He looks down at Steve, then down the hallway toward an open window.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say as I step over Steve and walk toward Ken, the four massive men I brought walking in behind me. “I’d have a seat.” I pull out a chair from the rickety kitchen table and motion for him to sit down. He hesitates, then slowly walks over, taking a seat as Steve moans on the floor in agony.

“I didn’t do—”

“I’ll do the talking,” I say, interrupting him. “You know that I know who you are. Looks like things changed pretty drastically for you,” I say, looking...