Chapter 4
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If you've never heard a man being tortured to death, let me tell you this – you will never have a good night's sleep again after you hear that sound. Bobby Bullet was not a good man by anyone's definition. In fact, he was basically the lowest known form of human life. But the shrieking I heard through that motel window was not the voice of Bobby Bullet the terrorist bank robber or Bobby Bullet the snitch. It was the sound of an animal in mortal terror and inconceivable pain. Some nameless thing desperate for help of any kind.
I took a glance back at Duffy and shouted “I'm going in!” then kicked the door below the lock, counting on the poor condition of the hinges to send it flying open if not knocking it right off the wall. Instead the damn thing broke halfway off and
