"Kate" P

throbbed relentlessly under my black suit jacket with every breath I took, and the bleeding scratch on the back of my hand had finally dried into a painful, stinging scab

lemn. They were national heroes; they needed a quiet, dignified place to rest. I turned the car north toward Woodlawn Cemetery i

cure, temporary resting place. It was not their final stop. Once I completely tore down Emerson's hypocritical empire and settled all my affairs in New York, I would take them back to our peaceful hom

couldn't bring you home today. Just wait for me here a little longer. I promise you, nobody will ever insult

hadows across the marble floor. I stared at the folded American flags, making a silent, unbreakable vow. Emerson and his greedy family thought they had brok

astically changed. A long, intimidating line of black luxury sedans sat parked along the main drive, flanked by dozens of

path behind the tall hedges, where two cemetery groundskeepers s

ight passed away last week," one of them mu

ually keep the corporate board in line. The guy is an absolute tyrant on the ice rink. He is famous across the league for brutally destroying h

he fearsome captain and star player of the New York Rangers, the undisputed king of the hoc

w gap in the thick hedges toward the front of

Even standing completely still among a hundred grieving mourners, his posture carried a heavy, dangerous tension. He looked exactly like an apex predator resting on the

rough the leaves, he turned his

eyes. They were cold, sharp, and completely untamed. Yet, deep within those freezing depths, I saw a sudden, une

A strange, magnetic sense of destiny pulled violently at my soul. We were two lo

g the intense moment like a broken mirror. I blinked, breaki

t, before swiping to answer. I said absolutel

ng uncharacteristically anxious, tight, and desperate. "Let's talk, oka

yer's ice-blue eyes flashed across my mind, cold, untamed, and bowing to a

"We have nothing left to talk about. Wait for me at the ho