Page 67 of Beautiful Scars

I run my hand along a support beam. Solid construction. "Storage capacity?"

"More than enough for what we need. Could triple our usual inventory and still have room." He gestures to the far wall. "Climate controlled section over there for the sensitive stuff."

We walk the perimeter, Wolf pointing out features while I mentally map security camera placement and access points. The location is perfect for storing and inventorying the black-market goods we deal in. It's close enough to the ports that it allows for easy transportation, but isolated and far enough away to avoid unwanted attention or suspicion.

"Levi's getting antsy," Wolf mentions casually as we check out the office space. "Wants to see things moving forward faster."

I grunt in acknowledgment. Of course he does. Levi's never been good at waiting once he sets his mind to something.

"Talked to that contact he sent me," Wolf continues. "Says if you green light this place, we can have steady shipments coming in from the ports within two weeks. Get the old operations running again, maybe even expand."

"Two weeks seems ambitious." I peer out the office window, surveying the main floor below.

"Guy's connected. Has all the right people in his pocket already." Wolf pulls out another cigarette but doesn't light it. "Just needs your okay to start moving pieces into place."

I drum my fingers on the windowsill, considering. The warehouse is perfect— almost too perfect. But we need a base of operations if we're going to rebuild what Levi's father had here.

"What's your read on the contact?" I ask Wolf.

"Solid. Did some digging—he's got history with Levi's old man. Kept his mouth shut when things went south back then. Loyalty like that's hard to find."

I nod slowly. "And the price?"

"Higher than before, but reasonable considering the risk. Plus, we get priority routing through his channels."

More pieces falling into place. Maybe too neatly, but we can't afford to be overly cautious right now. Not with Levi pushing for progress.

"Alright." I turn to face Wolf. "Lock it down. But I want our people to handle the security setup, not local contractors. And I want background on everyone involved in the shipping chain."

"Already started the checks." Wolf finally lights his cigarette. "Figured you'd want that."

"Good man." I take one last look around the office. "How soon can we get the paperwork started?"

"Can have it ready for signatures tomorrow. Previous owners are motivated sellers."

I check my phone—no new messages from Levi or Colt. They're probably buried in all the meetings and paperwork I usually handle. Or maybe they've decided to finally give me some space. Either way, this decision is on me.

"Do it," I tell Wolf. "But keep it quiet for now. Don't want anyone getting curious about why we're setting up shop here."

Wolf nods, already pulling out his phone to make calls. I head back downstairs, mind racing with plans and contingencies. Twenty thousand square feet of possibility—or twenty thousand square feet of potential problems.

The empty warehouse echoes with my footsteps as I walk the floor again. In two weeks, this place will be humming with activity. Shipments coming and going, inventory stored, money flowing. Just like the old days.

I pause at one of the loading bays, staring out at the gathering dusk. Somewhere across town, Sunny's probably getting ready for her shift at Sirens. I wonder if she'll call tonight.

Wolf's voice drifts down from the office as he makes arrangements. I push thoughts of Sunny aside and focus on the task at hand. We've got a warehouse to secure and an operation to rebuild. Everything else will have to wait.

I walk out of the warehouse, leaving Wolf to handle things. My boots crunch on loose gravel as I head toward my black Dodge Charger.

Something white catches my eye, fluttering under my windshield wiper. My steps slow. Every instinct screams danger. No one should know I'm here except Wolf.

I scan the area, noting the empty parking lot, the tall weeds and thick trees behind the building, and all of the dark corners where someone could hide. Nothing moves except plastic bags and other trash blown by the wind.

The note is plain white printer paper, folded once. No fingerprints visible on the crisp edges. "Actions Have Consequences" printed in basic Times New Roman. Professional. Clean. Threatening.

My hand moves automatically to the gun at my hip as I continue scanning. The message could mean anything, but the timing…

Someone's been watching. Waiting.

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