CHAPTER 21 #2
The bodyguard was heavy, unwashed, and hyped on pure panic. He pressed his massive weight down on me, ripping a serrated combat knife from his chest rig. "Kill him!" the man screamed to no one in particular, driving the knife down.
I caught his thick wrists right before the steel bit into my throat.
The blade trembled inches from my jugular.
It was a primal, ugly struggle. My muscles screamed as I fought his downward momentum, staring up into his yellowed teeth and bloodshot eyes.
He was a dead man fighting for an extra minute of air.
I drove my knee violently up into the man’s groin, but the bastard was too pumped on adrenaline to even register the hit.
"Die, you prick," the bodyguard hissed, spitting on my face as he leaned his whole body weight onto the knife.
"Not today," I growled, my bruised knuckles turning stark white as I twisted his wrists.
"Leon, I have the shot!" Alessia shouted, her laser sight dancing across the back of the man's Kevlar vest.
"No! Don't fire!" I didn't want her help on this one.
I wanted to kill him with my own hands. I twisted my hips, throwing the man off balance just enough to free my right arm.
I brought my elbow up, smashing it into his trachea, then grabbed the side of his head.
With a vicious, torqueing twist, I executed a brutal neck snap.
The sickening, dry pop echoed over the sound of my own ragged breathing.
The bodyguard went limp instantly, a mountain of dead weight collapsing entirely onto my legs.
Before I could shove his corpse off me, the heavy wooden bookshelf behind the desk groaned.
A hidden panel slid open. Vane—the rival syndicate leader, a frantic, sweating coward in a ruined suit—stumbled out of a panic room, clutching a silver 1911.
He saw me pinned on the floor and didn't hesitate.
"Found you," Vane shrieked, aiming the weapon at my head.
"You're dead, Falk!"
Alessia swung her weapon toward him. "Back off! Drop it, Vane!"
Vane lunged forward, stomping heavily onto the dead bodyguard’s back to reach me.
He was onto me before I could find leverage to stand.
He grabbed the collar of my coat, hauling my upper body off the floor, and shoved the barrel of the 1911 directly into the soft dip at the base of my skull.
He was trembling violently, his grip wrinkling the expensive wool of my jacket.
I froze. The cold, circular kiss of the muzzle was a rigid threat against my spine.
I was a hostage in my own goddamn raid. One twitch of his finger and my brains were decorating the ceiling.
I felt a fat, tepid drop of Vane’s fear-sweat fall from his chin onto the back of my neck. It was utterly disgusting.
"Don't move a fucking muscle," Vane panted, his voice cracking. "I’ll do it. I swear to Christ, I’ll do it."
I slowly raised my hands in the air, keeping my expression an absolute mask of bored indifference. I settled into a kneeling position, letting the dead man’s weight rest on my legs. "You think you’re so smart, Falk?" Vane spat, his hot breath washing over my ear. "Look at you now."
I didn't look at him. I looked at Alessia. She was standing ten feet away, a statue of tactical perfection. Her Glock was leveled perfectly at Vane’s forehead. I watched the red dot of her laser sight dance across Vane’s cheek, then settle firmly on his temple.
"Let him go, Vane," I said casually, completely ignoring the gun pressed into my skull. "She’ll kill you before my body hits the floor."
"Drop the gun, Agent!" Vane screamed at her, his spittle flying.
"Leon, don't move," Alessia ordered, her voice dead steady.
Vane was losing his goddamn mind. He yanked my collar tighter, using me as a meat shield, ducking his head behind my shoulder so the shot was nearly impossible for anyone but a master marksman. He dug the gun barrel harder into my skull, the metal grinding brutally against bone, bruising the skin.
"Drop it or he dies!" Vane shrieked. "I'm counting to three! Put the gun on the floor, bitch! I have nothing to lose!"
The high-pitched ringing in my ears from the flashbangs mixed with the frantic vibration of Vane’s voice resonating through my own back.
I saw Alessia’s pupils dilating, the raw stress of the standoff tightening every muscle in her neck.
I remained completely silent. I could have given her a tactical command.
I could have told her to take the shot, or wait for him to shift his weight, or tell her to back down.
Instead, I chose absolute silence. I wanted her to find the answer in the vacuum of my absence.
I was abandoning her to her own morality.
She had to own the murder. I slowly blinked at her, a deliberate gesture of absolute calm, showing her I wasn't afraid of whatever she chose to do.
"Leon, tell me what to do," she demanded, her voice tight.
I just stared at her.
"Say something, damn you!"
"Choose, Alessia," I finally said quietly.
I watched the war play out in her eyes. It was a vicious collision between three years of rigid federal training and the three weeks of psychological dismantling I’d forced her through.
I was watching the 'Agent' fight the 'Woman'.
If she pulled that trigger, she wasn't just saving my life; she was executing her old self.
A single bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, hanging suspended from her eyebrow before dropping to her cheek.
Her knuckles were white, her arms beginning to tremble with the massive, suffocating weight of the choice.
"He’s a federal target, Alessia," Vane yelled, desperately trying to play on her badge. "You can arrest me. You can arrest him. Put the gun down!"
"Shut up, Vane," she snapped.
"Do you remember your oath, Agent?" Vane pleaded, his voice cracking into a sob.
"Look at me, Alessia," I said, my voice slicing through Vane's pathetic whining. "Only me."
Vane reached his breaking point. He cocked the hammer of the 1911. The metallic clack was the loudest sound in the fucking world. It was the final warning. He was done talking. He was going to kill me, and then he was going to die, and he’d accepted it. He was just waiting for her to accept it too.
"Last chance," Vane breathed heavily. "Put it down."
"One," Vane counted.
"I’m sorry, Leon," Alessia whispered, the gun trembling slightly in her grip.
I realized in that exact moment that I wasn't afraid at all. I felt a strange, dark peace settle into my chest. If I died here on this floor, I died as the man who broke the unbreakable FBI agent. I’d brought her to the absolute edge of the abyss, and whether she jumped into it or pulled me back, I had already won.
I felt the slight shift in Vane’s weight against my back as he braced to absorb the recoil of the execution shot.
I tilted my head back slightly, exposing my throat and the line of my jaw to her, a gesture of ultimate, raw vulnerability.
"I trust you," I told her, my voice rock steady. "Don't look away. Do what you have to do. I'm right here."
"Three!" Vane screamed.
I watched Alessia’s face. The panic vanished. It was wiped away entirely, replaced by a cold, obsidian resolve. Her left eye twitched once, and then her whole face became a mask of impenetrable stone. She had made her peace with God, and she was leaving him behind.
"Alessia!" Vane panicked, realizing she wasn't dropping the gun. "Now!"
Vane opened his mouth to shout the final number.
He drew in a massive, ragged breath. I watched Alessia’s finger whiten as she took up the final millimeter of slack in the Glock’s trigger.
The world slowed to a brutal crawl. The dust motes floating in the broken sunlight froze.
The distant sirens faded out entirely. There was only the tiny, mechanical movement of a firing pin about to drop.
A single tear escaped Alessia’s eye, trailing silently down her cheek as her eyes locked onto the kill-shot.
"Two—" Vane started.
"Goodbye, Agent," I murmured.
"Leon!"
"Fuck."
The gun fired.