Chapter 19 TRIGGER: GUN
Aaron’s hand flew to his back, gripping the man who had just sneaked up behind him. With a swift motion, he dragged the assassin forward and slammed him into the floor. The man’s body hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Aaron fired, the gunshot echoing through the room. The assassin rolled to the left, disappearing behind the couch.
Aaron moved forward—slow, deliberate, silent. It wasn’t his first being assassinated, but this one felt different. Usually, he wore a mask, but tonight, he was bare-faced, furious, especially his house address was leaked.
Another shot rang out. Aaron raised his arm, blocking it with the metallic plate strapped beneath his sleeve. Sparks flew.
He scoffed. Amateur.
Aaron tracked the shooter’s angle by instinct. He lifted his gun, aimed through the couch, and fired five clean shots. The sound of bullets slicing through fabric was followed by a deep thud, the assassin’s body collapsing. Blood began to seep across the tiled floor.
But before Aaron could lower his weapon, another figure lunged from behind, a kick slammed into his ribs. He staggered but landed perfectly on his feet, like a wolf shaking off a strike.
The second assassin charged, dagger flashing in the dim light. He threw it at Aaron’s face, but Aaron ducked, his reflexes sharper than instinct. In one motion, he countered with a powerful kick to the man’s abdomen, sending him flying into the couch.
Aaron didn’t wait. He advanced, delivering another blow toward the man’s head. The assassin dodged, sliding low to the ground before springing up again, panting. His dagger had slipped away, clattering across the tiles. Now he stood empty-handed, his eyes darting to Aaron’s gun.
Aaron noticed. He smirked, and in a move that shocked the assassin, he dropped his gun to the floor.
“Come,” Aaron said coldly, curling his fingers in a taunting gesture. “No weapons. Just me and you.”
The assassin hesitated for half a second, then lunged. His fists flew, sharp and fast, but Aaron was faster. He slipped past each strike and landed a brutal punch across the assassin’s jaw. The sound cracked like thunder.
The man stumbled back, vision spinning. Before he could recover, Aaron’s elbow smashed into his face again, his blood spattered into the air, painting the room like an art piece of chaos. The assassin’s knees buckled, his ears ringing.
Aaron grabbed him by the neck, twisted sharply—crack.
Silence.
The man dropped lifelessly to the ground. Aaron exhaled, wiping his hands clean on a silk handkerchief.
He walked toward the first assassin, who was still gasping, choking on his own blood. Aaron crouched down, gripping his collar and ripping the black mask off.
The man glared up, hatred burning even through the blood pooling in his mouth.
“Even at death, you dare glare at me?” Aaron muttered. His voice was low, dark, deadly calm.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
The assassin smirked, blood staining his teeth. “You think you win… just because you’re faster?”
Aaron’s eyes darkened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipping it around to show a photo.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
The assassin’s eyes widened. The photo of a little girl, smiling—reflected in his pupils. He reached out in panic, but Aaron pulled the phone back.
“Bye.”
“Wait....wait—”
Bang.
The gunfire echoed through the suite. Aaron stood slowly, sliding his gun back into its holster. He hated giving second chances.
He lowered the man's collar to sight a dragon tattoo, his lashes fluttered...he knew who sent them!
Meanwhile – Bedroom
Diva slammed a knee into the chest of one assassin, flipping him over her shoulder. He hit the glass table, shattering it into a thousand shards. She spun around, twin daggers gleaming in her hands.
Across the room, Flame was reloading her pistol, her fiery hair whipping as she ducked behind the couch.
“Two down, one to go,” Flame muttered, her voice low but sharp.
“Three,” Diva corrected, eyes narrowing. “Behind you.”
Flame twisted just in time as another assassin came charging towards her! The bullet tore through his knee. He screamed, collapsing.
Diva didn’t hesitate. She sprinted across the room, vaulting over the couch, and drove her dagger straight into the man’s chest. His scream died in a choking gasp.
But the other two weren’t done. They regrouped, circling like wolves.
Flame wiped blood off her cheek with the back of her glove. “You take left,” she said.
Diva smirked. “Always do.”
They moved together, flawless rhythm, years of training. One assassin swung a chain knife at Diva. She ducked, grabbed the chain, and yanked hard, pulling him off balance. With one spin, she twisted behind him and slit his throat clean.
Flame, meanwhile, faced a heavier-built opponent. He swung a machete, each strike heavy enough to split bone. She dodged each one narrowly, firing two rounds—one grazed his arm, the other missed intentionally. She was baiting him, letting him think he had the upper hand.
When he roared and rushed forward, she kicked the weapon from his grip, twisted behind him, and fired point-blank into his back.
He collapsed instantly.
The room fell into eerie quiet. The smell of gunpowder mixed with blood hung in the air.
Diva flipped her dagger, wiping it clean with a torn silk curtain. Flame slid another clip into her pistol and scanned the room again, alert.
Then, a faint click echoed behind them, another assassin, hidden near the bed.
Flame spun, firing instantly. The bullet hit the gunman’s shoulder, spinning him around. Diva lunged from the side, dagger flashing, cutting deep across his neck before he could recover.
Blood sprayed against the wall.
They both froze for a second, breathing heavily.
“You okay?” Diva asked, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
Flame nodded, holstering her gun. “You?”
Diva grinned faintly, her lip bleeding. “Never better.”
They turned toward the doorway where faint gunfire echoed from the hall.
Aaron.
Flame’s gaze hardened. "How didn't we notice them following us!..."
Diva grabbed a second gun from a fallen assassin and loaded it. "We shouldn't dwell on that now! Let's go meet boss!"
The two women walked out, heels clicking over the blood-soaked floor, their eyes met briefly—cold, fierce, ready as they sighted three other assassins waiting for them at the stairs.
"Ready?"
"Common, I was born ready!"
(Gun shot)