Stand off

Surfing through the street crowd, the stalker kept his eyes locked on Liam ahead.

"He's headed back to campus," he murmured, pressing a finger to his earpiece.

"Copy that. The woman from the car earlier is moving on your position," came the reply.

"Sorry—" The word barely left his lips before a hand yanked him violently yet gracefully by the back of his collar, dragging him off the busy sidewalk and into a grimy side alley.

**Thud.**

He hit the ground hard, dirty water splashing as his back and hips smacked the concrete.

"Argh—!" He tried to scramble up, but V was already there, calm as ever. She plucked the earpiece from his head like she was pulling lint from a jacket.

"Hey!" He lunged for her hand—only to get a sharp kick to the face that sent him sprawling again.

V slipped the earpiece into her own ear. "Hello?" she said cheerily. "No, you can't see us right now. Not from the rooftop across the street, or the window above the barber shop. Anyone else I missed?"

The line went dead.

"Oh," she sighed, almost mocking. "They ditched you. That's rough."

"You bitch." He fumbled for the gun holstered at his hip—

**Crack.**

V's boot slammed into his wrist, sending the pistol clattering across the alley.

She drew her own gun. With unhurried precision, she screwed a silencer onto the barrel while the cornered stalker scrabbled to his feet, eyes wide with panic.

He bolted deeper into the alley—tripping over garbage bags, staggering to regain his balance.

V didn't rush. She twisted the silencer tight with a little flourish, then raised the barrel.

Just before the man rounded the corner—

**pew.**

A whisper. A hole appeared in the back of his skull. He crumpled, dead before his face hit the ground.

V slipped through a side stairwell, already climbing to her next perch.

—

As much as Liam tried to act natural, he could feel it: the weight of eyes on his back, the slight drag of footsteps mimicking his pace.

He forced himself not to whip around. He took a subtle glance over his shoulder anyway—two men behind him instantly dipped their eyes to the pavement.

He turned forward—and spotted someone else shady moving straight for him.

A few blocks away, V lay prone behind a sniper rifle, eye pressed to the scope. The three stalkers she'd been assigned were already dealt with:

—The one in the alley, dead.

—The rooftop lookout, taken out with a single shot.

—The last had panicked when V mentioned his hiding spot, fled to his car—where V's pre-set trap had flooded his vents with poison gas.

Now, through the scope, she watched Liam. All it takes is the sign. One peace sign, and she'd open fire, dropping the three closing in on him.

But Liam hesitated. Too risky—bystanders everywhere. Chaos, cops, witnesses. So instead, he turned off the main street, slipping into a maze of alleyways behind a row of dumpsters and loading docks.

He didn't notice the shadow waiting for him near a reeking dumpster.

**Thump.**

A fist smashed into the side of Liam's head, driving his skull into the sharp corner of the dumpster.

"Ungh—!" Blood gushed down his temple. He staggered, clutching the wound.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Brandon hissed, voice trembling with rage. "YOU KILLED ALEX!"

Behind him, two followers closed in. The last of the stalkers V hadn't been told to handle arrived too—Liam was boxed in by six men.

Liam didn't answer—just gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance to face Brandon.

"Why?! Why'd you do it? Does it feel good? Someone's blood on your hands? You—"

Brandon lurched closer, but Liam raised his fist.

"You—"

Two fingers lifted. A peace sign.

**Pfft. Thud.**

One of Brandon's men dropped dead—bullet through the skull.

"GUNS OUT! ON HIM—NOW!" Brandon shrieked.

*"Pfft. Thud.**

Another body hit the concrete.

"GUNS! GUNS ON HIM!" Brandon screamed. His people scrambled, pistols half-drawn, shaking hands fumbling at holsters.

One man never got the chance—

**Pfft. Thud.**

"ONE MORE DEAD AND I SWEAR TO GOD—!" Brandon barked, face pale and sweating.

Liam lowered his fingers, there was now three guns drawn and pointed at him. V held her shot—scope locked on every head in that alley.

Brandon's pistol trembled in his sweaty grip. "You… piece of shit…"

Liam slowly pulled out the burner phone with his free hand. Brandon flinched like he'd drawn a gun.

"DON'T MOVE!"

But Liam flipped the phone open anyway, pressing it to his ear. "If they shoot me—shoot them all," he murmured.

"Alright," V replied casually.

"Shit." Brandon's voice cracked.

Liam's temple dripped blood into his collar, half his face stained red. His voice stayed eerily calm. "What do you want, Brandon?"

Brandon's eyes darted, rage and panic swirling. "What do I want? What the fuck did you want?! Alex is dead! Thomas—did you do something to Thomas too?!"

"I didn't," Liam rasped. "I did what I did for a reason. I needed resources. To finish—"

"RESOURCES?!" Brandon roared. "THAT'S ALL A LIFE IS TO YOU?!"

Liam didn't flinch. "From what I see, you're no better, Renegade."

The nickname made Brandon recoil—like Liam had stabbed him through the ribs with just a word. He staggered back a step, eyes wide.

"Is Brandon even your real name?" Liam pressed, voice as cold as the wind slicing down the alley.