Third POV
The warehouse smelled of rust, damp concrete, and waste, because Devin's men had turned the backyard into a toilet.
Water dripped somewhere in the warehouse. The sound was rather annoying. The men had tried to find where it was coming from, but they couldn't roam around because they had to keep an eye on their captives.
Broken wooden pallets and discarded machines were scattered across the floor.
Devin Wolfe shoved the heavy metal door open with his shoulder.
The hinges let out a loud screech that made his men groan and cover their ears. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his knee, where the crazy Kellerman bitch had hit him.
Though his mother's doctor had tended the wound, it had burst open while he was escaping the night his mother died before his eyes.
It was a hot, throbbing reminder of his failure at the docks. His face was twisted with fury. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and all the drugs he was taking to stay awake.
