Liam turned his back on the quivering wreck that was Colton. The man still knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the tiles, mumbling for mercy through bloodied lips. But Liam wasn't interested in him anymore. Not yet.
His steps were slow, quiet—too quiet—as he walked over to Amara, who lay trembling where Colton had left her. Her back was slumped against the cabinet, her hands bound tightly behind her, and the thick silver tape still pressed over her mouth.
When she saw the old man approaching again, her body jolted in fear. She tried to scream, to shout for help, but her muffled cries were too weak, too late. She twisted against the tape, desperate to free herself, but it was no use. The bonds were tight. Ruthless.
Liam crouched slowly in front of her.
His voice was quiet. But every syllable dripped with venom.
"So," he said, almost conversationally, "you were involved in the plan to ruin Lana's face?"
