Salt on Her Soft CurvesChapter 4: Cannery Blood & Soft FleshThe old cannery smelled like rust, dead fish, and diesel.Rhys kept Tessa half a step behind him as they crossed the cracked concrete, one hand wrapped around her wrist, the other near the gun at the small of his back. A single bare bulb swung on the second floor, throwing long, broken shadows through the shattered windows. The tide slapped against the pilings underneath the building. Somewhere farther down the docks a boat engine idled low.A man stepped out of the darkness near the loading bay—tall, lean, expensive coat over tactical gear. Two more shadows flanked him. The one in the middle smiled like he already owned the night.“Rhys Callahan,” he called. “Still soft for thick girls, I see.”Marco Vescari. Mid-forties, silver at the temples, the kind of face that had never done its own dirty work. His eyes dragged over Tessa without shame—lingering on the way the dark hoodie stretched across her heavy breasts, the thick
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