in the tub...

ee cards onto the table. The

is Sing

vision flickered to life, showing a live video feed of

ake deference. "Her name is Amelia. No family, no records. She

w him what you are, Amelia! Act like that dead girl he obsesses over

lip until the taste o

s would hunt me down the second I stepped outside. He made me fetch his dry cleaning, write his re

the orange flame refle

his is funny

I know your tastes. H

two finger

y eyes, the blinding pain tearing through me as it seeped into the raw burn tissue on my collarbone. Before I cou

ye level with the low table. The pin

tole two blankets from the laundromat and wrapped him up, plugging the earbuds in and playing acoust

rackled from the TV. "Bark like a dog, or

gnoring the boot on my back, I gritted

et eyelashes, I looked

fire; eight years later, he sat in the he

recogniz

d recogn

I am-and then I would ruin Brandt and throw th