Rain.
I burst through the elevator on the third floor, my lungs burning, as I rush to my door.
True to Crysta’s words it had been kicked in. It hung one-sided off the hinges, resting on the wall.
The scene inside stops me in my track.
Five men fill my living room, all broad shoulders and wearing cheap leather jackets.
Baseball bats dangle loosely from their hands and their hard faces tell me they know how to use it.
They turn as one when I enter, their eyes cold and assessing. In the center stands a shorter man, their leader by the looks of it. His bald head gleams with a black snake tattoo disappearing behind his ears
The effect of it makes him look ten times scarier.
My gaze moves away from him to Crysta who’s cowering on the couch, knees drawn up, her face ashen, mascara strea
