Chapter 33 Safe route
Chapter 33 Safe route
Caught between a sense of regret and anxiety she couldn’t put into words, the girl kept hiding behind Hime’s back while the woman turned to face the man with the ordinary appearance. Too ordinary to be hiding a weapon under his jacket.
“You keep bothering us with those calls. What’s your problem?” Hime asked, without hesitation and getting straight to the point.
“I’m not talking to you, but to the girl behind you. Hand her over to me!”
“Hey, hey, hold on a second. Who are you to demand my date without hesitation?”
“Date? Hah! She’s the girl I’ve been looking for.”
“And who are you to her? I’m sure she doesn’t know anyone with a face as boring as yours.”
Elodie turned around. If anxiety were a color on her face, it would be even darker now.
Hime surely had no idea who she was dealing with right now, and now Elodie wasn’t just worried for herself.
“Hime…” Elodie tugged at Hime’s white shirt sleeve, intending to warn her, but the woman paid no heed to anything—including the intimidation in the bald man’s eyes.
“I’ll deal with you later. Shit… I’m so angry right now, but I have to do my job.”
Elodie struggled, her panicked voice nearly shouting as the man suddenly yanked her. Hime wouldn’t let that slide; she struck the man’s arm—pulling her hand away from Elodie—and shoved him aside.
“I’m not done with her yet, and until then—no one is allowed to interrupt our business.”
The man glared, his hand flying toward Hime’s face, which she immediately blocked. She hit him back even harder; blood streamed from the man’s big nose as soon as her fist landed.
“Shit!” he cursed, stepping back. His head spun slightly, his anger still the same—even worse.
“You’ll regret it when you find out who my boss is, lady.
Hime didn’t sound afraid, even though the mere mention of it had Elodie terrified. The woman just laughed, as if the man’s threat meant nothing.
“I think your boss will regret it if he meets me.”
“Oh, really? What if, before you meet him,” the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, “you meet Jesus first? You’ll know how to value your life better after that, I’m sure.”
If Hime fell silent, staring intently at the object the man was holding, it wasn’t fear—it was restraint. One reckless move would endanger Elodie, regardless of the consequences for the others.
Her hand gently pushed Elodie closer to her body, as if hiding the girl behind her tall frame.
“Ha-ha, where’s your confidence now?,” the dangerous man taunted, pointing his gun—and it seemed it wasn’t Hime who was afraid, but the other visitors who were afraid he’d fire his bullets wildly in any direction.
“Hand the girl over to me,” the man said, his voice lower and more menacing—a final warning before he fired the first bullet.
Elodie peeked out fearfully; now she was fully aware that her life was truly in danger—even going for a walk on a sunny day posed a huge risk.
Who would have thought one of the O’Connells would spot and recognize her in such a bright place?
She saw James walking behind the man, and her eyes fluttered before Hime said,
“Don’t peek. Don’t look at anything.” Elodie hid her face behind Hime’s back again, while James approached slowly so his footsteps were inaudible—drowned out by the taunts coming from the man’s mouth.
“Don’t look at what? You don’t want her to see your death?”
James approached as if he knew exactly what he was doing; though it looked reckless and self-endangering to others. But James understood that a person becomes reckless when victory is right before their eyes, and that man was acting that way because he was the only one holding a weapon.
But he didn’t know that for James, no speed could outrun a bullet—but as long as it was fired. As long as the bullet hadn’t been fired, James always knew how to play dirty and turn the tables. He blew air into the man’s left ear.
As the man turned to his left in panic, James moved quickly to his right and struck his lower jaw upward. The sudden, searing pain caused the man’s grip to slip, and by the time he struggled to regain his senses, James was already standing before him; both hands raised to shoulder height; the gun dangling from his finger like a toy.
“You….” The man growled, and James nodded.
“Yes, it’s me. You must remember me.”
“You traitor! Are you on the Consigliere’s side now?”
James’s smile was a tight line of his lips, so unpleasant to look at.
“I’ve never been tied to anyone, not even my own home. I’m just doing my job now, just like when I worked for O’Connell.”
The man wiped the blood trickling from his mouth; James’s punch must have been enough to keep him from eating fried chicken for two days. But was he even thinking about that? Because it seemed he cared more about finishing James off than eating junk food.
“Count your last breaths, you son of a bitch,” the man threatened.
“I know… I know. My dad was a bitch.”
Meanwhile, the others left as soon as James grabbed his gun, and so did Elodie.
James hadn’t spoken yet when something touched the back of his head—calm but dangerous.
Three people approached; two of them came up to the man to hand him one of their guns.
The man loaded the magazine, primed the mechanism, and even ran his finger over the glossy surface of the black Glock as if sharpening a knife to slaughter a lamb. His eyes never left James, who stood frozen, the threat hovering behind his head.
“Have you lost your voice, kid?” the man asked, approaching James. Now the threat shifted to the front; the man pressed the muzzle against his forehead.
“You guys can go ahead. I’ll catch up after I’ve really taken care of this fucking brat…”