No way he was walking away after spending that money.
He’d already paid—he had to get the job done.
But how did the kid set up tripwires in a public stairwell?
People lived here.
It didn’t make sense.
Since stealth was off the table, he’d go loud.
As a veteran, he knew the rules.
Low-intensity zones meant limited weaponry.
He’d have to make do.
He crept upward, stepping over soda cans with exaggerated care.
The kid watched too many movies.
That was his thought as he reached the door.
Two shots.
The lock died.
He pressed against the wall, listening.
Silence.
The kid wasn’t coming out.
He pushed the door.
Nothing.
He shoved harder.
Still nothing.
Blocked?
Fine.
Plan B.
He climbed to the roof, moving fast.
He had maybe an hour before the neighbors called it in.
No time to waste.
Window entry.
He unhooked one strap from his overalls.
Elastic.
Perfect for a controlled drop.
Kitchen window was the best bet.
Bathroom was too small.
Bedroom was where the target would be waiting.
Kitchen gave him the most options.
He swung in.
Rolled.
Gun up, covering the doorway.
Thud.
His knees and back screamed.
He was bleeding.
Thumbtacks.
His Martin boots saved his feet, but the roll had done damage.
He gritted his teeth.
Cheap tricks.
He wanted to leave.
But the anger was building.
He was in too deep now.
Pride was a hell of a drug.
William watched through the wall.
Two bullets had buried themselves in the sofa.
Then silence.
Then the window shattered.
A blood trail appeared.
William’s Bloodhound skill kicked in.
A faint red line drifted into the kitchen.
He peeked out.
A red silhouette stood behind the wall.
The sniper was hurt.
William smiled.
He grabbed his prize from the bar.
Time to make a mess.
Inside the kitchen, the sniper heard the click of a heavy round being chambered.
His instincts screamed.
He dove sideways.
The wall exploded.
Shotgun pellets tore through the drywall.
His shoulder burned.
He fired blindly and threw himself out the window.
The landing was brutal.
He hit the ground with a wet thud.
Pain clawed up his spine.
In the narrow alley, his ragged breathing echoed.
William didn’t chase.
Not yet.
The return fire was fast.
Faster than he could manage.
He waited.
Counted to ten.
The kitchen was a disaster.
Blood.
Broken glass.
Scattered cookware.
William’s handiwork.
Time to move.
He grabbed his go-bag.
Everything he owned was inside.
The roles had flipped.
He was the hunter now.
He wasn’t thrilled about going outside.
But if the sniper got away, he’d never sleep again.
Besides…
William could still see the faint red line.
The blood hadn’t faded yet.
He shoved the sofa aside and slipped out, a baseball cap pulled low.
Two steps in, he spotted a backpack in the corner.
Inside was a disassembled sniper rifle.
Not sure what model.
Didn’t matter.
Jackpot.
Another reason to put this guy down.
He had a scope.
That meant he was dangerous.
William stashed the pack in a safe spot and followed the blood trail into the alley behind the building.
More blood.
Thumbtacks scattered on the ground.
He’d placed those everywhere.
They were meant as a warning.
Should have used something sharper.
The trail led to a quiet residential block.
A safe house, probably.
William hesitated.
He was on unfamiliar ground.
Enemy territory.
But if he backed off now, next time the roles would reverse again.
He needed a distraction.
Maybe someone to flush the sniper out.
Minutes later, police cruisers screeched to a halt.
Two officers crept toward the safe house, weapons drawn.
They didn’t want to be here.
Someone had called it in.
They knocked.
Standard procedure.
Then the shooting started.
The officers dove for cover, radioing for backup.
From the shadows, William watched the blood trail move.
A figure limped into view.
Short.
Wiry.
Patches of white bandage stained dark red.
One arm was useless—broken.
William didn’t move.
He followed from a distance.
Patient.
Measured.
The sniper was cursing under his breath.
Worst job of his life.
Should have walked away.
He’d been exposed.
The cops were coming.
He reached into his pocket and felt the gold coin.
His emergency card.
He didn’t want to spend it.
But he didn’t have a choice.