The metallic click of the SUV's door unlocking echoed like a gunshot in the sudden, crushing silence of Room 7. Ace's finger remained frozen, holding the cheap curtain open the width of a fingernail. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribs, so loudly he worried the people outside might hear it. Beside him, Evelyn stood motionless against the wall, blending into the shadows like a statue only the quick rise and fall of her chest showed how scared she was. On the floor near the bed, Silva had stopped whimpering. Instead, the only sound was his ragged, uneven breathing, as if he was trying desperately not to vomit.
The bright headlights of the SUV shone harshly, making it hard to see. Then, a tall, broad shouldered figure stepped fully onto the road. Even in the dark, Ace knew who it was—Marcus, Ramos's enforcer. This was the man who had attacked Finley's scrapyard. Behind him, two more large men got out of the SUV and followed him like guard dogs ready to strike.
