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For those who love the idea of a powerful, morally grey bastard who is so obsessed with you, he’ll spend fifteen years waiting for his second chance… …and then he takes it—and you.
Because the buzz? It’s not coming from the phone I placed face-down on the tabletop in front of me. It’s in my pocket, and that means only one thing: the phone I’ve carried around for fifteen fucking years without it ringing once in the last thirteen or so is going off.
