The dim, concrete shadows of the Galleria's VIP parking level still hung heavy with the echoing sounds of ragged breathing and shifting footsteps.
Sam Newman stood leaning heavily against a square concrete column, his jaw clenched so tight his molars throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. On the grease-stained floor before him, Bale was sitting up slowly, clutching his cracked ribs with a grimace of pure agony, while Julian groaned, nursing a rapidly swelling jaw and rubbing his bruised wrist.
"Get up," Sam hissed, his voice raspy with raw venom. "Get the hell up!"
"Sam... man, those weren't normal mall security guys," Bale wheezed, a trace of blood flecking his lip as he struggled to his knees. "That big guy... he moved like a professional operator. He broke my wrist lock before I even registered his hand."
