Hearing the approaching footsteps and seeing her hesitation, Ethan spoke impatiently.
—Do you need an invitation, or are you going to help me?
Nola gritted her teeth. She had been held here for more than a week. Although she didn't know who the masked man was, she was willing to take the risk. With a gun and a chance to escape, she wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.
—Thank you.
She quickly stood and took the pistol from Ethan.
—Let's move.
Ethan raised the AR-15 and fired down the corridor. Several rounds struck a man in black, dropping him before he could say a word.
Gunfire also erupted upstairs.
Ethan quickly headed back, Nola close behind with the pistol in hand.
At the stairs, hurried footsteps echoed from below. He could hear the chaotic pounding of boots and the hushed orders of an approaching group. Armed men were climbing quickly, pistols ready, their nervous movements betraying their fear.
Ethan raised the semiautomatic rifle with predatory calm, aiming at the first men to appear. A rapid series of shots struck with precise accuracy. Bodies tumbled down the steps as the gunfire reverberated through the stairwell.
The AR-15 ejected its last casing just as the final man fell. Before Ethan could fully assess the situation, more footsteps alerted him to another group coming up a secondary staircase.
—Now or never.
Exhaling steadily, Ethan activated Battle Concentration. The world seemed to slow around him. Footsteps and his own breathing faded into distant echoes. Everything else sharpened: light reflecting off enemy weapons, the position of each shadow in the narrow stairwell.
He dropped the empty rifle and pivoted, drawing the M1911 from his waistband and the second pistol from his shoulder holster in one fluid movement.
The men below barely had time to react. Ethan fired with lethal precision, every bullet finding its mark. One tried to aim from a corner, but a shot to the forehead stopped him before he could fire. Another lunged from the side with a knife. Ethan struck him sharply with a pistol's grip, then shot him in the chest.
First target. Left corner.
He pulled the trigger. Bang. The nearest man took a bullet through the shoulder and dropped his weapon.
Second. Behind him.
Another shot struck the next man's chest. As he fell, his pistol slid down the stairs.
Ethan shifted his stance in a fraction of a second, aided by the activated ability, and aimed at the last man trying to shelter behind the railing. His M1911 roared. The bullet clipped the wood before striking its target.
As Ethan descended, another attacker tried to surprise him from the side. Without looking directly at him, Ethan fired into his shoulder, pivoted, and finished him with a shot to the chest. His movements were precise and fluid, leaving no room for error.
Bodies fell around him. Watching from above as the stairwell grew quiet, Nola felt an unexpected mixture of reassurance and awe. The man's lethality was undeniable. He looked more like a trained assassin than someone who had simply come to protect her.
Her curiosity about the face behind the mask intensified as she watched him inspect the area with calculated composure, both M1911s still ready for any remaining threat.
Time returned to normal as the last enemy collapsed. Ethan drew a deep breath, sweat gathering on his forehead as he continued down the steps. The final shot still echoed while he looked up to check that the area was clear.
—Ten days of cooldown for that… Worth it —he muttered, holstering his pistols before continuing. —What are you standing there for? Come on!
Nola flushed and hurried after him.
At the corner, screams and gunfire from the central control room filled the corridor. With both M1911s back in his hands, Ethan glanced at Nola. Her lips were pressed together, her gaze murderous. They were ready.
They rushed out from the stairs, moving at full speed. Ethan's boots made little noise, his movements as calculated as they were lethal. Nola kept pace just behind him.
Guards had gathered on either side of the control-room entrance, carrying pistols, swords, and clubs. Ethan gave them no time to react. He targeted those with firearms first, his M1911s firing in rapid succession.
The bullets struck with terrifying efficiency. Several men took fatal shots to the head before any of them could fire. Ethan kept advancing, his gaze moving relentlessly to the next target.
Nola followed close behind, her USP held firmly in both hands. Her eyes were as sharp as her aim. Every guard who moved into her line of fire fell, her shots cutting down anyone in their path.
Chaos erupted. The stunned prisoners didn't know how to react to the sudden appearance of the two killers. Gunfire filled the corridor, and cries of pain and fear echoed as the guards fell one after another. Ethan and Nola moved together in a relentless, fluid rhythm.
