The man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m looking for someone. She used to go by Lana Rhoades. Pretty, vulnerable, made men do very stupid things.”
The bass dropped. The neon hummed. And Lana realized her past had just walked in the door, wearing an oyster-gray suit and holding all the answers she’d tried to bury. lana part 1 lana rhoades
“I know,” the man replied, sliding a photograph across the table. It was her—the old her, wide-eyed and smiling, before the betrayals and the bad money. “That’s why I’m here to talk to the woman who killed her.” The man smiled