Chapter 93 The Rat's Game

• The penthouse dungeon stank like old death and regret, the kind that seeps into concrete and never leaves. Mason took each step down with deliberate purpose, his footsteps echoing off walls that had heard too many last breaths. His shoulder holster felt heavy tonight, loaded with more than just steel.
• Eve's heels tapped a death march behind him. She kept her piece close, fingers never far from the grip of her chrome-plated Glock. Tonight had that feel – the kind that ended with fresh stains on the floor.
• Sergei filled the bottom landing like a wall of Russian granite. His custom suit strained against muscles built in Siberian winters. "He's downstairs, waiting." A meaty hand gestured toward the cell. "Been talking lots. Most of it about you, boss."