I parked my brother’s Rolls Royce in the grass of our destination. The tall building came into view once I craned my neck to get a better look.
The prison.
This place was a compound for any kind of illegal activity. It was like an underground hub for criminals, but the place wasn’t really underground.
The building actually used to be a prison until it was condemned—until somebody bought it and turned it into a black market for criminals.
The name was fitting.
It was a prison after all.
The building was made of brick and in a remote place. It was surrounded by barbed wire fencing—the same as when it was up and running as a prison over 20 years ago.
“You never asked about Kenzo.” My brother spoke out, throwing me from my thoughts. “Did you really not want to know where he disap