Within seconds, the shooting ended. Bodies lay scattered outside the control room. Ethan briefly lowered his weapons, checking for any surviving threat. Nola remained close, still watchful, though some of the tension had left her face.
—Nice shooting —she said with admiration.
—You're not bad yourself —Ethan replied, glancing at her slender thighs.
Nola lifted her head proudly. They lowered their guns and approached the entrance together.
She stopped beside a long-haired man slumped against the wall, blood spilling from his mouth. Kneeling, she pulled his hair away from his face and studied him.
—You tried to assault me the last time you brought my food, didn't you?
The man shook his head desperately, staring at the pistol pointed at him.
Nola gave him a seductive smile and fired twice into his face. His head tipped to one side, and he collapsed.
Ethan nudged the bloody remains aside in disgust and called out:
—It's me! All clear!
A moment later, Joe opened the bullet-riddled door. He drew a deep breath at the sight of the bodies. He had planned to use Chaney as a shield, never expecting Ethan to deal with all the guards in a matter of minutes.
—Did you get what you needed? —Ethan asked, entering.
Joe nodded, then shook his head.
—Is he the man running this prison? —Nola asked through clenched teeth.
Without waiting for an answer, she approached the table, pulled the dagger from Chaney's hand, and gripped his head.
—No! Don't! I have money. A lot of money. You can have all of it! —he pleaded.
Nola's eyes went cold. She drove the dagger into his heart, then released him. His body slumped, and a wet sound reached them from the floor.
After destroying the surveillance hard drive, Ethan released the remaining prisoners, adding to the chaos.
When they left the building, the security door was already open. Someone must have escaped ahead of them.
Outside, Nola narrowed her eyes as sunlight touched her face for the first time in days. Once she had adjusted to it, Ethan offered her a bundle of cash.
—I'm guessing you can get home on your own?
She hesitated before accepting it.
—Can I know your name?
—Let's keep that to ourselves for now. But I promise we'll meet again soon… Nola.
He winked and walked away with Joe.
The gesture felt strangely familiar, but she couldn't place him. Gripping the USP, Nola disappeared into the city streets. Unlike Joe, she knew who her enemy was. It was time for revenge.
Meanwhile, Ethan and Joe returned to the Corolla, where Marie was anxiously waiting.
As they climbed in, a strong metallic smell reached her—one she recognized immediately. Without commenting, she accelerated away.
—How did it go? —she asked while driving. —I saw several people escape.
—Let's go back to Chucky's —Joe replied wearily.
Later, at the tavern, Chucky brought several bottles of beer to the table. After Joe explained what had happened, a tense silence settled over them.
Chaney had known nothing about Joe's enemies. His role had been to receive and imprison whoever his clients sent him. During the interrogation, the only thing he had provided was a recording from twenty years earlier.
Chucky drank some beer and looked around the group.
—What now?
Turning his bottle in his hand, Ethan answered:
—Back to the original plan. We keep working through Joe's list.
Noticing Joe's dejected expression, Marie picked up her drink.
—We still helped a lot of people today, didn't we?
—We did —Ethan agreed, raising his bottle.
Joe brightened slightly, and they clinked bottles in a quiet toast.
After a sip, Joe set his beer down and spoke seriously.
—Thank you for helping me. We didn't find whoever locked me up, but we have some leads. And that place is finished. At least some of the anger's gone.
—You don't need to thank us. Those people deserved to die —Marie said with fierce conviction before draining her beer.
Chucky switched on a small radio, plugged in his headphones, and began moving through the stations.
—What are you doing?
Marie lit a cigarette as she asked. She smoked even more than Ethan did. Without ceremony, he took it from her and placed it between his own lips.
She looked at him, then deftly flicked her lighter.
—Listening to the news —Chucky explained. —After what you stirred up today, there ought to be something about it.
He removed the headphones, his expression grave.
—Nothing. Every station's quiet. No reports at all.
—Looks like whoever's behind that prison has buried the story. That tells us how much influence they have —Ethan said, exhaling smoke. —We were lucky today. Security was lax. Next time won't be so easy.
