Emon
The warehouse was nestled at the edge of the industrial zone, half-concealed by rusted fences and silence. To the world, it looked long abandoned, an empty relic of a collapsed trucking business. But inside, the truth breathed in shadows and gunmetal.
This was the place where my base was. My father had allowed me to come to Nevada with the promise that I would expand our territory and I was doing just that.
I arrived at 5:57 AM, dressed in black from collar to boots. My hair was still damp from the shower, slicked back neatly. The cold morning air bit at my cheeks, but my blood burned hot beneath my skin.
They were already waiting when I stepped inside.
Five men stood in formation near the center of the warehouse. No one sat. No one spoke. The space smelled faintly of oil and col
