Back at the church, Ethan stepped out into the street with his attention fixed on the radar. The device emitted an irregular blinking light, dots moving slowly across the map. Now that he had gotten rid of the rat, he could focus on what truly worried him.
The absolute priority was something else.
The bomb in his stomach—he hated being at the mercy of someone else's will.
A Jeep Wrangler came speeding around the corner, headlights blazing like wild eyes.
—Watch out!
Nola's voice cracked like a whip. Her expression changed in an instant. Without thinking, she jumped, shoving Ethan and rolling with him to the side just as the roar of an engine shattered the silence.
The driver jerked the steering wheel sharply, and the vehicle swerved violently, crashing into a phone booth.
The impact was brutal; glass exploded in every direction.
Ethan hit the ground, breathing hard, his heart hammering against his chest. Nola was already pushing herself up, eyes scanning the surroundings.
If the car had hit them head-on, neither of them would have survived.
The Wrangler reversed and completed a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn after the crash.
The vehicle rocked… and a blonde girl with a sweet appearance smiled from the driver's seat. The engine roared again, and she launched herself at them once more.
Only a few dozen meters separated them. The madness in the girl's eyes was impossible to ignore.
Ethan raised his gun and fired at the windshield.
Bang! Bang!
The blonde ducked immediately, dodging the bullets.
—Run! —Nola shouted.
She planted both hands on the ground and tried to push herself away.
But Ethan didn't move an inch. He lowered his aim slightly and pulled the trigger.
—Bang!
The front tire exploded. The driver, still ducked, lost control of the wheel.
The SUV veered violently and slammed into the curb. The Jeep flipped, rolling completely over before tumbling out of control toward them.
Sparks flew as metal scraped against asphalt, a sharp screech blending with the thunder of impact. The vehicle slid several more meters, spinning on its axis, until it finally came to a stop with its tires pointing at the sky.
Ethan walked slowly toward the driver's side. Inside, the blonde was crawling through the shattered window, gasping, cutting her hands on the glass as she tried to escape the overturned vehicle.
—Please… don't kill me! —she begged, her voice breaking.
Her eyes, wide open, pleaded for mercy.
—Go to hell!
Bang!
The shot rang out sharply. Ethan holstered his gun and made a clear obscene gesture at the camera.
Inside the casino, the high rollers erupted in excitement. No one had expected that improvised participant to deliver such an electrifying show.
Ethan, of course, had no idea he was being watched for their entertainment.
After a brief silence, Nola approached him and asked:
—Where are we going now? —Nola asked.
—I'm tired of running, so I think we should take the bull by the horns —Ethan replied—. Follow me…
He gestured to her and quickly moved away from the monitored area.
Nola followed him.
They slipped into a secluded alley.
Ethan pulled out his phone without taking his eyes off the overturned vehicle.
—I'm calling in the heavy cavalry.
Nola arched an eyebrow, still breathing hard.
—Job is not going to be happy about you dragging him all the way out here.
Ethan dialed calmly.
—He adores me… of course he'll come.
Nola let out a brief, incredulous laugh.
The light tone did nothing to hide the tension. If they were calling Job, it meant the situation had already escalated.
The call connected almost immediately.
—Damn it! You finally decide to call me… where the hell are you? —an astonished voice exclaimed—. Tell me… what kind of trouble did you get yourself into now? You never call just to say hello.
—You know, the usual… assassins, a deadly battle royale tournament. —Ethan coughed—. You know anything about intramuscular micro-bombs the size of a peanut?
—Let me guess… it's inside you? —Job's voice sounded excited—. Because you always end up getting yourself into weird shit.
—Who knows. I just wanted to spend a relaxing weekend.
—Damn it, you're a fucking magnet for trouble. —he roared—. Let's get to the point. I've heard about them on the black market.
Ethan lit a cigarette and rolled his eyes.
—These bombs usually have specific activation conditions: a timer or a remote signal —Job said, now serious—. But for that, I need to be close to you to disable them or jam the signal. Where are you right now? How much time do you have left?
—There's still time —Ethan replied—. Come to Chicago, and then you'll have to drive to a town about three hours away called Galena.
He sent his location.
—Fine… but it won't be cheap —Job muttered, counting on his fingers—. Transportation, lost wages, emotional damage, nutrition, entertainment…
—Yeah, if I win this shit there's a ten-million-dollar prize. Money won't be a problem —Ethan said, exhaling smoke.
—What…?
The other end went silent. Then the voice turned urgent.
—Are you serious?
—When have I ever lied to you… but I get it if you can't make it. I think I can handle it on my own.
—No!
Job shouted.
—I already bought tickets for the next flight. Hold on. I'm on my way.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The call ended.
Ethan looked at the dark screen… and smiled. The game had just changed.
