“Stay away from Cignette,” I advise. “Do not even think about touching her again. And, if you try to outsmart me, or tell anyone about our meeting and conversation, then you’ll find yourself dolled up in a coffin – six fucking feet under, and very, very dead. I hope I’m clearly understood.” I remember the thing I’ve been carrying in my pocket since I left the alley, and decide to pull it out before throwing it on the table – right in front of Miranda. She half-screams, half-cries, then covers her nose and mouth with her hands as she stares at Steven’s tongue staining the otherwise white
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*evil laughs*
