THE MAFIA'S PRICE
Done.
“Scalp next,” he said. “Loosen your hair.”
I pulled the bun down. He parted my hair at the crown, swabbed a small patch, and pressed again. Another sting. Then he helped me twist the bun back into place, hiding the tiny bump under layers of hair.
“Both are active,” he said. “GPS and audio. If they don’t have a jammer running, we’ll hear everything. If they do, we still have a location. Either way, we’ll find you guys.”
Bab Populer