Grayson drive at dawn, Betty right next to him. His men was already waiting for him at the gas station. They swapped his rugged truck for a low slung, black sedan that gleamed like polished obsidian under the morning sun. His men were already waiting at the city limits, their faces unreadable and their presence silent. Usually, the shift in atmosphere, the sudden influx of steel and noise made Betty retreat into herself, her shoulders drawing tight. But today, she sat in the leather passenger seat with her chin up. She didn’t feel like a guest or a victim. She felt like she was part of the storm rolling into town.
Grayson’s penthouse occupied the top two floors of a glass spire that overlooked the harbor.
"The guest suite is through there," Grayson said, gesturing toward a hallway of bru
