The heavy, iron door of the building creaked behind me as I stepped out into the oppressive humidity of the late afternoon. The air was thick with the smell of asphalt and exhaust, the signature scent of this forgotten corner of the city. I checked my watch—a scratched, reliable piece of hardware that had survived as many rough nights as I had—and realized I had exactly four hours before I needed to fulfill my promise to Chole Blake.
My mind was still spinning from the encounter with Kristinav Johnson. Every time I sat in that luxury car of hers, the leather seats smelling of success and high-end boutiques, it felt like a cruel reminder of how far I had fallen. Once upon a time, Sean Barnes was a man who looked forward to a future. Now, I was a man who navigated the neon nightlife of the
