Chapter 7 - Copper and Bone
Mark’s thumb slid past John’s teeth. The iron taste was thick, heavy, coating his skin. His hand shook so badly he almost dropped the tiny silver key when his fingernail finally scraped it off the roof of his brother's mouth.
It was a small safety deposit key, stamped with the number 408.
Outside, a footstep heavy with tactical boots crushed a dry twig right beneath the window.
Mark didn't wipe his hands. He grabbed the key, dropped to his knees, and crawled behind the bed just as the lock on Room 114 snapped.
The door flew open, slamming hard into the drywall.
Two men stepped in. No uniforms. Dark rain jackets, silent soles, silenced pistols carried low and tight against their vests.
The first man walked straight to John’s chair and pressed two fingers against his neck.
"Still under," he muttered.
Mark’s stomach turned.
Under.
Not dead.
John had fooled him.
The second man glanced toward the door.
"Then move fast. The girl said the kid took the phone, but the old man had the metal."
Mark bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
His hand went to his own holster.
Five feet of space.
A narrow sightline.
Zero cover if they turned.
The first man searched John’s jacket.
"Nothing in his pockets. Wait—"
Mark didn't let him finish. He fired straight through the mattress, two fast rounds into the first man’s kneecap.
May you like
The room erupted.
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