Chapter Three
The ceramic shattered with a satisfying crunch, sending a spray of cheap clay and fake flowers across the room.
The seated man—the one with the expensive voice and the bad attitude—hit the floor like a sack of wet flour.
Motherfucker, he didn't go out cold, though. Life is never that easy. He groaned, clutching his head as I launched myself over his staggering body.
The gunman's eyes went wide, "You—!" he started, but I was already in his space, slamming into him.
I grabbed the barrel of the gun, shoving it toward the ceiling. A shot exploded, the sound deafening in the tiny room.
Great. There goes my security deposit. My landlord is definitely aware I'm around now.
We became a mess of tangled limbs and desperate grunts. He was stronger, but I was motivated by the very real possibility of having a second head-hole.
I drove my knee into his thigh, a short, sharp jab meant to ruin his balance. He hissed, swinging a heavy fist that clipped my jaw.
Stars danced in my peripheral vision, shit. "Stay. Down!" a voice barked from the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the first man—the one with the bleeding scalp—scrambling for his own weapon.
He wasn't lounging anymore. He looked pissed, his face a mask of red and shadows as he leveled his gun at me.
Left or right? My brain calculated while I didn't let go of the gunman I was hugging.
Instead, I yanked him toward me, twisting our bodies in a clumsy, violent waltz, burying my elbow into his throat to keep him from pulling away and shoved my back into his chest, using him as a two-hundred-pound slab of meat.
Pop. Pop.
Two rounds thudded into my human shield. The man I was holding let out a choked, wet sound, his body jerking against mine.
"Dammit, David!" the shooter screamed, his voice cracking with panic.
"Actually, I think his name was 'Shield' now," I grunted, my lungs burning. I didn't wait for him to aim again.
I reached back, grabbed the dead weight of the gunman's weapon—still gripped in his twitching hand—and squeezed the trigger over my own shoulder.
I wasn't aiming for a kill shot; I just needed him to blink.
The bullet shattered my bedside lamp, showering the shooter in glass. He ducked, shielding his face, and that was the only window I needed.
I shoved the bleeding body of "David" toward him, a heavy, limp distraction that sent them both crashing into my dresser.
With him distracted, I closed the distance and slammed the gun against his temple.
Hard.
"Now, who sent you?" I said, breath steady despite the chaos hammering through my veins.
He was pinned awkwardly against my dresser, cheap wood digging into his spine. David's limp body was half-draped over him, dead weight pressing the air from his lungs.
He let out a harsh, panicked breath, fingers scrabbling as he tried to shove David off him.
I pushed the gun deeper into his head.
"Don't you fucking move," I warned quietly. "I swear, I'll pull the trigger before you finish thinking about it."
He froze instantly.
David slid off anyway, hitting the floor with a dull, final thud. The sound echoed in the room, heavier than it should've been.
The man's chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat shining on his forehead. His eyes flicked to the gun, then back to my face.
A shaky laugh slipped out of him. "You… you truly weren't supposed to be underestimated," he muttered.
I leaned in closer, my voice dropping, deadly calm. "Too late. Save the realization for your therapist."
I nudged the barrel again, just enough to make him flinch. "Now say it. Who sent you."
His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard. "We were told you were small," he said hoarsely.
"Yeah," I smiled, sharp and humorless as I replied. "People say a lot of stupid shits right before they get hurt."
Thick Silence stretched between us. Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. "ARIANA!" My fucking landlord.
"I'm fucking calling the police. Who shot in my house!" The floorboards outside creaked.
Shit shit shit.
My landlord was climbing the stairs like a damn execution drum.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I pressed the gun harder into the man's temple, teeth clenched. "You hear that?" I whispered viciously. "That's my landlord. And if he walks into my room and sees a dead body and you bleeding all over my dresser—"
I leaned in until my forehead almost touched his.
"I don't care who sent you anymore," I hissed. "I will blow your head out and deal with the paperwork later."
His breath came out ragged, eyes darting to the door like it might save him.
Another shout echoed up the stairwell. "ARIANA! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"
My pulse slammed hard, not panic—pressure. I didn't have time for games.
"Now," I snapped. "Name. Who. Sent. You."
He swallowed so hard I felt it through the gun. "We— we were hired," he rushed out. "Middlemen. Not direct."
The steps stopped right outside my floor. My grip tightened. "I'm done being patient."
"Marco!" he blurted but it was already too late as I had already pressed the trigger, blowing his head out.
Fuck! I closed my eyes for half a second—just enough to shove the rising chaos back into its box.
My door handles shook with my landlord aggressive manhandling. I scrambled for my bag, the one with the stolen wallets and the life I was supposed to be living.
I didn't look back at the ruin of my apartment. I didn't look at the blood soaking into my laundry.
I hit the window frame, sliding out onto the fire escape with the grace of a falling cat. My heart was hammering a rhythm that felt like it was trying to crack my ribs.
"Die or die?" I whispered, my voice cold as the night air as I hit the pavement of the alley. "I think I'll take option C, Marco."