Sebastian watched as the plane soared into the air. He let out a really, really long breath. His palms sizzled. The little man behind the counter took a cautious step back, his eyes wide as saucers.
Keeping his temper in check took far more control than he was comfortable admitting. Sebastian turned and stalked from the building. Halfway across the parking lot, his phone began to ring. Frowning, he pulled the device from his pocket.
Xander? He closed his eyes and groaned aloud. Damn it.
Sebastian gritted his teeth, teetering on the edge of saying fuck it and smashing his phone rather than taking the call. But his conscience—or whatever meager shreds of decency he had left—got the better of him. Something had to have gone wrong in a big way if Mr. I’d-Rather-Be-Tortured-Than-Talk-On-These-Damned-Things was heating up the airwaves. He so didn’t have time to deal with any more shit today.
“Yo,” Sebastian barked into the phone. “Listen, man. Right now isn’t a good time to—”
“Stolas has Mikhail.”