The first day Lincoln had met Tyler Esteil, the mafia boss had been in a bad mood. He had just returned from a meeting where he had meted out strict discipline to a wayward member of his gang, and he was irritable.
The man’s blood was still on his hands as he wiped roughly with a dirty rag, striding purposefully into the workshop he used as one of his hideouts.
A mechanic workshop with broken down vehicles and a very large space for various types of torture with various types of work tools, and three four-by-four-foot cages for ‘guests.’
At the very back, in the makeshift office where computers, papers, and files were scattered about, a young boy was reading a random note.
Well, not a boy, but definitely a kid.
Lincoln had paused when the young man turned around, and his light eyes ha