—They won't trace you here, will they? —Chucky asked worriedly.
Ethan glanced at Marie before answering calmly.
—We destroyed the footage. None of the guards survived, and all the prisoners are out. Finding us shouldn't be that easy.
Chucky shuddered.
The man before him seemed polite and mild-mannered. He hadn't expected such ruthlessness—or the casual way Ethan spoke about it.
Marie, by contrast, opened another beer without concern.
—This is New York. One step from heaven, another from hell. In my experience, some people belong in hell.
Joe looked out the window. Night had fallen. He stood.
—That's enough for today. Everyone's tired. We'll continue tomorrow.
He looked at Ethan. What he had seen that day had astonished him. Ethan didn't seem like a small-town cop at all. Without him, Joe knew he wouldn't have survived entering that place alone.
Ethan nodded, and Joe wearily made his way upstairs.
Chucky returned to the bar and resumed working.
Only Ethan and Marie remained at the small round table. They had come away with a small fortune that day and were in good spirits. After a sip of whiskey, Ethan smiled at her.
—Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?
Marie stretched lazily.
—I like Italian.
After meeting Joe, Ethan had taken his side without hesitation, showing a loyalty and sense of justice she rarely encountered. From Joe's account, Marie had learned the grim details of what had happened at the factory.
Her heart quickened whenever she looked at Ethan. Though he hadn't noticed, she felt intensely drawn to his commanding presence. Handsome, upright, and carrying an unmistakable edge of danger, he made her wonder whether he might be the kind of man she had been waiting for. She didn't want to miss the opportunity to know him better, spend more time with him, and discover what lay beneath that cool, compelling exterior.
Even over dinner in the cozy Italian restaurant, Ethan noticed the tension between them. Marie seemed relaxed, but she made no effort to hide her curiosity. They shared laughter and a bottle of wine.
When the bill arrived, Ethan paid without hesitation. Outside, he insisted:
—I'll drive you home.
Marie smiled playfully and waved a hand, making a gentle show of refusing.
—Oh, don't worry. I can manage.
But a knowing gleam in her eyes betrayed her intentions. After a brief pause, as though reconsidering, she agreed.
—Well, if you insist…
As they walked to the car, a gentle breeze stirred the night air, though the tension between them remained palpable. Ethan drove to a small community on the outskirts of the city. After parking, he looked at the little house beyond the lawn.
The location was secluded, with the nearest neighbors dozens of yards away.
—Would you like to come in for a drink? —Marie asked, rubbing her arms and looking at him. The wine from dinner had left her pleasantly warm.
Despite her loose gray raincoat, Ethan had already noticed her figure. When he put his arms around her, her appeal became even harder to ignore.
He raised his eyebrows without hesitation.
—Why not? The night's still young.
Marie opened her door and stepped out. Ethan quickly followed, caught her around the waist, and lifted her into the air. Laughing, they went inside.
As they crossed the threshold, their laughter faded into a charged silence. Dim lights cast soft shadows across the walls. Marie set her bag on a nearby table, her eyes remaining on Ethan. Neither needed to say where the night was heading.
She approached slowly, brushing her fingers over his chest as she pressed closer. Their lips met in an intense kiss, releasing the desire they had held back. Ethan took the lead, lifting her easily and pressing her back against the wall, letting her feel his strength and presence.
Marie wrapped her legs around him, surrendering to the moment as his hands moved over her skin. Every touch intensified the warmth between them.
They hurried toward the bedroom, shedding clothes with increasing urgency. Their movements fell into rhythm, driven by passion. Confident and steady, Ethan guided her onto the bed, where they gave themselves to each other without restraint.
Sighs and gasps filled the room. Ethan's assured presence made her feel small but safe, and every caress, every kiss, carried both tenderness and a hunger for more.
When they finally reached their climax, they sank onto the bed, breathless and satisfied. Marie smiled at Ethan, and he returned her gaze with a softness she hadn't seen before.
Without speaking, he took her hand and led her to the bathroom. The tub was already filled with hot water and foam. They eased into it, letting the warmth envelop them.
