But I don’t.
Because I know what happens if I’m late.
The warehouse is twenty minutes outside of town, tucked behind a sheet metal factory that closed down five years ago. No one comes here. No one except the people who work for him.
I park outside and kill the engine. My hands are steady on the wheel, but my jaw aches from clenching.
I check my phone one more time. Nothing from Lexi.
Good. Better if she’s pissed at me than involved in this.
I get out and walk to the side entrance. The door is already unlocked. It always is when he’s expecting me.
Inside, the warehouse smells like rust and old concrete. There are crates stacked along the walls—empty, just for show in case anyone ever looks too close. In the center of the space, under a single flickering light, he’s waiting.
My stepdad.
Vincent.
He’s fifty-three, built like a boxer who never stopped training. Grey at the temples, expensive suit that doesn’t match the surroundings, smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Koa.” He says my name like he’s tasting it. “You’re late.”
“I’m not.” I check my watch. “You said eight. I’m three minutes early.”
“Close enough to late.” He gestures to the chair in front of him. Metal. Bolted to the floor. “Sit.”
I don’t move. “What do you want?”
His smile widens. “Sit. Down.”
I sit.
Two of his guys step out from the shadows—Travis and Tony, both built like brick walls, both loyal to Vincent in ways I’ll never understand.
Travis moves behind me. I feel the rope before I see it, wrapping around my wrists, pulling tight.
“What the fuck—”
“Shh.” Vincent holds up a hand. “We’re just going to have a little chat. Make sure we’re on the same page.”
He walks closer, pulls something from his pocket. A small plastic bag. White powder inside.
My stomach drops.
“No.”
“Yes.” He opens the bag, dips his finger in, holds it up to my mouth. “Open.”
“Vincent, don’t—”
He grabs my jaw. Hard. His fingers dig into the hinges until my mouth opens involuntarily.
He shoves his finger inside, smears the powder across my gums, my tongue. It tastes bitter, chemical, wrong.
I try to spit it out, but he clamps my mouth shut.
“Swallow.”
