Adam's eyes strayed to the spacious corridor that his companions had led him to. Deeper into the club's interior was a dark mouth.
An open passageway. A weakness. A chilly comprehension took root in his abdomen. That was an additional point of entry. JokerX was not just a small-time gangster.
It was a nest, this club. A stronghold. How many more were there? Ten? Twenty? His calculations were impossible because the number was an unknown variable.
The number of people waiting in the wings was unknown to him. Once more, he had entered a situation without fully comprehending its implications. He was in danger of regaining the frustration he had just slapped out of himself.
He was still processing this tactical failure when the main gate he had entered through burst open.
Three men spilled into the room. They held handguns leveled and ready. Their eyes scanned the room filled with their dead comrades their faces hardening with grim purpose.
