Kisten dipped a hand into a leather pocket of the pool table to come up with the five ball. “When Ivy says no, she gets praised for her strength of will,” he said bitterly, hefting it experimentally for weight. “When I say no, I get fucking kicked out!” With a grunt he threw the ball. It sped over the parking lot, almost unseen. “Fuck you, you bastard!” he shouted, and a window broke in the upper story.

I jumped when Jenks landed on my shoulder. “Ah…Rachel?” he said, and gold dust spilled over me. “Leave. Please just get in the car and leave.”

Swallowing, I took a hesitant step forward while Kisten found another pool ball. “Kisten?” I whispered, frightened at his show of temper. Never had I seen him this bad. “Come on,” I said, reaching out to take his arm. “We have to go.”

Jenks left me, and Kisten froze when I tugged on him. Face empty, he turned, his black eyes freezing me as they glinted from behind his blond-dyed bangs. Feeling like I’d made a mistake, I let go. “We have to leave,” I said, worried someone would come out.

“Go where?” he said around a harsh laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. “I’m dead, Rachel. Soon as the sun goes down, someone’s going to kill me. As slowly as their anticipation can stand. I gave everything to that bastard, and now he won’t—” His words broke off, and fear and pain crossed his face. “I did everything for him,” he said, betrayal staining his anger. “Made a shitload of profit off his bar when it lost its MPL, and now he fucking won’t touch me!”

His rage and desperation finding a release in a movement of controlled anguish, Kisten threw another pool ball. I fell back, almost tripping on the wreckage of his light show.

“I made more on his damned business after he lost his MPL than he did all of last year!” he shouted, and the ball thunked low and to the left of a wide plate-glass window.

“He never even looked at the books!” Kisten threw a third, and my pulse raced when it went through the wall. “He doesn’t fucking care!” he raged, and the eight ball hit the window.

I gasped when it shattered completely and a shadow came forward to investigate.

Kisten turned away, palm on the pool table sitting at a forty-five-degree cant atop a stacked pile of little round tables. Beyond the rubble, cars passed, oblivious. “He never looked at the books,” he said softly, as if trying to figure it out. “I thought that would mean something.”