Chapter 365: Fire in the Hole
Ron's bullets swept across the two men in the corridor, but they were already taking cover—they'd managed to breach Beca's door and dive inside after the first shot.
That's right, at the same moment Ron fired, they'd finally pried open Beca's door, and the rest was just a matter of who was faster.
"Bang bang bang..." Ron fired as he advanced quickly, running dry by the time he reached the doorway—after all, the P14 only held fourteen rounds.
The guys inside were obviously counting Ron's ammo, and when Ron fired his last round, a dark shape appeared slightly behind the wall—looked like one of the workers was about to pop out.
A wicked grin crossed Ron's face as he tossed the empty pistol through the doorway where the man's head was emerging: "Fire in the hole!"
The head that had been halfway out immediately withdrew at full speed. The worker rolled back inside, then realized it wasn't a grenade at all, just an empty gun. When he looked up to give Ron hell, a cold muzzle was already pressed against his temple.
During his tactical roll, Ron had already sprinted across the short corridor, reaching him while simultaneously drawing his hand cannon.
"Bang!" The worker's head exploded into a grotesque mess.
.50 caliber rounds were far superior to the .45 ACP bullets of a P14.
But this didn't mean Ron had the upper hand. In fact, at the same moment he killed the first worker, a scream came from Beca's bedroom. Ron looked in and saw that the airhead had already been grabbed by the second worker.
"Put your gun on the floor and kick it over, or I'll blow her brains out!" The worker pressed Beca against his chest, his entire body hunched behind her, his movements so practiced it was clear this wasn't his first rodeo.
"Oh, slick moves. Not your first hostage situation, huh?" Ron didn't seem concerned about the gun pointed at Beca's head. He casually grabbed a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs, clearly settling in for a long conversation.
If someone put a chessboard, two cups of coffee, and a chatty barista in front of him, Ron could probably kill the whole afternoon, showing zero urgency.
"Ron! This isn't the time for chitchat! Help me!" Beca was furious at Ron's cavalier attitude, struggling in the gunman's grip.
"Settle down!" The gunman tapped Beca's head with his pistol, finally reminding her that she was still being held hostage and making her behave.
"Get up! Drop your gun on the floor, kick it over here, no funny business! Or I'll smoke her right now!" The gunman refocused his threatening glare on Ron.
For some reason, even with a hostage, he still felt exposed, like his life could end at any second—especially after watching Ron waste his two partners with terrifying efficiency, sending chills down his spine.
Those were their top two operators! The two best shooters after the boss, and this guy dropped them both like it was nothing?!
"You sure about that?" Ron stood up from the chair, annoyed. "Fine, watch carefully. I'll slowly lower the gun to the ground now. Don't blink!"
Ron held the gun in front of the gunman, then rotated it, leaving only one finger hooking it in midair. The gunman's heart hammered in sync with the dangling revolver.
He stared intently at Ron's gun, not daring to blink.
"Yeah, that's it, put it down! Quick!"
"No problem." Ron released his finger, and the gun that had the gunman mesmerized began to fall. The gunman's face brightened with increasing relief, but just as he focused all his attention on the falling gun, Ron's other hand flashed to his waistband.
Like bullet time in The Matrix, that's what it was like now. Before the gunman's relief could fully register, Ron magically produced another gun in his other hand and fired a round into the gunman's shooting hand.
"Ah!" The gunman's right wrist was severed by the bullet. Beca, her face splattered with blood, screamed as well, her voice several octaves higher than the gunman's, completely drowning him out. For a moment, it was impossible to tell who'd been shot.
But a professional is a professional. Even in this compromised position, he remained remarkably rational, crouching behind Beca to avoid Ron's follow-up shot. His composure even earned Ron's grudging respect.
But it was only temporary. Just as Ron was searching for an angle for his second shot, the gunman made his move.
Suddenly, the gunman used his remaining good hand to shove Beca aside. As Beca blocked Ron's line of fire, the gunman pulled a grenade from his vest—an M67 fragmentation grenade, standard US military issue. He yanked the pin with his teeth and lunged at Ron and Beca.
"Allahu Akbar!"
What the hell! Trying to pull a suicide bomber move on me?
Ron's eyes narrowed as he grabbed Beca, who was stumbling into his arms, and shoved her aside with enough force to distort her face. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself inexplicably behind Ron.
With clear line of sight, Ron could easily nail a target less than fifteen feet away.
"Bang!" With one shot, Ron severed the gunman's other hand. The gunman's grip on the grenade loosened, and Ron closed the distance in two strides, catching the grenade mid-air as it fell.
Without hesitation, under the gunman's horrified gaze, Ron very crudely yanked down his pants and stuffed the grenade into his crotch.
"Bye-bye~" Ron waved his final farewell to the gunman, only a second and a half remaining on the fuse.
The gunman frantically tried to retrieve the explosive from his pants with his mangled hands. Even if he was meeting his maker, he didn't want to be missing any parts, but his useless hands made his efforts futile.
Moreover, Ron wasn't about to let him succeed. He kicked the gunman hard in the gut, using the recoil to grab the still-dazed Beca and roll out of the apartment, disappearing around a corner.
Exactly four seconds had elapsed.
"BOOM!" A burst of flame erupted from the gunman's pants, engulfing him in his still-terrified gaze.
"Ron, you just sat there! Tell me, weren't you going to save me?!" Beca, as soon as she was rescued, angrily confronted Ron, hands on her hips, like a pissed-off bantam rooster.
