When I got home, the first thing I noticed was the cars parked outside my small apartment complex.
Sleek, black, and undeniably expensive.
I frowned. They definitely didn’t belong to anyone in my building. Most of my neighbors drove beat-up sedans or pick-up trucks that rattled louder than a werewolf howl on a full moon.
My heart thudded in my chest as I gripped my bag tighter and slowly made my way to the door.
Something didn’t feel right.
Fishing around in my bag, my fingers closed around the hilt of the small knife I always carried. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
The moment I unlocked the door, I heard it—a muffled clatter, followed by low voices and the sound of something sizzling.
I slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind me. My heart was racing now,
