The silence in the room was no longer just a lack of sound. It was a physical weight, pressing the oxygen out of the students’ lungs.
Shark, the man who had just crushed a walnut to dust and shattered Peter Cole’s jaw, remained on his knees. His head was bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the grit-stained carpet.
The thugs stood paralyzed. Their hands, previously balled into fists or reaching for weapons, hovered in mid-air.
Vera’s face twisted. The confusion in her eyes flared into a sharp, ugly indignation. She looked from her kneeling partner to the man on the couch, her chest heaving.
“Shark?” her voice shrilled, cutting through the stillness like a jagged blade. “What the hell are you doing? Get up! Look at this bastard—he just broke one of our men!”
She took a step toward
