Vincent snapped out of his spiraling confusion the hitman whispers, Marcus's dark secrets as James abruptly yanked the wheel, pulling the sleek black sedan into a winding driveway lined with ancient oaks.
His eyes widened, jaw dropping. A mansion? Towering white columns flanked the entrance like Greek sentinels, floor-to-ceiling windows glowed warmly against the rainy night, manicured lawns stretched endlessly under strategically placed security lights.
Marcus had casually mentioned James worked in a clothing store this was billionaire territory, not retail strip mall. But Marcus's blood seeping through the makeshift bandage snapped Vincent back to reality. No time for questions.
"Help me get him out," James barked, already leaping from the driver's seat. Vincent scrambled from the backseat, supporting Marcus's left side while James took the right.