One single phrase had been enough.
"Hold on."
Flying from New York to Chicago and then driving to Galena would take him, optimistically, about eight hours.
Ethan glanced at the tracker's timer.
There was time.
At least in theory.
He didn't allow himself to think about whether they could last that long.
He didn't consider contacting the intelligence team either. The reason was simple.
Without the backing of the Chicago Police Department, their individual capabilities were not enough against assassins of that level.
Bringing them in would only put them in danger.
And there were things it wasn't convenient for them to know about him. Nola approached when she saw him put his phone away.
—Is he coming? I'm sure he scolded you.
—Yes, but when he heard the amount of the prize, he became very cooperative —Ethan replied, offering a faint smile—
—Typical of him.
Nola leaned against the alley wall.
—Now that we're in the game —Nola said, tilting her head slightly with a half-smile—, what's the next move?
—We do what we do best: go after the bad guys —Ethan replied as he adjusted the Glock at his belt with almost routine ease.
—Thank God… —she sighed, drawing out the words with a playful tone—. Don't get me wrong, I loved the idea of spending a weekend in a cabin lost in the snow, in front of a fireplace, with you… having lots of wild sex —she paused briefly, savoring the provocation—. But after so long stuck on the reservation, I needed something that made my blood race.
Ethan glanced at her sideways.
—I don't know why I get the feeling you're enjoying this more than I am.
—A while ago —Nola replied, shrugging—, I would have been the first to volunteer for a tournament like this.
—I believe it.
The violence in Galena intensified.
The unexpected surprise guest left his mark in alleys, offices, and public restrooms. The odds began to shift in his favor. First place in the ranking no longer seemed so untouchable.
—Bang!
Ethan's leg rose in a clean arc, striking a large man's head. His eyes bloodshot before he collapsed.
Ten seconds.
That was all it took.
Further away, the screams stopped.
Nola emerged from the shadows, breathing hard, wiping her curved blade on her sleeve.
They were on the fifth floor of a building under construction. The wind cut through the exposed levels.
Ethan walked toward the open edge.
—Your endurance needs improvement.
—You're joking. You're a monster, and you don't even look exhausted.
Ethan shrugged.
—Good genetics, I guess.
Nola shook her head, still smiling.
—I hate you.
Her smile said everything.
Ethan checked the tracker. The countdown had already passed the halfway point. Just over a dozen names remained on the board.
The survivors were starting to form alliances.
The two men they had just eliminated confirmed it—they had been trying to ambush him.
In the distance, an explosion lit up the sky.
A fireball rose, and the heat could be felt even from that far away.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
—Let's go —he pocketed the phone.
—Where?
—To rest. Job will arrive soon. And you need to recover your strength… or you won't survive tonight.
The night belonged to assassins.
They descended the stairs, stepping over bodies that were still warm.
They found refuge in an abandoned neighborhood. A secluded house. After making sure it was empty.
To avoid surveillance, Nola cut the electricity.
The house belonged to a family of three, judging by the photos on the wall. They didn't touch anything unnecessary.
—You'll take the first watch. I'm going to shower —Ethan said as he headed to the bathroom.
He searched for medicine. He only found painkillers.
He sighed and turned on the shower.
Cold water struck his back, drawing a faint shiver. The blood diluted and ran down the drain; the small cuts on his body were already healing thanks to his regeneration.
Half an hour later, after eating and hydrating a bit, they rested briefly. Nola had almost fully regained her strength.
—Let's go.
Ethan checked the place one last time and they left their temporary shelter.
During all that time, the tracker showed no changes. The night was strangely quiet, as if everyone were taking advantage of the calm before the storm.
In a discreet café, they both sat silently in a corner, drinking coffee.
A few minutes later, the copper bell chimed.
A bald Asian man pushed open the glass door. He wore exaggerated bat-shaped sunglasses. He scanned the place… and smiled when he saw the person in the corner.
—Black coffee, darling.
He snapped his fingers at the waiter and walked past Ethan, discreetly giving him the middle finger.
Ethan responded by raising his own above his cup.
He sat nearby, just behind him, back turned. It didn't take him long to open his laptop and speak in a low voice:
—Why here? Wouldn't somewhere more discreet have been better?
—It's getting dark, there are surveillance cameras everywhere. It was too risky. This is better —Ethan replied, pointing to the old flip phone on the table, still on the call.
They had already discussed the details.
Without wasting time, Job opened his wallet and activated a homemade device hidden inside.
Soon he was typing rapidly at the screen.
After more than ten tense minutes, his voice came through the receiver:
—Looks like they've got someone decent on the other side. Their defenses are solid.
Ethan looked at Nola and asked quietly:
—Can you handle him?
