Kira didn’t flinch. Instead, she uncrossed her arms and let her jacket fall open—just enough to show the wire running down her ribs.
B. Nasty was the queen of the underground auction houses, all razor cheekbones and a laugh like broken glass. She’d stolen a hard drive containing Kira’s last client—a washed-up producer who’d bet the wrong money on the wrong horse.
“You’re late, Noir,” B. Nasty purred, swirling a drink the color of a warning. She sat on a velvet throne, legs crossed, looking like sin carved into a gown. HotAndMean.24.04.04.Kira.Noir.And.Miss.B.Nasty....
As Kira turned to leave, Miss B. Nasty called out: “Next time, I won’t let you walk.”
The club’s lights dimmed. Two bodyguards stepped from the shadows. Kira didn’t flinch
That night, the problem had a name: .
“You’re live?” B. Nasty’s eyes flickered. First time Kira had seen her blink. Nasty was the queen of the underground auction
“Darling,” she said without looking back, “there won’t be a next time. I’m the fire. You’re just the heat.”
“I’m not here to trade barbs, B.,” Kira said, sliding into the opposite seat. “I’m here for the drive.”