Freaks

Nothing good happens on rainy nights.

Percy Morrison lives by one mantra, nothing good happens on rainy nights, ever. And yet there he was, outside a poorly kept house surrounded by police tape, swarmed with cops, nosy neighbors, bright red and blue lights, the whole nine yards, all with the rain pouring down on his head. Being a hyper specialist was never the man's plan, hell, being a hyper was never his plan. But people still needed The Guardian, and he needed to feed his kids.

Something felt different about this place however, it didn't feel like a normal murder scene. Something was different.

Nothing good happens on rainy nights.

Or do they?

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TW: This book contains mentions and depictions of physical and mental abuse.