Isabella
The Lower City had a private airstrip close to the beach on the south side of the island. That area was more desert than green fields. I could almost taste the desert air carried from across the Mediterranean from Africa as soon as I alighted from the plane.
Waiting for us some distance away from the landing strip were two large black SUVs. Standing in front of one of them was a hard-looking man with a smile. The man had a deep scar running from his forehead down to his chin.
I turned around to find Damon shaking hands with the pilot, who later waved at me. The man's smile widened, making his scar stretch across to the point where it almost looked like his skin wanted to rip, making him look like a discount version of Freddy Krueger.
Nonetheless, I didn't feel threatened in fr
