“Their names are Washington and Hamilton,” my brother huffed out of nowhere, stroking his horse’s nose. The horse nudged his shoulder, asking for more, but Kill had already turned and looked at me. He had the rare talent of giving you just enough for you to want more, but never to bring you to satisfaction. “Where are Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and Jay?” A sarcastic smirk curved on my face. “In the stables, resting,” he replied, dead-ass serious.
