[Ding! You shattered one of Anatoly’s balls. You have earned 100 Villain Points. Current progress: 1,350/2,000.]
Jason couldn’t help laughing.
“Congratulations, Vladimir. Your brother has officially become a proud one-ball warrior!”
“Jason, stop!”
“I… I’ll compensate you. Your apartment, everything you’ve lost, I’ll pay for all of it. Just please don’t hurt Anatoly.”
Jason remained unmoved.
“Sorry. The only compensation I’ll accept is both your lives.”
“FUCK YOU!”
Jason shook his head helplessly.
American profanity really is pathetic.
It’s always the same two lines over and over.
Can’t you people come up with something new?
“Hey! Hear your brother screaming? Better hurry up and save him.”
Bang!
A bullet struck Anatoly in the thigh, drawing another agonized scream.
Jason’s marksmanship had improved dramatically.
The shot tore through muscle without touching the artery.
Anatoly’s screams left Vladimir restless and tormented.
Finally unable to bear it any longer, he ordered one of his men to go rescue him.
Stepping out of the emergency stairwell right now was practically suicide.
The mobster Vladimir chose clearly wanted no part of it.
But Vladimir tightened his grip on his pistol and glared viciously at him.
If the man dared say no, a bullet would be going through his skull.
With a resigned sigh, the mobster slipped out of the stairwell and flattened himself against the floor, crawling forward on his belly.
He carefully made his way over to Anatoly, grabbed him by the ankle, and began dragging him backward.
A long, broad streak of bright red blood appeared across the pristine floor.
Jason watched coldly.
His M4A1 was already trained on the man, but he didn’t fire.
Not yet.
Only when Anatoly was two or three meters from the emergency exit did Jason squeeze the trigger.
Bang!
A hot bullet punched straight through the mobster’s skull.
[Ding! One mobster killed. You have earned 100 Villain Points. Current progress: 1,450/2,000.]
“Shit!” Vladimir slammed a fist into the floor in fury.
“Boss, it’s a trap!” one of the remaining mobsters hurriedly warned him.
“Jason wants to lure you out. You can’t fall for it!”
Their second in command was already finished.
If their boss went down too, this gang of Russians who’d crossed an ocean to come here would truly fall apart.
Of course Vladimir knew this was Jason’s trick.
Logic told him to remain calm.
Not to take the bait.
But when he saw Anatoly lying helplessly on the floor, barely clinging to life, his heart clenched painfully.
His feet almost seemed to move on their own, urging him to step outside.
Just as the two sides remained locked in their stalemate, the distant wail of police sirens drifted through the night.
It had already been ten minutes since the apartment explosion.
The NYPD really knows how to take its sweet damn time.
The sound of approaching patrol cars finally snapped Vladimir back to his senses.
“Boss, the cops are coming. We have to go!”
Vladimir nodded.
His eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears as he took one last reluctant look at Anatoly.
Then he turned and left.
Jason.
I’ll remember this.
Even if it costs me my life, I’ll make sure you die.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Jason heard the sirens too.
Damn.
He immediately fired several shots into Anatoly.
“Vladimir! You’re really going to abandon your brother and run away by yourself?”
Jason fired several more times.
There was no response from the emergency stairwell.
Vladimir was gone.
Jason’s fishing plan had completely failed.
He sighed in mild disappointment, then put a bullet through Anatoly’s head and quickly left.
[Ding! Anatoly (Story Character) killed. You have earned 500 Villain Points. Current progress: 1,950/2,000.]
Jason hurried into a Nike store.
He changed into a new black tracksuit and sneakers from the current season, grabbed a large backpack, stuffed his guns and ammunition inside, then put on a baseball cap.
After that, he slipped out of the mall through a concealed employee passage.
[Ding! You stole someone else’s property. You have earned 10 Villain Points. Current progress: 1,960/2,000.]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Jason pushed open the door.
Outside, the night was black as ink, and the police sirens were growing louder by the second.
He lowered the brim of his cap and hurried into an alley, disappearing into the darkness.
The main streets had too many pedestrians, too much traffic, and too many surveillance cameras.
That left Jason with little choice but to stick to the filthy, damp back alleys.
Of course, alleys had problems of their own.
“Hey, man. What’s in that big, stuffed backpack?”
Three teenagers, no older than sixteen or seventeen, appeared in front of Jason.
Their hair had been dyed every color imaginable.
Metal accessories jingled all over their clothes, gum worked between their teeth, and each of them was holding a knife.
Jason lowered his head and placed the backpack on the ground.
“Lots of good stuff. Want to see?”
“Of course. Hurry up and take it out.” One of them brandished his knife threateningly.
“Relax. I’m getting it.” Jason reached into the bag.
And pulled out a shotgun.
The three teenagers froze.
“…?”
“Benelli M4 Super 90. Semi-automatic shotgun. Takes several types of shells. One shot can blow a hole straight through your chest, the recoil is pretty mild, and it’s not even that loud.” This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
Jason smiled.
“Pretty nice, right?”
“Oh, shit!” The three of them shrieked and bolted.
Watching their retreating backs, Jason suddenly remembered his own childhood.
Back then, he’d been just like them.
Hiding in filthy, foul-smelling alleys and robbing pedestrians unfortunate enough to be walking alone.
The only difference was that Jason hadn’t carried a knife.
He’d carried a loaded 9mm handgun.
In the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed.
Damn.
Time really flies.
Jason stood there reminiscing for a moment before stuffing the shotgun back into the backpack.
After walking another three blocks, he finally left the alleys behind.
He switched taxis three separate times before eventually reaching his destination.
A self-storage facility on Manhattan’s west side, near the Hudson River.
These kinds of self-service storage units were cheap and convenient, making them extremely popular in America.
In more remote areas, eighty dollars a month could rent you a unit of around twenty square meters.
And as long as the rent was paid on time, no one cared what you stored inside.
That was why Jason had rented a hundred square meter unit and turned it into one of his safe houses.
He had never told anyone where it was.
Not Kingpin.
Not even his own most trusted men.
Jason pulled out a key and raised the rolling shutter.
The first thing that came into view was a pile of battered old furniture.
A television.
A sofa.
A dining table.
Chairs.
Convenience food.
Bottled water.
At first glance, the place looked no different from countless other storage units.
Jason lowered the shutter behind him and pulled a flashlight from one of the table drawers.
He shifted aside the furniture piled together and dragged out a dust-covered suitcase hidden behind it.
Inside were several changes of clothes, guns and ammunition, a driver’s license, a passport, a portable medical kit, a phone, and twenty thousand dollars in cash.
In Jason’s line of work, you never knew when everything might suddenly go to hell.
He had seven safe houses just like this one.
Jason opened the medical kit and stripped off his blood-soaked outer clothes.
Sitting down on the sofa, he treated himself.
Medication.
Disinfectant.
Stitches.
Fresh gauze.
His movements were so practiced that he was more proficient than plenty of nurses working in actual hospitals.