Meanwhile, from behind the door at the end of the corridor, muffled by the walls but still audible, a man's voice, raised and vicious. And underneath it, barely distinguishable, the sound of a woman's resistance.
The hotel's security staff caught sight of Stan and immediately opened a path. Damien's guards turned toward the new arrival.
The new ones, the ones who hadn't been at Neon Pulse, who didn't carry the specific muscle memory of what had happened there, started to move into defensive positions with the confident expectation of men who believed their numbers gave them an advantage.
They were wrong.
Stan moved through them the way the first wave moves through a gap in a seawall, not around, not over, through. Each engagement was efficient and final.
