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Summary
"You have such simple tastes."
Rhaast sneers it like it's supposed to be an insult – like it's a bad thing to be at home in the underbelly of the city. Like they're not both roaches living in this world that doesn't want them around. If he was anything else, he'd have been crushed under a boot a long time ago.
“You don't have much room to be picky,” he mutters into the rim of his glass of whiskey, eyes roaming the sweaty, gyrating crowd on the dance floor. “And I'm broke, so it's this or nothing.”
"Nothing would have been fine with me."
Kayn snorts. “Exactly, nothing is ever fine with you, you ungrateful bastard.”
Series
- Part 8 of Tops and Bottoms