Chapter 9Thorn itched to draw his gun as he stepped over the threshold. What if Kannan was in there, waiting to blow Sid’s brains out over the scarred wooden floor. He turned around the corner of the hall and into what he supposed was the living room. The floorboards creaked under his weight, the muted yellow walls were barren—no shelves or paintings, no TV either from the looks of it. In the middle of the room, a ratty two-seat sofa stood with a coffee table that looked ready to fold any second in front of it.
With a glance around, Thorn continued into the kitchen. Small was a too generous word for it—tiny, cramped, claustrophobic. It had a sink, a wood-burning iron stove, and next to it one electric hotplate. The refrigerator was one of those half-sized ones you didn’t think existed any
