Anthony Morrison was bleeding by the time Lucian Calloway found him.
Not dying.
Not broken.
Not yet.
Just messy enough to look like the universe had finally started collecting on his bad decisions.
Rain hammered against the cracked warehouse windows, turning the world outside into streaks of silver and black. The old Morrison shipping office smelled like rust, saltwater, wet concrete, and fear.
Anthony stumbled backward through the abandoned office clutching a gun he clearly did not know how to use properly.
His hand shook around the grip.
His breathing came fast and uneven.
Every sound made him flinch.
Every shadow looked armed.
Because for the first time in his privileged little life—
Anthony Morrison finally understood fear.
Real fear.
Not fear of losing money.
Not fear of losing status.
Not fear of Allison looking at him like he was nothing.
Fear of dying because dangerous people no longer found him useful.
