Noel stood frozen as the gun's muzzle was aimed directly at his temple. The culprit was none other than Rudolf's remaining henchman, who had managed to chase Noel from the basement. It was safe to assume that the man knew this building well—perhaps he already worked here, or had studied the floor plan before tonight's operation. Evidently, he had now easily found Noel's escape route.
Out of ammunition, the fake Killer Rabbit had carelessly let his quarry escape. And now, he himself had become the hunted.
Swallowing hard, Noel glanced around from the corner of his eye. There was nowhere to hide—he was trapped. The bullet would bore through his head any time he moved. Resigned, Noel closed his eyes as the trigger was pulled.
BANG!
The pistol discharged a bullet, but Noel felt nothing except the loud crack of the gunshot followed by the thud of a heavy object falling.
Daring to open his eyes, Noel found the armed man already lying dead at his feet. The bullet hole was clearly visible at the back of his head, fresh blood spilling onto the expensive hotel carpet. Noel shuddered in horror—this was the first time he had seen someone shot dead before his very eyes.
Faintly, Noel caught the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned his attention towards the source and saw a man in a faded black suit reholstering his pistol as he walked towards the still-shocked Noel.
"I told you to wait because this mess is part of my problem," said Alexei, his attention never leaving Noel.
From behind Alexei, two large men in black suits approached. "Mr Tsvetkov, some of Malevsky's men in the basement have been found dead," one of them reported.
"And Malevsky?" Alexei asked without shifting his gaze from Noel.
"He fled."
Alexei nodded. "Very well. Clean up the rest."
"Yes, sir." Both men nodded obediently and left immediately.
After they were gone, Alexei again closed the distance between himself and Noel. "It seems I should thank the Killer Rabbit, because tonight he's helped me clean up some of the mess."
Noel looked away when he heard the words 'thank you' uttered so casually by the man in front of him. Who would willingly help a bastard like him? The truth was that from the very beginning, Noel had been forced by Nate to fight them.
Now, after he'd exhausted all his strength, this man came to his rescue and acted like Batman—utterly disgusting. Noel wanted to curse Alexei with a thousand profanities. But he was too exhausted, even to speak. Not to mention the bullet wound on his arm, which kept intensifying the pain.
"Is there something you want to say?" Alexei asked, his hazel eyes catching a threatening glint in the grey eyes of the blonde-haired man. His gaze shifted lower, and his expression tightened slightly. Noel's wounded left arm seemed to make Alexei's expression change to one of slight concern.
Without saying a word, Alexei immediately pulled Noel's body closer. Noel wanted to resist, but his intention faltered as the man more closely examined the wound on his arm.
The gunshot wound on Noel's arm was bleeding again. Only the words 'come with me' were uttered, after which Alexei pulled Noel into a room not far away.
*
That room was the same suite—the suite Alexei had used earlier, with its large glass window now punctured by the mysterious shooter's bullets. The white curtains swayed in the night breeze that entered through the broken glass. The bed was still messy, bearing the imprint of Noel having lain upon it. Alexei led Noel to sit on the sofa near the table, then retrieved a first-aid kit from the cupboard. Silence filled the room's atmosphere. In silence, Noel watched Alexei as he took out a medical box and placed it on the table not far from where he sat.
"Bear with me for a moment. This is going to hurt."
Noel bit his lower lip and closed his eyes as he endured the pain when Alexei pressed gently on the wound with a clean cloth to stop the bleeding completely, then cleaned it with alcohol.
"Ugh!" Noel winced, stifling his cry as Alexei applied antibiotic ointment to the gaping graze. After he deemed it sufficient, the man wrapped the wound with a bandage, working meticulously.
"Done."
Noel glanced briefly at his neatly bandaged arm—Alexei's handiwork was as skilful as a hospital nurse's. He hadn't known that Alexei Tsvetkov was proficient in such matters. All Noel had known until now was that the man was only capable of torture. When Noel reached out to touch the bandage on his arm, a hand had already caught his wrist.
"Don't touch it for a while. The wound is quite deep. It will open up again."
"I won't say thank you just because you saved me once." Noel, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
Alexei smiled wryly. "Not now, perhaps. But one day—who knows."
One day, huh? Noel wanted to laugh. But his laughter was choked by some feeling he didn't understand. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing felt heavy. What was this calmness? Shouldn't he be panicking, remembering how dangerous this man was?
For a few seconds, Alexei looked elsewhere before returning his gaze to Noel.
Their eyes met—a pair of grey eyes showing deep anger, resentment, and hurt. There was a current he didn't understand, flowing through his bloodstream. Bursting through every vessel and creating a rumble in his chest. Robbing him of the ability to show the emotions he felt.
Noel could only hold his breath as Alexei's breath swept across his face. His body seemed to freeze under the gaze of those dark hazel eyes—not sapphires. Alexei lowered his head, about to kiss him, until the action was stopped by a knock at the door. A rough click of the tongue escaped before Alexei pulled his face away.
"Come in!"
"Mr Tsvetkov. Detective Peter Leger would like to see you," a man reported from behind the door, then fell silent, waiting for his superior's answer.
