I step around them and race up the stairs, keeping my back to the wall as I survey the second floor. I see a guy to my left, and I duck just in time to miss his shot. I shoot him once in the side, then once in the neck, flinging my knife into the chest of the guy sneaking up on me. I say “sneaking” loosely; his shoes were squeaking like rusty hinges.
Mr. Stealthy is still alive, gasping for each breath and desperately trying to take the knife out, but he’s too weak. I shoot him between the eyes, making his body go limp against the hardwood, then I yank the knife out. I don’t bother cleaning it this time; instead, I throw it at the next man that rounds the corner, but he has enough awareness to duck. Sadly, he isn’t quick enough to pull out his gun, and with one shot to the head, he falls down like a rag doll.
You fooled me with your kisses
You cheated and you schemed
Heaven knows how you lied to me
You’re not the way you seemed
That was my last bullet, so I place my gun back into the holster under my suit jacket and dislodge my knife out of the wall. I fish my spare gun out of my leg holster, loading in a new mag just in time for another goon to appear.
We underestimated how many people are working for Samuels.
“Please, please don’t shoot!” he begs, dropping his gun to the floor with a loud clang. “I swear I’ll do—”
His pleas are silenced by a bullet, but not mine. A big, burly man approaches us, disgust written on his face as he peers down at his victim. “Pathetic.”
“He was smart enough to know he couldn’t win. I would venture to guess your intelligence is lacking,” I say calmly.
The burly man growls, rushing at me like a linebacker. He knocks my gun away before I can shoot him, and with his size and the momentum he created, the two of us crash backwards into the kitchen, breaking the door on our way in. Splinters of wood fly around as we tumble to the ground, making us both groan. This guy has to be at least three hundred pounds of pure muscle and he’s currently on top of me, which is less than ideal. As I expected from a man with his size and strength, his hands grab on to my throat, squeezing down as hard as he can. I have to fight the urge to thrash, knowing I can’t win against him with strength alone.
Thankfully, when he knocked into me, he didn’t make me drop my knife. I plunge it into his side, forcing a scream out of him. I then bring my knee up into his stomach and punch him, making him fall to the ground beside me.
I scramble to my feet, finding the brute staring at me with my knife in his hand, his frame heaving sighs like a bull about to attack. I reach behind me and grab on to the first thing I touch—a saucepan—and swing at him like a baseball player. He swerves out of the way, swiping at me with the knife, but I hit the pan against his hand, making him lose his grip on the knife. Without wasting a second, I slap the pan across his face once, twice, then I kick him in the stomach hard. He slips on his own blood, which has been gushing from him since he pulled the knife out, and falls face-first onto the kitchen floor.
I pick up my knife off the floor and plunge it hard into the back of his neck. There are a few gurgles, then the man falls still, his blood slowly spreading along the white tiles.
You look like an angel
Walk like an angel
Talk like an angel
But I got wise
You’re the devil in disguise
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise
After retrieving my gun from the hallway, I run up to the third floor, knowing exactly who I’ll find hiding up there like a coward. There’re two bedrooms; one is empty and the other has Ethan Samuels, infamous arms dealer, hiding in the corner with his knees to his chest. Just like a child.
“Whoever hired you, I’ll pay you double,” Samuels says with a shaking voice.
I stalk towards him, keeping my gun on him the entire journey across the room. “I’m not doing this for the money.”
“Money is all anyone does anything for,” he argues.
“Maybe that’s true for scum like you, but I do this for the pleasure of eradicating monsters like you that sell automatic weapons to Nazis and predators.”
Samuels lets out a laugh he tries to stifle, but he can’t seem to help himself. “You just killed an entire house of people and you call me a monster?”
I smile down at him, lifting my arm so my gun is pointing at his forehead. “I never said I wasn’t one.”
“Please,” he begs, tears rolling down his face. “I’ll do anything.”
“Pray God has mercy on your pathetic soul,” I reply.