Savage Love
Instead, I moved forward quietly, pulling my suitcase behind me, careful not to let the wheels clatter too loudly.
The closer I got, the clearer the sounds became.
Laughter.
The sharp clink of glass.
The scratch of a lighter.
Smoke hit me before the sight did—thick and heavy, curling into the hallway.
I stopped just before the entrance to the living room.
And then I looked.
Men.
At least sixteen of them.
All dressed in black.
Not suits.
Not corporate attire.
Black jeans. Black shirts. Leather jackets. Heavy boots.
They were scattered around the room like they owned it.