Garrison

I followed the sharp line of Roxie’s finger, my dark eyes narrowing as the cold, calculating focus of the corporate wolf took over, pushing aside the lingering ache in my shoulder.

Deep within the cavernous shipping lanes, a hundred yards beyond the rusted iron cages, a temporary operations hub had been set up beneath the harsh glare of a construction halogen. The industrial space was a ghost town of high-voltage cables and stacked pallets, but the center of the bay was anything but empty.

A heavy oak chair had been bolted directly to the concrete floor. Tied to its timber frame, her head bowed and her fragile shoulders wrapped...