He moved closer, his footsteps echoing faintly against the surrounding silence. He recognised them after all. He had to help them.
Crouching down, Jason examined the bodies. Their chests rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. Alive but barely. His gaze sharpened, taking in the brutal injuries. Bruises and gashes marred their skin, some cuts still oozing blood.
Whoever had done this had been thorough, leaving a grim message. Jason felt the weight of understanding settle over him. Marcus, Marek and Mousa had crossed the wrong people.
And now, it seemed, so had he.
Jason felt annoyed. Damn it. He could come up with ten reasons and possibilities on what happened, but the most important of them were maybe someone was looking for them because of the money thay had gotten, or maybe someone was looking for him.
