Severin
I scanned the broken tables, busted windows and the disgruntled faces. The bastards didn’t stop at damaging property; they dragged the dumpster from the alley and scattered the trash all over the property.
“They’re sick,” Atlas commented.
“It stinks,” I replied. “Did you get a good look at them?” I asked.
The owner, Maddox, a big guy who drove a silver pickup truck, marched towards us with his son, Spencer, who was eager to join the Obsidian Brothers.
“I wasn’t here when it happened. They scared my employees, but so far no one’s hurt. Just a bit shaken up,” Maddox explained.
I nodded. “We’ll continue looking around.”
“Are you going to call the police?” Maddox asked.
“You think they’ll care?” Atlas asked.
He had a point. The second the police in this town smelled a motor
