It seems like my life has been on a never ending loop for the last few years. Everyday is exactly the same. I lived in a small apartment by myself in the same small town I grew up in. I wake up and eat the same breakfast of eggs and toast. I'd make the hour long commute from the quiet town of New Hope to the bustling city of Portland where I worked for my step uncle, Mike, much to my dad's dismay.

My dad remarried when I was eight. It all happened so fast, one moment it was just dad and I against the world and then wham! Isabella and her nine year-old son were in our lives. They moved in within weeks of them first meeting and were married before they hit the one year mark. I couldn't complain. Though Isabell and I hated each other, despite my dad's best efforts, my new step brother Alex and I became the best of friends.

Isabella had a brother, Mike, who became my step uncle. He was a strange cat. Always smiling, was both charismatic and shy at the same time and was always giving me gifts saying he wanted to make a good impression and solidify himself as the 'cool uncle'.

My dad was the owner of a shipping company, Ocean State Shipping. It wasn't anything special, mainly dealing with shipping and receiving up and down the East Coast. It wasn't until he made a deal with Uncle Mike that the business really took off. Mike owned a high end car dealership so he employed my dad to handle the shipment of cars from Europe.

No matter how much money my dad made with the deal with Mike, he still hated him. It's not that I liked him, but when I moved out he offered me a job as a receptionist at the dealership and I wasn't about to say no. I had planed to only work there until I managed to figure out where I wanted to go to college and what for. But, four years later and here I am.

Aside from missing my first and second alarm and getting out of my apartment later than usual, my day was off to the same start. I'm the first one here. I already have the computers booting up at everyone's desks, the iPads have been taken from the charging terminal and are sitting on their respective desks. The coffee machine is gurgling out the last drops of coffee and I'm sitting behind the front desk with my first cup of coffee for the day.

The dark storm clouds that hung in the sky, threatening to break open for most of my drive into the city had finally opened up. Within seconds the light drizzle turned into a downpour. I sipped my coffee in silence, watching the rain pelting against the glass doors in front of me. A gentle rumble of thunder added to the ambiance of this cold, gloomy October morning. I loved fall thunderstorms, no matter how basic that made me.

I'm sure the salesmen will be elated. No one comes here on rainy days which means the guys will be pacing the showroom floor complaining about how this is going to hit their projected commission checks for the month. I'd much rather listen to them quote Leonardo DiCaprio's speeches from Wolf of Wall Street, which they do every morning and in between sales, than them complaining about their paychecks.

When my computer is finally on, I pull up the internet browser and scroll through the headlines on the news page. Per usual, it was all the familiar headlines of homicides, rape, drug related crimes, all illustrating how corrupt and dangerous Portland is. It was named one of the most dangerous cities on the East coast and for valid reasons.

This city had a horrible drug problem. If you drove almost anywhere in the lower end of the city by the seafront you would see the streets crowded with hovels that the homeless built. Most of them were all hunched over and hobbling around like zombies from an illegal substance that's starting to run rampant here in Portland. The news is calling it "Z" and say it's turning people into walking corpses.

On top of all of this, the city was in a choke hold from the three mafia families who ruled it. It was no secret, they made their business known every chance they got. This place seemed like it could be the real-life Gotham City... minus the super villains and vigilantes.

One of the headlines caught my eye. Thirteen dead in massive shooting at shipping port.

Clicking on the article I skimmed it while eating the granola bar I'd grabbed when rushing out of my door this morning. Thirteen men, some linked to the Russian crime family, were found dead at the shipping yard early this morning. Police are reviewing the CCTV footage of the yard to see if they can get an image of the men who perpetrated the killing but so far the police have next to nothing.

Great, I thought to myself sarcastically.

Before I backed out of the page, the image posted with the article caught my eye. In the background, behind all of the bodybags, yellow evidence markers and crime scene tape was one of the shipping containers with my dad's name and logo painted on it.

The side of the metal container was riddled with bullet holes making the logo almost unrecognizable and the padlock on the door looked like it was snapped open. Maybe someone was trying to steal the cars?

"Scarlett, good morning!" My Uncle's voice calls from somewhere behind me making me jump in my seat, my coffee nearly spilling all over me.

