MacKenzie
I was running on three hours of sleep, six shots of espresso, and a level of pure, unadulterated spite that could have powered the entire Vermont power grid.
My hands were shaking as I shoved the industrial fan an inch to the left, but it wasn’t from the caffeine. It was the fact that Jason Thorne—that slick, nasty piece of human garbage—was currently sitting in a nice, safe holding cell instead of being at the receiving end of my steel-toed boots. I felt legitimately cheated. I’d spent weeks biting my tongue while he leered at Myra and tried to steamroll this town, and the one night he finally shows his true colors, he gets hauled away by the cops before I could even get a swing in.
“You’re scowling at the coffee grinder, Kenzie,” Leo said, his voice cautious as he hauled a f
