HENRY POV
The warehouse reeked of metal, sweat, and blood.
Ghost led the way through the narrow corridor, his boots echoing against the cracked cement. I followed behind him, calm and slow, like a shadow stretching into the dark. The warehouse had seen worse days, but tonight, it was reborn as something else entirely—my hunting ground.
Inside, the shooter was already half-dead.
My men had done their job well. He sat slumped in a metal chair, arms chained behind him, face swollen beyond recognition. One eye was shut completely, the other darting back and forth like a trapped rat. His breath came in short, wheezing spurts. Blood had dried in ugly streaks down his shirt.
He was scared. Good. But not scared enough.
I stopped a few feet from him, watching in silence.
Ghost looked back a
