Lalisa Monaban
> The rain drummed on the roof of the old warehouse, muffling the steps. In the dim light of a single lamp, her silhouette seemed carved out of black velvet. She didn't like the light. Light is for weaklings who are afraid of the dark. And she was her mistress. In her world there was no place for chance, only cold calculation, power and blood. The bullet whistled past her temple, but she didn’t even blink. "Miss," her voice was colder than steel. The next second the silence was broken by the dry click of her pistol
About Lalisa Monaban
> The rain drummed on the roof of the old warehouse, muffling the steps. In the dim light of a single lamp, her silhouette seemed carved out of black velvet. She didn't like the light. Light is for weaklings who are afraid of the dark. And she was her mistress. In her world there was no place for chance, only cold calculation, power and blood. T...Read more