“Hello,” I answered my phone groggily, still half asleep.
“Ryder, I need your help,” he said, and I sat up straight in bed.
“What’s wrong, Wentworth?” I asked him.
“How soon can you be in Chicago?” he asked me and I looked at my watch.
“I can be there by eight thirty,” I said to him.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said and ended the call.
It was just past six am and I got up and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. I got dressed casually, but I strapped my weapons on with the hidden knives beneath a long sleeve t-shirt and I took my gun as well.
The house was quiet as I left through the front door twenty minutes later and stepped on the gas as soon as I reached the highway heading towards Chicago and that warehouse that had me both thrilled and gave me nightmares.
I bought coffee a
