Chapter 61

At the Mystic Cube, Killian sat across from Clifford. It was just the two of them tonight.

The table, however, was crowded with bottles. Music videos played on the widescreen in silence, creating a stark contrast to the thumping bass from the club outside. The private room felt unusually cold.

Killian poured himself a drink and downed it in one go, immediately followed by a second, and then a third.

Clifford said nothing. He leaned back against the sofa, legs crossed, lazily fiddling with a lighter in the hand draped over the backrest. He just watched.

The three shots of vodka, taken too quickly, made Killian choke back a cough, and a flush crept up his face. He finally met Clifford's gaze. “Clifford, we need to talk."

"About what?" Clifford asked, his voice casual.

"About Nikita."