âWhere are my guns, Peter?â All joviality had left Marcelâs tone. Right now, his eyes were dark and emotionless, his tone so cold it could freeze over a river.
However, Peter didnât read the signs or he was simply prepared to die.
âYou should just kill me, bastard!â He said, yet eyed the chihuahua in Marcelâs hands. Once he was dead, the bastard would have no use for the dog and would let it go. Even if he doesnât, he wouldnât be alive to watch Marcel end the poor creature.
However Marcel laughed, pointing at him,â Oh, I see what youâre doing. Youâre trying to provoke me into finishing you off ...â he glanced down at the Chihuahua,â Little doggy, daddy wants to leave you. But unfortunately, you might have to say goodbye first, â
At once, Marcel pressed the muzzle of the gun against the dogs head,
âWhere should I start? The head and give you a quick death? Or the limb? Give you a slow painful death â that one would be on your papa,â
âW-what are you doing?â Peter choked as Marcelâs hand curled around the trigger.
.....
However, Marvel didnât even glance at him, he continued his communion with the dog who seemed to have taken a liking to him, âYouâre a good doggy...â he stroked his furs, âBut my guns are more important!â
âNo, wait -!â Peter bellowed seconds away from Marcel pulling the trigger.
Marcelâs brow raised.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om
âIâll tell you the truth,â Peter quickly added, âBut first, you have to promise me not to hurt him, heâs the only family I have left,â
Marcel pulled down the gun, âI donât do promises,â
âThen whatâs the assurance you wonât hurt him?!â Peter yelled, he was so tired of his games.
âThatâs the problem, you donât. So you can either choose to trust me blindly and tell me where my guns are or you can keep your mouth shut and Iâll end the doggy painfully and slowly right in front of you. Itâs your choice,â Marcel gave him the condition with a smiling face.
Psychopath.
âFine,â Peter agreed.
Marcel simply gave a sign and the lady from earlier came over and took the dog from him, vanishing from sight.
âNow, talk turkey,â Marcel crossed his leg over the other, assuming his get down to business demeanor.
Peter licked his bloody lips, âI donât have your guns, Marcel,â He confessed.
âDonât play me!â Marcel growled at him.
Who was he fooling with that? A whole armory was gone! Although the money loss from it was nothing to him, it had a negative effect in the long run.
If his guns become rampant in the streets, not only would his goods lose market value, but the crime rate would increase, and the authorities would come snooping in â which he wasnât ready to deal with at the moment. In one word, he had to get his weapons before it gets sold or control them after its circulation-both option was hard work right now.
âI only gave him the location of the armory,â
Marcel shot up to his feet, âYeah, you gave him the address to steal my weapons and who is this he?â
âElijah,â Peter disclosed, âHeâs a known mercenary, all I had to do was give him the location and I get my money -â
âBut then we caught you,â Marcel completed smugly. Then, he focused the gun on him, âThanks for the info,â
Peters eyes widened, âNo, you canât kill me,â
âBut you were asking for it less than....â Marcel checked his watch, â Three minutes ago,â Yeah, he was that observant and smart.
âI could still be useful to you. I gave them the location to your armory, I could still contact them or something and get you back your guns, Marcel,â He pleaded.
âOh, donât worry, Peter. Your way past your usefulness,â
âNo, you donât know.....â Peter gulped, realization set in, âYou knew I didnât have the guns,â It dawned on him.
Marcel rubbed his jaw saying, âYeah, I had a suspicion you didnât have my guns but I needed to confirm my theory and as well continue onto my next lead â thanks for your contribution,â
âYou donât know Elijah as I do. Heâs a phantom ghost and unless he wants to be caught, you wouldnât be able to track him down,â
âThereâs nobody I, Marcel, cannot get. Moreover, if you betrayed me once, you could betray me a second time, â He pulled the trigger.
âNo, please donât -â
Bang!
The bullet was successfully scored between his eyes. A clean shot.
Marcel tossed the gun towards one of his men who caught it swiftly, âYou know what to do with the body,â
Peterâs body would be hung in Times Square for all his enemies to see and learn. Oh donât worry, heâs joking. He would be buried in a place where no one would ever find him. See? Heâs that merciful for giving him a befitting burial. Other gangs would simply toss such betrayal in the ocean for the sharks to feed on.
âSir, what should I do with this?â his assistant, Macy caught up with him outside, referring to the dog in her arm.
Marcel gave the dog a nonchalant look, âTake him to my place and feed him to Samson.... â he paused, as if contemplating his options when the dog whimpered, giving him a sad look as if he knew his fate was sealed.
Damn it, he hated that look.
Marcel sighed, âJust keep him in my bedroom and make sure Samson doesnât eat him. Iâll think of what to do with him later,â
âAlso, sir,â his assistant stopped him, âYou have an appointment,â
Marcel halted in his step, his brows deeply furrowed in thought, âI donât remember having one until now,â
âIt was an emergency,â
âAn appointment with who?â
âYour fiancée,â
âOh great,â His mouth turned bitter. Talk about living in a nightmare.
âShe has a party going on tonight and wants you in attendance,â
âTell her Iâm busy,â
âShe said you should forget about the engagement if you donât make it,â Macy told him.
Marcel ran his hand through his already messy hair, âFine. Iâll be there,â He said and left, climbing into the car already waiting for him in the driveway.
âWhere do we go, Sir?â his chauffeur asked.
âA place that sells strong coffee,â
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