Flynn’s POV
I stood at the entrance of the door to the man’s house, the one who had taken my sister from me. Her life, snuffed out in a heartbeat, and the police — those incompetent fools — claimed she had done it to herself. The autopsy confirmed it: suicide. But that wasn’t my truth. It couldn’t be. I would never accept that, not when I knew the man who had been in her life, the one who had caused her so much pain, was still breathing, still walking free. That was my problem. It should be his damn problem.
I could feel my jaw tightening as the heat of my anger boiled over, a pressure building in my chest. I hissed, a sharp exhale that burned in my lungs, clenching my fists at my sides. I raised my hand to knock, my knuckles hovering in the air, but just as I was about to strike, I felt
