Bloodline of Sin
"You missed?" Seok-jin’s voice was a soft, dangerous rasp. He stood in the warehouse, which smelled of ozone, stagnant humidity, and the metallic tang of a fear he found intoxicating.
A single fluorescent bulb hummed overhead, its light flickering in a rhythmic, dying stutter. It cast the room in strobing flashes, making the two men kneeling on the oil-stained concrete look like jittery ghosts. They were career thugs, men whose knuckles were permanently swollen and whose eyes were vacant pits of practiced cruelty.
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