The warehouse was cold.
The sea wind poured through the gap under the door, cutting straight to the bone until every joint ached.
But my eyes, fixed on the screen, burned bright and hot.
At 9:30, the master bedroom door was pushed open again.
The lights stayed off. No flashlight, either.
Nothing but heavy, chaotic footsteps.
Celeste called out coquettishly from the bed. "Jules, is that you?"
With a snap, the overhead light snapped on, flooding the room with a blinding white glare.
Celeste sat up, covering her eyes. "Ah! Too bright. I'm not ready yet..."
Her voice cut off abruptly.
There wasn't Jules in sight—just three burly men.
Camouflage vests, arms tattooed with coiling green snakes.
The one in front had an old scar down the left side of his face, running from brow to jaw;