"Come on, which eye saw me not planning to save you? That was tactical psychology—lulling the enemy into a false sense of security, understand?" Ron stood up, and with his height advantage, he easily dominated the conversation.
"But you..."
"No buts. Also, I suggest you don't go back in your apartment right now," Ron interrupted her protest.
"Mind your own business! What's wrong with me going back to my own place?"
"Do I need to remind you that your apartment just had an explosion, so it might be a bit... messy," Ron thought for a moment, then grinned mischievously. "Also, for our safety, I just stuffed a grenade in that guy's... unmentionable area and detonated it. Given the fragility of that particular region, I seriously suspect it blew your place to hell, so you..."
Before Ron could finish, the stubborn Beca had already shaken off Ron's hand and walked in, resulting in: "AHHHHH!"
Another scream loud enough to wake the entire apartment complex nearly ruptured Ron's eardrums, and even dislodged a piece of flesh stuck to the top of the doorframe, which landed on Beca's head.
"Ron," Beca said pitifully in a trembling voice, "Tell me quick, what landed on me was bird crap."
"Oh, what a shame~" Ron chuckled and sighed. "Although that thing is similar to bird crap, how could there be bird crap indoors? I think you must have been hit by shrapnel, right? That must be it."
Well, Ron was obviously lying to Beca, but that didn't mean what was on her head was any better than crap. In fact, Ron hadn't expected that an organ located at ground zero of the explosion could fly so far intact.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Beca screamed three times in succession, frantically swatting whatever was on her head away, not even daring to look at it, until she ran to the utility closet at the end of the hall and rinsed her head under the tap for a solid five minutes before stopping.
Soaking wet, Beca approached Ron. "I'm clean now, right? That thing is gone?"
"Yeah, you're clean. What are you planning to do? Just so you know, cops will be here in about ten minutes."
"Damn it! They ruined my life!" Beca cursed, then stared at Ron with pitiful puppy-dog eyes. "Ron, do you have somewhere I can crash? And maybe lend me some cash to buy clothes to change into? I don't want to wear this anymore. You asshole! Why did you have to blow it to pieces?! My apartment is uninhabitable!"
Beca stomped her foot angrily, accidentally crushing the testicle she'd just knocked off her head. Ron's eye twitched. How painful must that be? Well, dead guys probably don't feel ball pain anymore, right?
Probably?
"Of course, but before that, you want to call your friend over there?" Ron gestured toward the corner by the elevator. "Hey! Hey buddy, you've been standing there a while, haven't you? Want to grab a bite to eat?"
"Christian?" A tall figure appeared at the corner. Beca gasped in surprise, covering her mouth. "What are you doing here?"
"I was worried about you, so I came to check on you." Christian was as taciturn as ever. He spoke to Beca, but his eyes remained warily fixed on Ron.
Ron could immediately tell that Christian was on high alert, almost like he was being targeted by a sniper. He had the distinct impression that one wrong move would result in a bullet.
Coupled with that profile almost identical to the one in the photo, Ron was quite certain this was the mysterious accountant he'd been looking for. He hadn't expected the guy would deliver himself before Ron even had to hunt him down.
"Since you're okay, I'll be going now."
"Hold up~" Ron, seeing his prize about to walk away, latched on like a burr: "FYI, a neighbor's already called the cops, and they're en route. I've got a place where we can lay low. Come with me."
The police?
A big question mark appeared in Christian's mind. It sounded like this guy didn't want to meet law enforcement either. Did he also have some special circumstances that made him want to avoid cops?
If so, wouldn't refusing seem too suspicious? Besides, this guy just killed three people without breaking a sweat—he's definitely not ordinary. If he left Beca alone with him, wouldn't there be other dangers?
After running through these calculations, Christian adjusted his glasses: "Thanks, if it's no trouble."
Christian had his own car, and Ron had him follow behind. However, there was a minor incident when they left. Ron had originally expected Beca to ride with him, but unexpectedly, she got into Christian's car instead.
"Never thought your charm would fail. How does it feel to be rejected, Mr. Ron, the self-proclaimed ladies' man?" Paige, who of course monitored Ron's every move, called to mock him the moment he got in his car.
"Nothing major. Anyway, I never had anything romantic with her. Don't jump to conclusions."
"Really? But I remember, the night their girls' a cappella group won the championship, you seemed to be there as the 'prize.' I even have photos from that time. Want to see them?"
Ding A message arrived on his phone. Ron knew without looking that it was Paige sending photos from that embarrassing night. He said helplessly, "I was young and dumb back then, you know. I haven't been that reckless since graduating college. So you're calling me now just to dig up ancient history?"
"Of course not. I'm just reminding you—the guy in the car behind you is extremely dangerous. Be careful."
"Obviously I know that." Ron chuckled. So it was concern, huh? Using such a roundabout method. Would it kill you high-IQ types to be a little more straightforward?
"Actually, I've got my eye on him. What do you think about recruiting him for my team?"
"Whatever. Just a heads-up—he's not as simple as he appears. Behind him, there's probably a highly skilled hacking team. I just tried to crack into his phone and got stonewalled."
(End of Chapter)
[Support Goal: 500 PS → +1 Chapter]
[Support Goal: 10 Reviews → +1 Chapter]
Your review helps the story grow.
P1treon Soulforger (100+ chapters ahead)