Ace didn't answer immediately. He let the silence stretch for a beat, his eyes flicking from Marcus to the sedan and back. "Why are you here?" he asked. He kept his voice calm and steady to break through the tension. "The meeting was scheduled for Dockside Warehouse 7B at 10 AM." He gestured slightly towards the glowing red numbers of the motel room clock, barely visible from the doorway. "It's barely 8:50."
Marcus's scarred cheek twitched as a slow, predatory smile spread across his face, revealing his yellowed teeth. "We make the rules here, kid," he rumbled, taking a half-step closer. His voice dropped, thick with menace, as he added, "Ramos decides where and when. You don't get a schedule; you get an order." Casually letting his hand drift towards the bulge under his jacket, he demanded, "Now, where's the box?"
