"Fuck," I whisper when a firm knocking comes from the front door.
Beside me, my mother tenses, her breath catching as my dad stands to walk to the door. He quietly, but in a very stiff manner, turns the doorknob and opens the door, revealing a large man in formal clothing.
"Y-Yes?" my father asks, already knowing why the man is at our house at 2:01 in the morning, exactly on the dot.
"I'm here for Riley Jones."
