Blood pooled beneath him, seeping from the gunshot wound in the leg of a man who looked to be in his fifties. His fingers trembled as he tried to press down on the wound, but the blood kept flowing, forming a thick, dark puddle on the wooden floor.
Killian stood by the window, scanning the situation outside,something that could turn against him real fast. And if it did, he’d have to wrap this job up, no exceptions. His gun was still gripped tightly in his hand. His sharp gaze locked onto the man struggling to contain the pain, his breath ragged. Slowly but surely, his face was losing color, drained by the sheer amount of blood spilling from him.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time,” Killian’s voice was cold, emotionless. “Now, tell me where you’re hiding the prototype virus.”
He had tor
