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Wolf pressed the rifle barrel under his chin. “Then you’re a liability.”
“Okay,” Marcus said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’ll reroute the feed. But I need access to the main terminal. And a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar.”
The lead hostage-taker—a man with a wolf tattoo on his neck—dragged Marcus by the collar to the bank manager’s office. “You’re the tech,” Wolf snarled. “The satellite dish on the roof. You will reroute the feed. The police are trying to see inside.”
He’d chosen the 480p version on purpose. Smaller file. Faster download. He didn’t need to see the sweat on the hostages’ faces in crystal clarity. He just needed the story. The escape.
He was in it.
The siege had just met its spoiler.
He wasn't watching the show.
He was kneeling. Marble floor. Chandeliers. A row of terrified faces in business suits, hands on their heads. And men in balaclavas, toting rifles that looked heavier than his entire future.