—Darling, you offend me —Job replied with almost arrogant confidence—. For me, this is child's play. Don't underestimate me, please.
It was no coincidence that Job could infiltrate the FBI, the CIA, and almost any government or private agency as if they were his own home.
Shortly after, several pop-up windows filled the screen.
They showed two unshaven white men wearing plaid shirts. One had black-framed glasses and a sloppy appearance.
Both were frantically monitoring multiple surveillance feeds.
Every time a violent scene appeared, they captured it and sent it in real time to the casino.
Absolute control had them euphoric.
They had no idea someone was watching them from much higher up.
—I've got them —Job muttered, looking at them like they were trash.
—How's it going? —Ethan asked.
—I've got administrator privileges. Now I can see everything and control everything.
Job's eyes gleamed as the mouse moved at high speed.
Job let out a low laugh.
—Now I'll put it simply: if I press this button right now… you blow up.
—Fuck off…
Ethan's fingers trembled slightly.
—Relax —Job said, smiling—. That power is on our side now.
He typed one last string of commands.
—Your signal is blocked. Now the bomb can't be triggered remotely. It can only transmit location.
He pulled a small medicine bottle from his pocket, dropped it to the floor, and nudged it toward Ethan with his foot.
—This will help.
Ethan picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed it without hesitation.
He hoped everything he had eaten earlier would help.
Soon after, Ethan's stomach began to protest.
He gave Nola an awkward smile and headed to the back restroom.
Fifteen minutes later, he came out pale, breathing heavily.
Even someone like him felt his legs weaken.
—Do you have the organizer's location? —he asked in a low voice.
—I want to finish them all.
—Yes, I've located them… they're not too far —Job replied—.
—You can sit now. I've disabled the café's cameras.
He gestured to him.
—Thanks —Ethan said, rubbing his bald head—. Really.
The game was no longer the same.
Now, the hunt was going in the opposite direction.
Job stood up and extended his hand. The handshake was brief and firm. Then came a short hug, a couple of solid pats on the back. Nothing more was needed. It had been months since the last time, since that incident in California that separated them in New York.
Job hadn't changed. He was still the loudest guy in the room, self-assured to the point of arrogance.
Ethan barely smiled.
—Idiot —Job grunted, pushing him away with his forearm. —You use too much strength.
Job showed him the middle finger and sat back down.
—Come, I'll show you something.
He pointed at the screen.
—Look at this, it's a fortune. After this job, I'll have enough to live for several years.
On the screen appeared a large hall.
The competition was almost over, and everyone present seemed relatively relaxed. Some enjoyed delicacies brought from across the country; others embraced women in the corners, releasing accumulated adrenaline.
In the center of the room, on a long table, sat the "treasure" Job had mentioned: a true mountain of cash.
Anyone would be stunned to see it.
—That's not all —Ethan said, regaining his composure—. There's the tournament prize… another ten million dollars.
—That money can't be in cash —he continued—. The winner can't carry ten million on them. It has to be in some bank account, and I bet there's more than just that.
—That should be our final objective.
Job rubbed his fingers together, frowning.
—I already checked, but there's no visible data about it.
—Look, I think that's the host. He looks more concerned about what's happening on the screens —Ethan reached out and touched the screen—. That person knows exactly where those ten million are.
At the head of the table sat a white man in an impeccable suit, radiating authority.
—Where are they?
—On a nearby private estate, but it's heavily guarded —Job said, adjusting his flashy eyeshadow with a serious expression—. Do you have a plan?
Ethan gently pressed the pocket where he kept the tracker, wrapped in several layers of paper.
Job switched the camera. The image showed what looked like an ordinary estate: high walls, strict private security, a pool, a tennis court, and a small pond in front of the house.
The Tudor-style villas were covered in lush vegetation. Armed guards, accompanied by hunting dogs, patrolled alongside luxury cars.
At first glance, it was a tough nut to crack.
—Hey!
Nola approached quickly and lifted the tracker she held in her hand.
A lone arrow blinked on the screen, off to the side.
The distance read five hundred meters.
Anyone daring to act alone under those conditions had to be absolutely confident in their skills.
It seemed they had come specifically for the two of them.
Job waved his hand.
—Go out and take a look. I'll find the bomb's number and detonate it.
—No! —Ethan interrupted immediately—. If we do that now, the organizers will realize something's wrong.
—If they're alerted, they'll move everything immediately.
He closed his fingers and then opened them sharply.
—And we won't get any reward. We need to be patient.
Hearing that, Job quickly shook his head.
—I'll go —Nola said, placing her hand on the pistol at her waist.
After running for more than ten minutes earlier, Ethan still hadn't fully recovered; he was still somewhat weak.
Nola was skilled; she should be able to handle it.
—Finish them, darling —Ethan added.