The silver-haired man walked out from the black silhouette of the garden trees, his boots clicking softly against the wet concrete. Maxim Petrova looked down at the ruined escape team, his dead, glassy eyes completely empty of warmth.
Beside Victoria, Vance and the other guard, bleeding heavily from their initial wounds, tried to move regardless of the agonizing pain. With trembling, mud-slick hands, they reached frantically for their sidearms.
Bang. Bang.
Two casual, high-velocity rounds took them both in the temples. Blood spilled into the puddles, and their heads dropped heavily into the mud. Dead.
Maxim lowered his weapon, an amused, mechanical look settling on his face. "Interesting strategy you made there," he murmured, his voice flat against the roar of the downpour. "Very clever."
