Aiden Knight's POV
The blood hasn't even dried on my hands when I push through the cafe's glass doors. The warmth hits my face, carrying the scent of fresh coffee and baked pastries. Clara sits at our usual corner table, her elegant fingers wrapped around a steaming mug.
"Sorry I'm late." I slide into the seat across from her, my jacket still torn from the bullet that grazed my shoulder. "Traffic was murder."
Clara's eyes narrow slightly as they take in my disheveled appearance. "You look like you've been in a fight."
"Just some business associates who couldn't take no for an answer." I signal the waitress for coffee. "Nothing worth worrying about."
She reaches across the table and touches the tear in my sleeve. Her fingertips come away with a faint red stain.
"This is blood, Aiden."
"Ketchup," I lie smoothly. "Had a burger on the way here. Messy eater."
