hotmtlnovel Chapter 222 At a gunpoint
Chapter 222 At a gunpoint
Tristan looked at the woman coldly. He was actually surprised that she recognized him after all this time, even in the mask that covered half his face and with the smoke making the other half almost indistinguishable.
He had a lot to say to his mother, but it really wasn't the time.
"Keep walking! Don't you see the house is burning?"
He tugged on his parents' arms, pulling them towards the exit. Weak and half-blind from the smoke, they followed him on wobbling hands for four steps before halting.
"What is it? I told you to hurry!"
Tristan was about to turn around, when through the roaring of fire and the firetruck sirens above, he heard rustling of clothing followed by a sharp metallic click.
The sounds could've had a multitude of possible sources. Clothing rustles all the time, and the click could've come from a belt buckle or a zipper.
But there was something menacingly familiar in the sound, something that Tristan understood with an inhuman combination of observational skills, imagination and intelligence that came around into an almost pure intuition.Nôv(el)B\\jnn
The intuition told him that the sound came from a gun pulled out of the holster and taken off the safety.
When Tristan turned around, the gun was already aimed at him. It was held by his own father.
His mother grabbed his arm with a vice grip, intent on holding him down in place to be shot. For a brief moment, Tristan was so shocked he didn't even move.
Then he didn't move because his father's hand was on the trigger.
"The Angel told us you will come, Tristan. You have sold your soul to clear your face—but we can still save you. We just need to bring your soul to him, and then we can take our souls there, too," Tristan's father said in a hoarse, but firm voice.
The time slowed down.
The finger on the trigger tensed, about to push. Tristan's father might've hesitated earlier, or he might've waited for the right moment, or he had to speak before shooting—but either way, he was done with the delays.
"Approaching the target position. The receptionist said he's in. She doesn't know what we are up to, of course."
Tristan's grin widened.
"I bet he's in. When you come in, tell him that his trap has failed. But only AFTER you shoot him."
"A trap? Gotcha, boss. Tell me all about it later."
The connection ended. For the better—Tristan had to leave before his equipment actually began to melt, or before someone here suffered a heatstroke.
***
At the same time, in a hotel on another side of the city, Damien pulled out his gun, fitted with a silencer, and a knife. He leaned on the side of a doorway, ignoring the pain in his ribs, while four men under his command took positions around.
Damien silently showed three fingers. Two. One.
On zero, the man opposite of him—a large and burly guy with metal-enforced boots—kicked the flimsy hotel door in.
On the other side was only one room with only one person in it. The man who was lying in bed with only short pants and a laptop propped on his chest.
His eyes bulged out at the sight of armed people coming in.
The man looked so painfully average that Damien even wondered for a moment if he got the right room number from the receptionist.
Then he remembered what he heard from Cutout about the power of Michael's words.
As the man opened his mouth to say something, Damien opened fire.
He never was too afraid of leaving behind some collateral, anyway.