Gang members.
Navigating the narrow streets of Madrid, Riley kept his head low, eyes scanning for a place to settle in.
The city might have been spared the horrors of Belfast, but that didn't mean he was free of the ghosts that followed him.
He passed through the winding alleys until he found what he was looking for: a modest hotel tucked between two larger, more extravagant establishments.
The sign above the door read "La Posada del Rey". It looked clean—respectable, even. Not too luxurious, but just enough to be comfortable.
As he stepped inside, the warmth of the place greeted him. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat and fresh bread, a welcome contrast to the cold outside.
The innkeeper was a stout woman with a no-nonsense demeanor. "Rooms are two pounds for the week," she said without much ceremony. "Meals included."
Riley didn't argue. He tossed two pounds on the counter and gave her a thin smile. "Looks like I'll be staying a while."