The guard at the warehouse opened it.
I put my hands in my pocket as I walked in. The smell of blood was instant, and the scream of the man in the corner was bloodcurdling but I ignored it. “You called?”
My Father, Vincent Benson, stood in the corner of the room in a white tshirt, black pants— and a bloodstained apron and gloves. “Come closer.”
Don’t.
But I did. He hit the meat cleaver on the meat in front of him. Some blood splattered on my face. I ignored it. “I heard the Calloway girl came to the company. With a bat.”
He was seventy six but he looked nothing like it. He was bigger, meaner and still the same demonic entity that haunted my life. “She came to ask about a… dead bird she found at her compound gate.”
He smashed the cleaver down again. The man behind screamed louder. “
