Fifty-sevenCyrus was standing no more than six feet away, his mouth opening and closing, shaping words, but they were drowned out by the intense buzzing in Hector’s head.
He put his hands to his ears and tipped his head from side to side as if he had water in his ears. The noise faded to a dull hiss, through which his friend’s voice echoed.
Bully has a lot to answer for . . . Leading a man to believe his children are dead when they’re alive and kicking.
He glanced down the hallway. Cyrus was still there, gun at the ready, a sardonic grin on his lips, as if waiting for him to speak.
“Sorry, Cyrus, what did you say?”
He wobbled to his feet, his legs unsteady, the space between his ears reverberating with distorted sound.
“I said, why didn’t you say you wanted to join the party? The mor