Marie settled against him, her head resting on his chest as the water soothed them. After the intensity of the bedroom, this closeness was quieter and different. The silence felt comfortable, filled with the intimacy of what they had shared.
—Did you know this was going to happen? —Marie murmured mischievously, tracing circles on his chest.
—I had a suspicion —Ethan replied calmly, stroking her hair as they relaxed in the warm water.
For a while, the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them.
Ethan lay back, enjoying Marie's warmth against him. As their time in the bath drew to an end, a noise outside caught his attention.
—Didn't you say you lived alone?
—Yes. My mother isn't doing well mentally. She's in a care home now.
Ethan let go of her long copper-red hair.
—You're not expecting a friend?
Marie looked confused and quickly shook her head.
—What's wrong?
Headlights shone through the blinds. Ethan stood and went to the window, separating the slats with his fingers.
A car had stopped outside. Three men in black got out, glanced around, and approached the front door.
—We have visitors —Ethan said without turning.
—What do we do? Call the police? —Marie asked, frightened.
—No. We can't trust them right now. If these people can influence the media, they can influence some cops, too.
Ethan went to the furniture where he had left his clothes and gathered his belongings. He handed Marie an M1911.
—Stay in here. If someone opens the door without my signal, shoot.
She pulled on the oversized shirt and quickly accepted the pistol.
—Understood.
Ethan smiled at her, put on the flexible mask, took two other pistols, and left the bathroom.
Keeping his anger in check, he moved along the wall, his bare feet silent on the carpet. As he approached the stairs, he noticed the front-door lock moving.
Footsteps followed, then a whispered voice.
—Clear.
A deeper voice answered:
—There's a car outside. She must be upstairs.
The first man spoke crudely.
—Sounds like she's showering. Maybe we can have some fun with her afterward.
A sharp slap sounded, followed by a third voice.
—We're working. Try being professional.
The first man grumbled.
—She's one woman. What are you scared of?
After a pause, the third answered wearily.
—I'll go first.
Ethan held both Colt M1911s toward the stairs. His body was tense, but his mind remained calm and focused. Muffled footsteps approached, accompanied by the faint creak of wood under the men's weight.
They climbed cautiously, weapons ready, unaware they were being watched. The darkness gave them a false sense of security. Hidden nearby, Ethan almost smiled as he deliberately coughed.
The sound shattered the quiet. All three stopped, their legs rigid. They turned slowly, trying to locate its source. Confusion and fear crossed their faces as they realized someone was watching them.
—Good evening, motherfuckers.
Ethan's voice came from the shadows, calm and almost mocking. He stepped into view with a crooked smile beneath the mask.
They had no time to react. The moment they spotted him, the hammers of his pistols fell. Three sharp shots rang out before they could raise their weapons. Blood mist filled the stairwell, and their bodies collapsed one after another, tumbling down the steps and spattering the walls and carpet.
Ethan descended slowly, watching the man who still moved beneath the other two. Wide-eyed and struggling for breath, he tried to raise his head. His lips trembled as he attempted to speak.
—Who are you…?
Ethan regarded him impassively. Without answering, he raised a Colt and fired once. The report faded, leaving silence and the faint drip of blood onto the soaked carpet.
After confirming that all three were dead, Ethan hurried to the living-room window.
He drew the curtains aside and checked outside. Seeing no sign that the shots had attracted attention, he stepped over the bodies and ran upstairs.
—Marie, it's me!
Before turning the bathroom handle, he stopped himself and called out.
A moment later, she opened the door.
Seeing the fear in her eyes, Ethan drew her into his arms.
—It's all right. I'll handle it.
He set down the gun, retrieved his clothes, and dressed quickly.
Then he tucked the pistol into his waistband and led her downstairs. At the sight of the three bodies, Marie covered her mouth.
Ethan searched them. Apart from car keys, a pistol, and two machetes, he found only a tablet.
He set it aside, took the keys, and stood, supporting Marie.
—Don't just stand there. I'll deal with the bodies. You clean the house.
Marie had sunk onto the stairs, stunned, her gaze unfocused. Ethan bent toward her, gently taking her shoulders and giving her a light shake.
