Warehouse of the Apocalypse
On New Year’s Eve, my fiancee, Delilah Carrington, left me to freeze to death in subzero snow.
As my body went numb, she was wrapped in the military coat I had found for her, curled up in Everett Kingsley’s arms while eating the holiday groceries I had paid for.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back before everything fell apart.
So when she called—cold, demanding, rattling off a shopping list like I owed her—I hung up, blocked her number, and made my move.
I sealed off Blackridge Logistics Hub, the largest logistics hub in the country.
Stockpiling supplies?
Pointless.
Because my coworkers and I had more packages than we could ever open: seafood delicacies, premium cigars, top-shelf
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