Marcus took another step, his eyes locked on the loose wooden board.

“Answer me,” he growled.

A sudden, deafening crash shattered the glass of the kitchen window behind me.

Shards of glass rained down onto the linoleum, glinting in the dim light.

Through the broken frame, a heavy iron wrench slammed onto the floorboards, rolling to a stop near Marcus’s boots.

Outside, the horn of a truck began to blare continuously, a shrill, piercing wail that echoed through the dark trees.

Marcus spun around, his face turning pale with rage.

“What the hell is that?” he shouted, lowering the poker.

The shadow in the trees was gone, but the headlights of Marcus’s own truck suddenly flickered on, cutting through the heavy rain.

Thick gray smoke began to pour from under the hood of his vehicle, illuminated by the bright beams.

“Go check it!” Marcus yelled toward the front door, where one of his men was stationed.

In that single second of confusion, I did not think.

I reached behind the stove, my fingers scraping against the rough wood as I grabbed the thick leather ledger.