Whiskey Sharp: Jagged. Lauren Dane

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You make it through and serve as an example to the rest of us. Thank you.

       Author Note

      While Pioneer Square and SoDo are two very real neighborhoods in downtown Seattle, I’ve taken some liberties. Added some buildings, renamed a few, as it helped flesh out the characters and their stories. Still, Pioneer Square is every bit the former home to bootleggers and the criminal element partly responsible for the face of the city today.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Dedication

       Author Note

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

       CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

      LINES ON THE PAGE. Each sketch, each movement created a world she was responsible for. A world whose rules she made. A world whose rules they obeyed.

      For a control freak like Rachel, it was as good as the talk therapy she’d been in for the last three years. It freed her. Gave her the ability to effect change on multiple levels.

      And she didn’t need to hunt serial killers or carry a gun to do it.

      It was also a hell of a lot safer.

      Sleep often eluded her, but the creative fire that had ignited into fierce existence in the wake of the events that had shattered her entire life four years ago rarely did. So when she couldn’t find rest, she could always find art.

      Her music wasn’t so loud she missed the ping of her phone, indicating a text.

      I’m in my driveway. Your light is on. Are you still awake?

      Her pulse kicked at the sight of his name on her phone’s screen. Vicktor Orlov. Heard the words in his voice in her head. That accent,

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