My Target Asked Me To Stay — So I Turned My Gun On My Boss
Part 1
The metallic tang of the pistol barrel was familiar, a sharp reminder of the path I had chosen.
I traced its cold surface as I took aim at my target.
He was the undisputed kingpin of the city, and I had him dead to rights.
A brilliant crimson laser marked the center of his forehead.
Most men would plead for their lives in this position.
They would offer me millions or desperately yell for their security team.
But Greg just poured himself a neat scotch, met my gaze through the blinding red light, and told me to stay.
This wasn’t how the job was supposed to go.
The script had completely unraveled.
Heavy rain battered the penthouse windows, sending shivers through the thick soles of my boots.
I had just crawled through a filthy maintenance shaft, tearing my pants and cutting my leg in the process.
Now I stood in the luxurious sanctuary of Greg Miller, the ruthless boss who controlled the coast.
His office reeked of wealth, cedar, and aged paper.
He lounged in a massive leather chair, watching the storm wash over the city.
My grip on the suppressed weapon tightened as my muscles screamed in protest.
I advanced silently across the plush carpet.
Stopping a mere five feet away, I engaged the laser sight.
The payout for this hit was my ticket out of this miserable existence.
It meant leaving behind cheap motels, burner phones, and the shadow of death.
“Freeze,” I ordered, my voice rough with exhaustion.
Greg remained perfectly still.
He took a deliberate sip from his glass.
Slowly, he turned to face me, allowing the red beam to rest between his eyes.
“Go ahead and smile,” I said, trying to control my shaking voice.
Normally, self-preservation would take over.
Powerful men usually crumbled when stripped of their defenses.
Instead, he surveyed my soaked clothes, my bleeding leg, and my weary expression.
A slow, devastatingly genuine smile spread across his face.
“Stay,” he requested softly.
“Please.”
Confusion hit me like a physical blow.
“Quiet,” I snapped, trying to steady the gun.
“Put the drink down and keep your hands visible.”
He leaned back, completely unfazed.
“Craig sent you, didn’t he?”
Setting his crystal glass on the desk, he let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m exhausted.”
“I’ve anticipated this red dot for two decades.”
Standing up slowly, he showed me his empty hands.
“Have a seat.”
“If you are going to end me, at least keep me company for my final moments.”
My mind raced.
Every ounce of training told me to pull the trigger.
My employer, Craig, would execute me for this delay.
But I couldn’t do it.
With agonizing slowness, I lowered my weapon.
The laser slid from his face to the floor.
Greg released a breath he had been holding, revealing a glimpse of the profound terror behind his calm facade.
With trembling hands, he poured another drink and offered it to me.
“I don’t drink while working,” I stated flatly.
“You’re off the clock now,” he replied gently.
Taking the glass, I felt the liquor burn a warm path down my throat.
“This changes nothing,” I warned him.
“I still require the payment.”
“Craig is generous, but he hates loose ends,” Greg pointed out grimly.
“Do you really think you’ll survive to spend that money?”
“He will erase you before you leave the city.”
I knew he was right.
Craig was a snake who disposed of his assets the moment they became liabilities.
“Pull that trigger, and you’ll just take my place,” Greg cautioned.
He looked at me with weary eyes.
“Stay.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“I broke in here to kill you.”
He looked down, his expression raw.
“Because you are the first person in twenty years who didn’t just see a monster or a payday.”
“You saw a man, and you hesitated.”
“In this business, hesitation means death.”
“But right now, it’s the only real connection I’ve felt in years.”
The weight of his words crushed the last of my resolve.
I looked at the deadly weapon in my hand, then at the broken man before me.
“If I stay,” I murmured, “Craig will just send the next cleaner.”
“I know,” Greg answered.
“We will have to eliminate them.”
I tossed my gun onto the leather couch.
Suddenly, the harsh buzz of the security intercom shattered the quiet.
A red warning light began to pulse.
Greg froze in place.
I grabbed my rifle, leveling it at the entrance.
Answering the call, Greg learned the security feed was dead and the elevators were compromised.
He locked down the penthouse and racked a shotgun.
“They’re here,” he announced.
I took cover behind a massive marble column.
A blinding flash of thermite ignited at the edges of the heavy door.
“They’re burning the hinges!” I shouted.
The reinforced door blew inward with a deafening crash, and the smoke filled with the red laser sights of the men sent to kill us both.
