Rook Van Doren flicks his gaze in my direction, light brown hair with the short sides dusted with silver, his tattooed hands tightened to fists. You’d think all the ink would keep him from the judge’s seat, but when you own one-fourth of Ponderosa Springs, there is little he can’t have. His jaw twitches, molars grinding together, anger flaring in his eyes. It makes the corner of my mouth twitch toward a smirk. I hope my existence eats him fucking alive, and when he’s six feet deep, I’ll make sure to water his flowers while I piss on his grave.
