Nobody trusted anyone and the chaos spread faster than the truth ever could. So I leaned against the table.
“So, now what?” I asked.
Nobody answered because honestly, nobody knew.
For the next few days the safehouse became unbearable.
Vincent was recovering slowly. Too slowly and the club was only tolerating him. But barely.
Every meal felt awkward, every conversation carried tension and every hallway seemed like one bad comment away from another fight.
The biggest problem remained was Knox.
Neither man could spend five minutes together without clashing.
One afternoon I found them standing outside arguing over security and Vincent folded his arms.
“Your perimeter leaves blind spots.” Vincent said.
“My perimeter is keeping you alive.” Knox said looking very unimpressed.
