THIS BOOK IS UNDERCONSTRUCTION. AS IT CANNOT BE DELETED, I ADVISE CLICKING OFF AND READING SOMETHING ELSE
The atmosphere shatters from the shrill sound of chains rattling. Ariana tugs at the chain aggressively. Her bonds are shackled to the metal hook in the centre of the heavy-duty steel table, attached to the set of cuffs that have her wrists bound.
"You don't know him like I do," she seethes through gritted teeth. Black blotches of mascara stains her cheeks, streaking down to meet with her jaw.
Ariana Blackwell and Detective Samuels face off in a fraught stare down.
To Ariana, he is just another face. The stainless-steel box of an interrogation room, the bolted down metal chairs and table, everything a cold silver. The white fluorescent light glares down from above. Behind that opaque, one-way mirror is a room brimming with detectives, high-ranked policemen, observing possibly one of the instigators to the crime that shook the town of Braidwood.