"Very well. I'll be there." Alexei snorted softly and ordered one of his guards to enter. "You. Watch him. Don't let him escape," he commanded, then left the room, leaving Noel panicking because he was about to be detained again.
As soon as he saw the door about to close, Noel quickly moved towards it, but his movement wasn't fast enough. The door had already been closed by the guard from the outside.
Noel then pounded on the door while shouting, "OPEN THE DOOR! YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN HERE!"
From outside, Alexei heard Noel's shouting. He only glanced briefly at the brown-painted door before continuing on his way.
*
"Have you been waiting long?" Alexei asked upon arriving at a meeting room.
Peter Leger looked up. The man stood and offered his characteristic smile. "Not at all. You look busy," Peter Leger commented while slipping his phone into his trouser pocket.
"Yes, there was a small problem, but everything has been handled."
"I'm glad to hear it. Can we talk?"
"Of course."
Alexei walked towards the large glass window overlooking the hotel's rear parking lot. Peter followed him, still wearing the friendly smile typical of a detective cultivating a good relationship.
As they turned around, the sound of breaking glass came from outside the building, followed by someone leaping from the third floor down below. From that height, a body appeared to fall, rolling over the entrance canopy before landing on the pavement in a kneeling position.
"That's dangerous!" The exclamation came from Peter Leger's mouth. When he wanted to give chase, the person had already run out of his sight—and out of Alexei's.
Alexei, who knew exactly who had just performed the stunt of leaping from the third-floor glass window, could only stand there in silence, clenching his fists. His expression was that of a hunter who had lost his quarry.
Peter Leger turned to Alexei, eyebrows raised. "You know him?"
"No," Alexei answered curtly. His eyes were still fixed on the point where the figure had disappeared. "A lost guest, perhaps."
*
Sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain
Sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain
The dark days are gone
And the bright days are here
My Sunny one shines so sincere
Sunny one so true, I love you
The melody of the music accompanied the solitude of a middle-aged man on his way home. He glanced at the polaroid photo on his dashboard, showing himself with a woman and a little girl, and the middle-aged man smiled.
Outside, snow had begun to fall again—white flakes drifting gently down the increasingly quiet streets of Moscow. Inside the car, the warmth of the heater made the windscreen slightly foggy. The man wiped it with the back of his hand, clearing a small patch of view onto the dark road.
From a distance, his attention caught the silhouette of a figure. He honked his horn, but the figure refused to move from the road.
Looking more closely, the figure in the middle of the road took the shape of a man. The driver honked again. It was no use—the man wouldn't move out of the way.
Giving in, the driver chose to swerve to avoid him. At the same moment, the man blocked his path.
Startled, the driver slammed on the brakes. He opened his window to warn the man, but instead found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
"Take me to Urbandale Lord Halifax Place," the man said curtly, then opened the back door and sat down there.
The driver couldn't say a word. With trembling hands, he turned the taxi around towards the requested destination.
Throughout the journey, the driver secretly watched the man through the rear-view mirror. His appearance was dishevelled—a crumpled white shirt with two buttons undone, his left arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage that was already stained with blood, a pale face with a bruised cheekbone. And between the open collar of his shirt, a bite mark was visible on his neck—a mark that couldn't possibly have come from an ordinary fight. Setting aside the passenger's appearance, which was like someone who had just been robbed, this man could have just finished killing someone, though in truth he probably had. The fact that the man was no longer pointing his gun at him made the middle-aged man feel slightly calmer, though he shuddered every time the passenger stroked his pistol.
"Old man, stop staring at me!" the passenger scolded.
"I-I'm sorry..." the driver answered fearfully. In his heart, he kept praying that he would still make it home alive to see his wife and children waiting for him.
The man rolled his eyes lazily. To dispel his boredom, he opened the 15-round magazine and counted—four bullets left. Just 4 bullets left. He reloaded it. At that moment, the taxi stopped.
"Why have we stopped?" he asked the driver. He could see the middle-aged man's body jolt in surprise as he locked the magazine into his SIG P226 pistol.
"We've arrived, sir." The driver's voice trembled uncontrollably, as did his body.
"Oh... right." The man responded, turning to look out the window. He saw a multi-storey building. Noel—for it was indeed Noel, not Nate—stared at the building he recognised as Gregory's temporary hideout. From outside, the lights on the third floor were still on. Without waiting any longer, he got out. He closed the taxi door and walked away after placing several dollar bills on the seat. "Keep the change," he said, hiding the pistol in his pocket.
The driver remained there, silent, staring at the dollar bills in his hand—more than enough for the fare, even enough to replace the car carpet that might have been stained with blood. He let out a long sigh, then slowly drove away, leaving behind the thin figure limping towards the apartment entrance.
Behind the third-floor window, Gregory's shadow appeared briefly, then vanished—he had probably been waiting. Noel climbed the stairs because the lift in this building was often broken. Each step felt heavy, but he kept moving forward.
When he reached the door, before he could knock, it opened. Gregory stood in the doorway, his brown eyes scanning Noel from the top of his head to the tips of his feet, covered in blood and sweat. There were no words—only a hug that pulled Noel inside, pulling him away from the night that had nearly claimed his life.
[•°]