Knox
The air in my house feels like static electricity, thick and heavy enough to choke on.
I pace back and forth across the hardwood floor of the living room. My jaw is locked so tight my molars ache, a low, constant thrumming ringing in the back of my skull.
Two shipments gone. Two.
Millions of dollars of product, swallowed whole by the shadows, and now Vane is breathing down my neck like a starving wolf. His massive fentanyl order was supposed to be the fix, the big play that secured my leverage and paid off my debts.
Instead, the supply line is completely dead, Vane hasn't received a single gram of his order, and the bastard is threatening to tear my world apart if I don't produce either the product, or the cash he invested and fronted by the end of the week.
I run a heavy, rest
