The revolving door suddenly stops moving with an audible click. A half-dozen heavily armed men rush up to the entrance and stare down my would-be assassins. My heart breaks for the people bleeding on the sidewalk, but I can’t help them so I hold it inside.
“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t shove you out that door and let those men fill you full of holes.” The words are accompanied by the press of cold steel against the back of my head. “Don’t make me start counting.” The voice is deep, but crisp, like the speaker had studied diction in college.