Chapter 82 *
Third Person POV
Damon took another step forward. His crossbow stayed trained on Jaff's head.
"Answer the question." His voice was flat. Dead. "Do you think I give a fuck about consequences?"
Jaff's hand trembled on the detonator. His finger hovered over the button.
One press. That's all it would take.
But something in Damon's eyes made him hesitate. This man didn't care. About the hostages. About the bomb. About dying.
He didn't care about anything.
"You're insane," Jaff whispered.
Damon lowered his crossbow slightly. Reached for something on his tactical belt. His hand came back up holding a fresh magazine of bolts.
Started reloading. Slow. Deliberate.
Jaff watched in disbelief.
This motherfucker was reloading. Right in front of him. With a dirty bomb about to detonate.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jaff's voice cracked.
Damon didn't answer. Just kept loading bolts. One by one. Click. Click. Click.
Jaff's eyes darted around. Looking for an opening. An escape route.
Nothing.
The smaller figure had circled around behind him. Cutting off his retreat.
He was trapped.
"You know what I think?" Damon finished reloading. Raised the crossbow again. "I think you're bluffing."
"I'm not bluffing!"
"I think you want to live." Damon's head tilted slightly. "Otherwise you'd have pressed that button already."
Jaff's hand shook harder. His finger slipped slightly on the detonator.
"Don't fucking test me."
"I'm not testing you." Damon took another step. "I'm calling your bluff."
That's when Jaff saw it.
The opening he needed.
Damon had moved too close. His crossbow was raised but his body was exposed.
One clean shot. That's all Jaff needed.
His left hand moved. Fast. Going for the backup pistol in his ankle holster.
Got it.
Brought it up.
Aimed at Damon's head.
His finger started squeezing the trigger.
Then something whistled through the air.
A bolt.
Coming from his left side.
He turned his head just in time to see it.
The smaller figure. The one who'd been circling. Had fired.
The bolt was aimed directly at his skull.
Jaff jerked sideways. Grabbed the nearest hostage. A middle-aged woman in scrubs.
Pulled her in front of him.
The bolt hit her instead.
She screamed. Collapsed.
Jaff felt his stomach drop.
That bolt had been meant for him. Would have killed him instantly.
But who the fuck fires a crossbow when there's a risk of hitting a hostage?
"What the fuck?" Jaff's voice came out higher than he wanted. "You just shot a hostage!"
The figure didn't respond.
But Damon did.
"Your point?"
Jaff felt his blood run cold.
These people. These absolute psychopaths.
They didn't care about the hostages. Didn't care about civilian casualties.
They were here for one thing.
Him.
Scarlett watched the hostage fall. Watched the blood spread across the white tile floor.
Her chest felt tight. Wrong.
Her hand tightened on the crossbow. She forced the emotion down. Pushed it deep.
Mission first. Feelings later.
That's what her training said.
She raised the crossbow again. Loaded another bolt.
Jaff saw the smaller figure reload. Watched those hands move with mechanical precision.
No reaction to the dead hostage. No guilt. No remorse.
Just cold efficiency.
He'd underestimated them. Both of them.
These weren't government agents. Weren't cops playing by rules.
These were contractors. Professional killers. The kind who got paid to make problems disappear.
"Who hired you?" Jaff's voice shook. "How much are they paying? I can double it. Triple it."
Damon's crossbow didn't waver. "Not interested."
"Everyone has a price."
"Mine's higher than you can afford."
"Try me." Jaff was desperate now. Scrambling. "Name it. Anything."
Damon took another step forward. "You don't get to negotiate. You don't get to bargain. You don't get to walk away."
"You made one mistake tonight." Damon's voice dropped lower. Quieter. More dangerous. "Just one."
"What mistake?"
"You took my wife hostage."
The words hung in the air.
Jaff's brain short-circuited.
His wife?
This whole operation. This entire nightmare. Was because they'd grabbed this guy's wife?
Scarlett heard it. Heard Damon say the words.
My wife.
Ronin wasn't gay.
Jaff's mind raced through the implications.
His wife.
This professional killer. This absolute monster. Had a wife.
And they'd grabbed her in the initial hostage sweep.
"Jesus Christ." Jaff's voice came out strangled. "We didn't know. How the fuck were we supposed to know?"
"You weren't." Damon's crossbow lifted slightly. Aimed at Jaff's face. "That's why you're going to die."
"Wait. Wait." Jaff held up his free hand. The other still pressed against the detonator. "We can work this out. I'll release all the hostages. Right now. Everyone goes free."
"Too late."
"Please. I have kids. I have a family."
"Should've thought about that before."
Damon fired.
The bolt whistled through the air.
Jaff ducked. Felt it pass over his head. Embed in the wall behind him.
He brought his pistol up. Aimed at Damon.
Pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Empty.
"Fuck!"
He threw the useless gun aside. Reached for the detonator.
If he was going to die. Everyone was going to die.
His finger moved toward the button.
Then something hit him from behind.
Hard.
A foot. Connecting with his spine.
He stumbled forward. Lost his balance.
The smaller figure had circled around. Kicked him from behind.
Jaff spun around. Brought his fist up.
Caught nothing but air.
She was already moving. Flowing around his punch like smoke.
Then her elbow hit his jaw.
Stars exploded across his vision.
He stumbled back. Tasted blood.
Damon was there. Moving in from the front.
Fired three bolts in rapid succession.
Jaff threw himself sideways. The bolts sparked off concrete. Inches from his head.
He came up on one knee. Breathing hard.
Fuck the mission. Fuck the money. Fuck everything.
He wanted to live.
"Last words?" Damon asked.
Jaff opened his mouth. Tried to think of something. Anything.
Nothing came out.
Just a wet, strangled sound.
Then Damon fired.