5: A Deadly Confrontation

Chapter Five:

A Deadly Confrontation 

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[Evening]

Christian abruptly stopped himself from opening the door as he heard muffled voices coming from outside. He was now on edge, his heart began to race. He had a feeling that the people on the other side of the door were the ones sent to get Samson.

With that thought, he turned his head to face Samson, who had a curious expression on his face, wondering why Christian had stopped.

Christian looked at Samson and, with a gesture, put his finger to his lips, signaling Samson to be quiet. Samson responded with a nod of acknowledgment.

Turning back to face the door, Christian strained to listen to the muffled voices. He listened, trying to make out what they were saying, when suddenly the voices stopped.

Anticipating what was going to happen next, he suddenly heard a muffled voice say, "Ready?" This was followed by two other voices acknowledging that they were ready.

As soon as he heard that, Christian instinctively took a few steps back, pushing Samson back at the same time.

When all of a sudden the front door was kicked in with a loud thud.

The kicker was a rather tall man with a shaved head and rough, rugged facial features. His appearance gave the impression of someone who was hardened and experienced, likely through a life of violence or physical labor. 

Despite his imposing stature, the kicker was not dressed in an intimidating manner. Instead, he wore a cheap, ill-fitting suit and trousers that were visibly too short for his long legs. The suit jacket pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, straining the fabric, while the pants ended well above his ankles. This gave him an almost comical, disheveled look that contrasted sharply with his menacing physical presence.

The overall ensemble suggested the kicker was not a man of means or refinement, but rather someone who was scraping by, perhaps a thug or enforcer of some kind. His choice of cheap, ill-fitting attire did little to disguise the air of danger and unpredictability that seemed to radiate from him.

Christian's heart raced as adrenaline surged through him. His first instinct was to push Samson further away from the door.

The kicker stepped back, making room for two others to enter the apartment, one after the other.

The first man rushed in, smaller in stature than the kicker. He wore an ill-fitting suit, but this one was slightly too big for him. Right behind him came a second man, who bore a striking resemblance to the first. Both men charged into the room, their silenced handguns drawn and pointed inward, ready for anything.

Seeing the two men charge in, Christian quickly retreated around the corner of the hallway, dragging Samson with him into the living room-kitchen space. He hurled Samson into the bedroom, hoping he would take the hint to hide.

As he turned to assess his next move, Christian pulled his handgun from the chest holster concealed beneath his suit. Almost immediately, the first man came around the corner. Christian reacted instinctively, lifting his handgun and firing two shots.

The first bullet struck the man in the left shoulder, causing him to stagger backward around the corner. The second shot hit the wall behind him.

Christian dashed to the small kitchen table where he had been sitting earlier and flipped it over for cover.

"you fucker!" shouted the first man, who had been shot, his voice laced with pain. "You okay?" the second man called out, concern evident in his tone.

"Yeah, get that fucker!" the first man replied, still in pain but determined.

The second man glanced at his twin brother, assessing his condition. Satisfied that his brother was still in the fight, he refocused on the task at hand. 

Pressing his back against the wall, he took his silenced handgun and peeked around the corner. Spotting the upturned table, he didn't hesitate. Aiming carefully, he opened fire, sending a flurry of bullets toward the table, each one tearing through the wood. He wait a few seconds to see for any movement.

Seeing no movement, he slowly crept toward the table, his gun trained on it, convinced that the man who had shot his brother was hiding behind it—hopefully now dead.

As he cautiously maneuvered around the table, he was suddenly charged at, catching him off guard.

Christian crouched behind the table, heart racing, as a flurry of bullets shattered the silence around him. Miraculously, none found their mark. Years of surviving life-and-death situations had taught him to remain calm under pressure.

He decided against returning fire, opting instead to wait for the second man to check if he was truly dead. The apartment fell into an eerie quiet, broken only by his steady breathing and the pained grunts of the first attacker, who had been shot. Christian listened intently, hearing the footsteps of the second man approaching. He steeled himself, ready to act.

As soon as the man rounded the table, leaving his gun behind, Christian charged. The unexpected attack caught the man off guard, and they both tumbled into the cramped bathroom. Christian tackled him into the back wall and toilet, forcing a grunt of pain from his opponent as the gun clattered to the floor.

They grappled fiercely, each struggling for dominance. The second man managed to throw Christian against the side wall, causing him to wince from the impact. But in the chaos, Christian seized the moment, spinning the man around and slamming him into the sink and cupboard with all his might. The force caused part of the sink to break, and the man howled in pain.

Regaining his senses, the man grabbed the small mirror resting on the sink and swung it at Christian's head. The glass shattered against him, opening a gash that trickled blood down his face. Dazed but determined, Christian felt the urgency rising as the man lunged forward, sending them both crashing into the bathtub.

Trapped in the tight space, the man pinned Christian down and began to rain punches onto his face. Christian felt cornered, desperately trying to block the blows while searching for something—anything—to defend himself. 

His fingers brushed against the shower head, which was attached to the tap. Seizing the opportunity, he swung it with all his strength, connecting it with the man's head. The force of the impact halted the assault, and the man clutched his head, groaning in pain.

With the man distracted, Christian used every ounce of his strength to push him off, sending him tumbling to the other side of the bathtub. They sat facing each other, both bloodied and battered—Christian with a gash on his head and bruises from the punches, the other man bleeding from the side of his head.

In a burst of instinct, Christian kicked the man hard in the crotch. The man leaned forward in agony, and Christian followed up with a swift kick to his face, shattering his front teeth and sending blood spilling from his broken nose. The man clutched his face, momentarily dazed.

Christian's eyes darted around the small bathroom, and he spotted the gun the man had dropped just outside the bathtub. He reached for it, heart pounding, and pointed it at his opponent. The man, barely able to lift his head from the pain, looked up just in time to see the gun aimed at him. In a fleeting moment of realization, his eyes widened in terror before a bullet tore through his forehead, silencing the chaos once and for all.