The motel room they were in stank of damp wood and cigarette smoke. The flickering bulb above the mirror gave the walls a sickly yellow tint, and the hum of the old refrigerator filled the silence that neither Terry nor Victor had tried to break for almost an hour.
Victor sat by the window, staring through the half-closed blinds, one of hishands tapping against his knee. He hadn't spoken since they arrived. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, the kind of silence that made Terry's skin crawl.
Lana was in the next room. Terry could still hear the muffled scrape of the chair against the floor where she was tied. She hadn't said a word since he'd told her to keep quiet if she wanted to stay alive. He'd meant it as a warning, not a threat, but she probably didn't see the difference.
He dragged a hand through his hair and glanced at Victor again. "You should get some rest," he muttered, his voice low.