Turning to see Uncle Mike walking in through the back doors of the building, coffee and keys in one hand and his beat up briefcase slung over his shoulder.

"Mm," is all I can manage while I grab for some tissues to clean up the liquid that spilled on my desk.

"Always the first one here." He says in a sing-song tone, walking over to my desk and putting his drink and keys down on the raised ledge in front of me. "You don't have to be here this early all the time, 'ya know."

Throwing the damp tissues in the trashcan at my feet, I look up and give him a smile. "Yea, I know. But I'm pretty sure the guys would burn the place down if they tried to make coffee."

I was only half joking. I really don't know how some of the salesmen manage to get through life.

Mike forced a laugh that fills the open space, echoing off of the showroom walls. He takes a sip from his thermos, clearing his throat. His demeanor changing to a more nervous one.

"While I have you here," he starts, hands fiddling with his tie. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming in tomorrow to help out with the inventory count." He pauses for a moment, pushing his large glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his finger. "If you didn't have plans already, I know tomorrow is your first day of vacation." Mike adds.

I try to stifle my sigh. He knows I don't have any plans. It's really no secret amongst the employees that I have zero social life. I scrambled for an excuse, opening my mouth in hopes I would say something, anything, but I kept coming up blank.

"I thought the inventory counts were scheduled for next month?" I questioned.

Now it was Mike's turn to grasp for something to say. "Yea... well. You know, the holidays are coming up and it's hard with everyone's schedules and traveling. I figured we could get it done early? I'll credit you back one of your vacation days!"

Trying to keep my tone even I tell him it's no problem, I'll be in in the morning. I really didn't want to have to come in but at least tomorrow is Sunday so I won't be bothered by the sales staff constantly asking me to do menial things because they're too lazy.

"Great!" Mike answers, slapping his open palm against the granite counter top enthusiastically. "Alex said he would be in tomorrow to help out as well."

I didn't know how to take that. I loved my step brother as if he was my real brother. Honestly he was the only good part about my dad marrying his psychotic, alcoholic mother but Alex also had a tendency to show up to work late. If at all.

Mike starts walking away towards the hallway that leads to his office before I have the chance to reply.

We had only been open for a few moments before two men walked through the front doors. They said they were detectives and that they had some questions for Mike regarding the shooting down at the shipping yard last night. Apparently someone had broken into our shipping containers and the detectives wanted information on them; where they were coming from, the items inside and where they were going.

Mike charged me in pulling up the information on the shipment and as I was printing out all of the papers to take them to him I saw Alex slink into the building from the corner of my eye.

"Look at you, you're only twenty minutes late today. A new record." I quipped, placing the papers into a manilla file, still not looking at him.

"What are the police doing here?" Alex's tone took me off guard. He sounded nervous and on edge.

The unmistakable smell of gasoline and smoke filled my nose. Looking up at him I felt instantly perturbed, my brows furrowing as I took in his image. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday except now they were filthy and in tatters. His normal shaggy hair was a greasy mess, matted and crusted together in some places. The part that had me most concerned was the nasty cuts he was sporting on his cheek.

"Alex, what the hell happened to you?" I questioned.

Alex waved his hand in a silent command for me to keep my voice down. I rounded my desk and saw his dickie work pants were torn at the knees, revealing a still wearing wound on his knee and thigh.

"Do you need to go to the hospital? Were you on your motorcycle? Is this from an accident?" My questions were coming out rapid fire. With every scenario I created the more panicked I was becoming.

"Scars, shhh! Please!" He snapped. "I'm just asking, are the police still here? There is a cruiser out front."

I nodded my head, tucking a strand of blond hair behind my ear. "Yea, they're in talking with Mike. They wanted some information on our shipping containers. Why are you so concerned, what's going on? You can talk to me, you know."

"It's nothing. I uh, saw them out front and I thought something bad happened. Like a break in." Alex tried to run his fingers through his dark waves but they got stuck from how disheveled his hair was.

"You look really uncomfortable, are you okay?" I hated how he was avoiding my questions. It was making me feel even more on edge.

"I'm fine. Some idiot ran a red light. I was on my bike and I spilled it, road cut me up pretty bad, that's all." He gave me a tight lipped smile in hopes that it would make his story more believable but he had to see by the look on my face that I'm not buying his story.

