6: Nowhere Left to Run

Chapter Six:

Nowhere Left to Run

—

The three intruders were low-level gangsters who took on various jobs for their boss, ranging from petty crimes to murder. 

This assignment was no different: they were simply told who their target was and instructed to carry out the task. Their boss wanted them to locate and kill Samson. They weren't given any specifics, and they didn't ask why.

They had seen what happened to those who got too curious; they knew of people who had asked too many questions and ended up in a ditch somewhere.

—

[Evening]

The first man, who had been shot, was trying to patch himself up while Christian and his twin brother fought in the bathroom. The sounds of chaos echoed in the background as he worked.

"That motherfucker," the man muttered through gritted teeth as he patched himself up.

When he heard the muffled report of a silenced handgun, he called out, "Hey, bro, did you get him?"

Silence greeted his question.

Concern crept in as he hoped his brother was just catching his breath. But after a few more seconds with no reply, anxiety began to mount. 

His brother was his only family. They had grown up together in a corrupt orphanage where the staff abused many of the children. Witnessing such cruelty day after day, they had decided they couldn't endure it any longer. Eventually, they ran away, leaving behind the only home they had ever known.

For years, they roamed the streets, struggling to survive. They fell in with the wrong crowds, becoming enmeshed in a world of crime and violence. Desperation pushed them further into this dark lifestyle, leading them to accept jobs that required them to take lives. 

They were haunted by their past—by the innocence they had lost and the choices that had brought them to this moment. Each assignment weighed heavily on their conscience, but they had learned to suppress their guilt, convincing themselves that survival was all that mattered. In a world where trust was a luxury they couldn't afford, they relied solely on each other, bound by their shared history and the unbreakable bond of brotherhood.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, he slowly stood up and looked into the living-kitchen area. Seeing no one there, he made his way to the bathroom doorway.

"Hey, bro, did you get him?" he repeated, standing at the entrance.

As he looked inside, his heart sank. His brother sat in the bathtub, head slumped back. Blood dripping on the tiles floor.

Shock washed over him as he realized the gravity of the situation, and his gaze shifted to the other man in the room, who was aiming a handgun straight at him.

Before he could react, two bullets struck his chest, both hitting him squarely in the heart. With a look of disbelief, he stumbled backward, eventually collapsing against the sofa, blood pooling around him as he slumped to the floor.

Christian felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw the man drop. He turned his attention to the body in the bathtub, his gaze lingering on the corpse before shifting to the pool of blood that had pooled beneath the man's head. What a mess, he thought.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he stepped out of the bathroom, briefly glancing at the dead man slumped against the sofa. Even though he knew the man was dead, he fired a bullet into the corpse's head to make absolutely sure.

His thoughts quickly shifted to Samson, whom he had thrown into the bedroom. Fear gripped him as he wondered if the dead man had already found him while he had been fighting in the bathroom. 

Christian hurried to the bedroom, but before he could make a move, he felt a tight grip around his collar.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, realizing he had forgotten about the kicker.

The kicker had stood outside the apartment, poised to stop anyone who might try to interfere while keeping a vigilant watch. As he waited, an unsettling feeling washed over him. Something was off—either the job was taking too long, or it was too quiet.

He had worked with the twins many times and knew their business style well. They could be rowdy at times, but they always handled their tasks efficiently.

In an instant, Christian was thrown across the room, the sudden jolt sending his gun clattering to the floor before he crashed over the sofa and landed on the coffee table in front of it. With a loud thud, he broke the table and let out a grunt of pain.

As he lay on the shattered coffee table, struggling with the pain, he felt someone lift him by his shirt collar and the waistband of his trousers. In the next moment, he was hurled into the TV across the room, crumpling to the floor, momentarily dazed.

Knowing another attack was imminent, he scrambled to his feet, but before he could fully recover, he was seized again and thrown back over the sofa, crashing into an overturned kitchen table.

Every second counted; he knew the kicker was bigger and more formidable than the other two men, and he had to think fast.

Through his dazed vision, he scanned the area for a weapon and spotted the handgun that had been flung from his grasp moments before. 

With urgency, he lunged for the gun, pointing it at the kicker and pulling the trigger. 

Click. It was empty. His heart sank.

Looking up, he saw a sinister gleam in the kicker's eyes. What had once seemed like a threat to the larger man now turned into a grin of confidence.

Realizing he was in serious trouble, Christian scrambled to get up, but before he could regain his footing, a brutal kick landed on his ribs, forcing him back down.

Slumped on the floor, he was yanked by his hair and collar, smashing his head against the kitchen cupboard door. The kicker then hoisted him to his feet, turning him to face his opponent. A vicious headbutt struck Christian's nose, breaking it with a sickening crack.

His head snapped back from the force, and before he could register the pain, a fist came hurtling toward him. He dodged just in time, countering with a punch that connected squarely with the kicker's jaw, causing the larger man to stumble slightly.

Seizing the moment, Christian backed away, readying himself in a fighting stance, determined to take on this beast of a man.

He watched as the kicker shook off the pain, stretching his jaw before glaring at him with vicious intensity. Without warning, the kicker lunged forward, throwing a powerful punch that Christian narrowly dodged. 

The kicker unleashed a flurry of punches, each aimed with brutal precision. Christian managed to evade several, but with each dodge, he found himself retreating further.

Then, a punch connected with his ribs—the same spot where he had been kicked earlier. A sharp pain shot through him, and he instantly knew something was broken or fractured. Wincing, he struggled to steady himself as the kicker pressed his advantage.

Before he could regain his composure, a devastating punch landed squarely on his face, sending him crashing to the ground. 

The larger man quickly mounted him, pinning him down and wrapping his hands around Christian's throat, squeezing tightly.

Christian gasped for breath, panic rising within him. He fought to push the man off, but the grip felt like iron. Desperation took hold as he searched for anything within reach to use as a weapon, but nothing was at hand. He struggled to pry the kicker's hands from his neck, his vision starting to blur as the encroaching darkness threatened to take over.