—Marie. Come back to me.
She blinked slowly and finally met his eyes. Still disoriented, she put a hand to her head, trying to process what had happened. Blood covered the floor and stairs, but Ethan remained composed and gestured for her to keep clear.
—Stay here. Don't worry.
His voice was calm and firm, as though he had handled situations like this before.
He returned to the bodies and dragged them outside one by one. Their weight seemed to give him little trouble as he loaded them into the car's trunk, arranging them so nothing could be seen from outside.
Once finished, he shut the trunk and went back inside. Upstairs, he found Marie sitting with her breathing more controlled. He knelt beside her, his expression stern but understanding.
—Everything's under control —he said, gently helping her up. —Clean up the blood. I'll take care of the bodies. Wait here.
Still shaky, Marie nodded, trusting him.
—Come back soon.
Once he was satisfied she had steadied herself, Ethan drove away with the bodies. Near a large river, he found a secluded spot and accelerated toward the water. As the car plunged forward, he opened the door, jumped out, and rolled across the ground. He brushed the dirt from his clothes, watched the vehicle slowly sink, then turned and left.
After walking a few hundred yards, he hailed a taxi and returned to Marie's house.
—It's me —he said, knocking.
Marie opened the door with a pistol in her hand. Recognizing him, she rushed into his arms.
The room had been cleaned, though a faint smell of blood remained. Ethan took her into the living room and sat beside her. An open bottle of whiskey and the recovered tablet stood on the table.
He rubbed her trembling back, then took a drink from the bottle. Just then, the tablet rang.
They hesitated. Ethan put on the mask and accepted the video call.
A cold, arrogant voice came through.
—If you doubt my resolve or my capabilities, I suggest you look at your friend Marie. This is a live feed. Are you accepting my proposal or not?
On the screen, a heavily built man held Joe by the throat with a gun pressed to his head. Joe's face was red.
Marie anxiously gripped Ethan's hand.
—Hey, Danny. What are you idiots doing? All I can see is the ceiling.
The image shifted. A man with slicked-back hair and a mustache took the other tablet and tapped its screen.
—Good evening.
With an arm around Marie, Ethan greeted him.
—Shit. Who are you? Where's Danny?
The man's expression changed dramatically at the sight of Ethan.
When Joe saw Ethan and Marie alive and unharmed, relief washed over him. He gave his captor a mocking look.
—Your friend Danny and his men are swimming with the fishes.
Ethan picked up his pistol, aimed the barrel at the camera, and continued.
—I don't care who you are. I'm coming for you, and I'm putting a bullet in your head. Understand?
The call immediately disconnected.
—Come on. We have to get Joe and Chucky out of there.
Ethan had recognized Chucky's tavern in the video. Chucky had also been visible in a corner, held at knifepoint.
Marie hurried upstairs to change. She was still wearing only the T-shirt. Once she came down, they left.
Ethan took out the case, handed it to her, and drove away with a grim expression. Whatever he thought of the man on the screen, Joe and Chucky were in his hands, making matters difficult.
He considered calling Job but decided against involving him.
Marie hurriedly loaded a magazine. Thinking of the three men who had died in her home, she couldn't bear to imagine what might have happened if Ethan hadn't been there.
In her haste, she dropped the loaded magazine. Bending to retrieve it, she struck her head against the dashboard.
—Easy. I'm here. I'll look after you. I promise nothing will happen to you —Ethan said, taking her cold hand.
Marie drew several deep breaths and forced herself to settle, though her feet still trembled.
—Who are they? Why did they come for me?
Ethan shook his head.
—I don't know. But I'm starting to think this is about more than getting revenge on Joe.
He glanced at her.
—You met him for the first time yesterday, right?
—Yes —Marie answered quickly.
Ethan accelerated.
—You were with us all day today. When we went to the place where they kept him, you stayed in the car. Right?
—Yes. What's wrong?
—Then how did whoever abducted Joe know where you live? Neither Joe nor I knew your address before today. Whatever's going on, you're involved somehow.
Marie stared at him, stunned.