The door creaked open as I stepped into the dark, dust-choked room. The air was thick with the stench of blood and rust, heavy enough to make my wolf stir beneath my skin. The place reeked of suffering. It was perfect.
“Good evening, Mrs.,” a deep, rough voice growled.
Rizzo.
His presence filled the room before his body did. He walked closer, the glow from his cigarette tracing the scars and tattoos that crawled up his neck and arms. His eyes were cold- eyes of a man who had watched too many lives fade.
“We’ve done what you asked,” he said, smoke curling from his lips.
“Where is she?” I asked, my voice calm but edged with ice.
Rizzo snapped his fingers. “Bring her.”
Two men dragged her out from the corner. Her body trembled with weakness, her clothes
