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“Kyran looked up from his plate. He took in the agitated vamage – with his tight-fisted hands and angry glare – and smiled. “What’s wrong?” he asked, with far too much innocence for it to be genuine. Machado growled. “You know what’s wrong. You took out two of my men.” Kyran looked up at the ceiling, like he was recalling memories. “Which ones?” he asked. Machado was spitting like a cat. “The ones you bled out yesterday.” “You’re going to have to be more specific.” — SF Mazhar
Kyran looked up from his plate. He took in the agitated vamage – with his tight-fisted hands and angry glare – and smiled. “What’s wrong?” he asked, with far too much innocence for it to be genuine.
Machado growled. “You know what’s wrong. You took out two of my men.”
Kyran looked up at the ceiling, like he was recalling memories. “Which ones?” he asked.
Machado was spitting like a cat. “The ones you bled out yesterday.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.