Thrumming his fingers on the marble counter top of my desk, he rose up to bounce on the balls of his feet, something he does when he's nervous. His head snapped to look down the side hall of the building, the hall that Mike's office is at the end of, when we heard a door opening.

"Catch 'ya later, Scars. Got a lot of cars to work on today." Alex quickly turned on his heal and headed in the opposite direction, towards the automotive shop. He worked here since he was sixteen as a mechanic and though his ability to show up to work was lacking, he does have quite the good rapport with our customers. A lot of them come back and will only have Alex work on their vehicles.

Another rumble of thunder sounded from outside, the raining coming down even harder now. Wait, why the hell would he have taken his motorcycle into work today? It's not like this storm came out of no where, it's been raining for a while now. And if he fell in the street, wouldn't he have been soaked?

Before I could pick apart his story, Mike called my name. He and the two detectives were walking towards me. They stayed a few paces behind my step uncle, who was all smiles. Both detectives had sour looks on their faces while they looked around the showroom.

"You have the information printed that these gentlemen requested?" Mike asked.

"Yea," I answered, handing over the manilla folder to the detective who had his hand outstretched. He smiled in return and nodded his head in a silent thank you.

Mike opened his mouth to speak but the ringing of his cell phone cut him off. He quickly produced it from his pocket and read the name that was lighting up the screen.

"Excuse me but I have to take this call. It was a pleasure speaking with you. If you need anything else Scarlett will be able to assist you."

The older looking of the two watched my uncle scurry away to his office, calling out that they would be in touch. He then turned to look at me before addressing his partner, "I'll be in the car."

When he was far enough away, I leaned over to the detective standing next to me. "He's a ray of sunshine."

"This is him on a good day." He chuckled.

He was a few inches taler than me, even with my heals on. His light brown hair was messily styled and he had the body of someone who lived in the gym. There was no denying that he was attractive but the fact that he was a detective and investigating into my families business made him intimidating. Not that we had anything to be guilty of, someone broke into our property.

Turning to my tray of business cards on my desk behind me, I grabbed one and a pen from the cup so I could jot down my personal number as well then handed it to him. "Here is my card with my number so you can get a hold of me."

I saw the corner of his mouth tick up into a smirk while he read the words on the card.

"I'm Nick." He introduced himself, holding out his hand for me to shake which I obliged. "Scarlett Murphy? Are you related to Patrick Murphy, the owner of the-"

"Yes." I cut in. "Patrick Murphy is my dad. Mike is my step uncle." I answered, awkwardly pointing in the direction of his office.

"That so?" He hummed, looking over my card again. "Well, thank you for your card, Scarlett. I'll be sure to contact you if we need more information."

Before I could answer, the phone started to ring. I looked to the sales men who were huddled in a circle not too far from us, eaves dropping, no doubt. When they heard the phone ring they all conveniently broke away and tried to look too busy to be bothered to answer it.

"I've gotta take this," I fake smiled and hurried around the desk to grab the phone.

Nick flashed a charming smile and mouthed a goodbye before he turned to leave.

"Thank you for calling Portland BMW, this is Scarlett speaking, how may I help-" An angry male voice cut off my scripted greeting. He had an accent so thick I could barely understand anything he was saying.

"I'm sorry sir, would you mind slowing down. It's difficult to understand you." I spoke over his yelling.

"Mikhail! Speak vith Mikhail!" The man spoke louder and slower, as if that would magically make me understand his broken English.

"Do you mean Mike" I asked.

"Da, da!"

"Please hold," I said out of habit before paging Mike's office line which was answered almost instantly. "You have someone on line one, I'm not sure he has the right number, he was asking for a Mikhail?"

"I've got it. Keep everyone off of line one." Uncle Mike snapped back out of character.

That was strange. I've never heard Uncle Mike snap like that, he's always so jovial. Maybe he's on edge from talking to the detectives?

Despite the unusual morning, the rest of my day went on as normal. I answered the almost constantly ringing phone, filed paperwork, fetched things for the incompetent sales staff. Being that it was a Saturday, we closed up the place at five instead of our normal eight o'clock. Uncle Mike had practically pushed me out of the door, saying that since I had to be in tomorrow I didn't have to stay and worry about closing duties.

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