Diego's POV

“Fucking hell,” Santo breathed. “It’s a shithole.”

Not a shithole, exactly, but seedy enough that you wouldn’t expect to find anyone half-decent inside. The walls were made of mottled concrete, giving the hotel the look of an old Cold War prison. The barbed wire coiled on top didn’t do much to dispel the notion.

Santo and I had been sitting outside the walls for hours now, on the back end of our second surveillance shift. Only one noteworthy vehicle had approached the ...