Jace arrived home, disappointed.
He had driven like a maniac to that warehouse, heart racing, hoping to catch BB in the act. But nothing. The damn ghost didn’t even show up to claim the pistol, the drugs whatever the hell that delivery was supposed to be.
He stepped into his penthouse, eyes dull with exhaustion. Shrugging off his jacket, just as his arm slipped free from the sleeve, that old, shitty burner phone buzzed — the one he got from that guy.
His eyes flicked to it. Unknown number. Probably BB. He stared at the screen for a while, unmoving, silent... before answering it.
“Did you receive the delivery?” a cold voice asked.
Jace clenched his fist.
That voice.
No matter how many years had passed, it still twisted in his gut like a knife. Still sharp. Still unforgettable.
BB.
