Chapter 83 *
Third Person POV
The bolt hit his hand. The one reaching for the detonator.
Punched straight through his wrist. Came out the other side.
Jaff screamed. His arm jerked violently.
The gun he'd been gripping fell. Clattered across the floor.
Scarlett kicked it. Sent it skittering away.
Out of reach.
Jaff tried to grab it with his other hand.
Too slow.
Scarlett was already there. Her whole body pressed against his back.
Her arm snaked around his throat. Locked in tight.
A chokehold. Professional. Unbreakable.
Jaff thrashed. Tried to throw her off.
She held on. Her elbow digging into his windpipe.
Cutting off air. Cutting off blood flow to his brain.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
His vision started going dark around the edges.
Then he felt it.
Something thin and sharp wrapping around his neck.
Wire. Razor-thin. Cutting into his skin.
She was strangling him with a wire and a chokehold at the same time.
Jaff's hands clawed at his throat. Trying to get purchase.
His fingers slipped in his own blood.
He couldn't get under the wire. Couldn't pull it loose.
His lungs burned. His brain screamed for oxygen.
He looked at Damon. One last desperate plea in his eyes.
Damon raised his crossbow. Took careful aim.
"Should've picked a different hospital."
He fired.
The bolt entered through Jaff's forehead. Right between the eyes.
Punched through bone. Through brain. Out the back of his skull.
Jaff's body jerked once.
Then went completely still.
Scarlett held on for another thirty seconds. Making sure.
Never leave a job half-finished.
Never assume they're dead until you're certain.
Finally, she let go.
The wire retracted. Disappeared back into her watch band.
Jaff's body collapsed. Hit the floor face-down.
Scarlett stood up. Pulled the knife from her tactical belt.
Knelt down beside the body.
Rolled it over with her boot.
His eyes were open. Glassy. Empty.
She positioned the knife over his heart.
Drove it in.
Deep.
Twisted.
Pulled out.
Stabbed again.
And again.
And again.
Her face stayed blank. Emotionless. Just doing what needed to be done.
Fifteen stabs total.
When she finally stopped, her arm was soaked in blood up to the elbow.
She stood up. Let the knife drop.
It clattered on the tile. The sound echoing in the sudden silence.
The hostages were staring. Eyes wide. Mouths open.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
They'd just watched two people systematically execute a man.
Damon felt his mouth twitch slightly.
Damn. She's ruthless.
Then again, in this line of work... maybe that's exactly what you need.
Still. This woman is something else.
Scarlett turned her head. Scanned the room.
Bodies everywhere. Blood pooled on white tile. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
All terrorists down. No more threats.
She started moving. Checked each body systematically. Making sure they were actually dead.
Damon did the same. Moved through the lobby. His boots crunched over broken glass.
One of the terrorists groaned. Still alive.
Damon raised his crossbow. Fired. The bolt punched through the man's throat.
The groaning stopped.
Scarlett glanced at him. Then kept working.
They cleared the room in under two minutes. Confirmed every hostile was neutralized.
The hostages were still frozen. Too shocked to move.
An elderly man finally spoke. His voice shook.
"Are they... are they all dead?"
Damon didn't answer. Just walked past him toward the stairwell.
Scarlett followed. They headed upstairs. Moving floor by floor.
They found the bombs exactly where Jaff had said. C-4 charges rigged to every stairwell. Every exit.
Damon pulled out his phone. Started documenting the placement.
Scarlett worked on the detonators. Her hands moved fast. Precise.
They worked in silence. No unnecessary communication. Just efficient coordination.
Twenty minutes later, all the charges were disarmed.
Damon checked his watch. The whole operation had taken forty-three minutes.
Not bad.
They headed back downstairs. The hostages were starting to move now. Helping each other up. Checking for injuries.
A few were wounded. Crossbow bolts. Ricochet wounds. Nothing fatal.
One woman was crying. Holding her arm where a bolt had grazed her.
Damon pulled out his phone. Started scrolling through something.
Found what he was looking for.
He walked toward the hostages. His boots left bloody footprints on the tile.
"Anyone seen this person?"
He held up his phone. Showed them the screen.
The hostages leaned in. Squinting at the image.
"I don't know."
"Never seen them."
"Sorry, no."
One by one, they shook their heads.
Scarlett was on the other side of the room. Cleaning blood off her tactical vest.
But she heard the question.
Curiosity got the better of her.
What did this woman look like?
What kind of person could make a man like Ronin—risk everything?
She found herself drifting closer. Pretending to check on the wounded hostages.
Got within ten feet of where Damon was standing.
She could almost see the photo now. Just needed to get a little closer...