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Staring down the barrel of a gun was still unnerving.
It didn’t matter that the chance for a permanent death was astronomically small. It didn’t matter that she’d been shot in the same general place before. Hell, it didn’t matter that in about three minutes, she’d be fully back on her feet, probably still tied up, but with at least one of the hostage takers panicking.
None of that mattered. She still broke out in a cold sweat.
Almost as soon as it was levelled with her eyes, the revolver was pulled away and pointed at the only other hostage in the room, who was leveling a glare that was both annoyed and murderous at the same time.
They were never going to live this down.
It was supposed to be a quick mission. Break in, steal the documents that would implicate the leader of whatever illegal operation these idiots were running, get out. Simple, two person mission, something that the two of them could do while Andy and Quynh were taking a life-affirming off-the-grid vacation, and Nicky and Joe were in Malta with instructions to not call them unless the world was actually ending.
So Nile and Booker have headed out in the dead of night to this tiny village in the middle of… Spain? It could be Italy. She wasn’t exactly paying attention to the general location, instead focusing on the locations of the buildings. Booker had taken care of the travel plans alongside Copley, which was a renewed friendship that she actually supported.
But of course, nothing goes as planned. The documents had been moved only hours prior, as the group had been tipped off that someone was gunning for them. They’d been ambushed just as they opened the first drawer, knocked unconscious, tied to chairs and locked in some sort of windowless room.
For the first few hours, Booker had alternated between trying to tug himself free and quizzing her on her French, as he still wasn’t satisfied with her accent yet. She spent that time twisting herself to try to reach the only weapon they’d missed on her body - a tiny knife in her boot. It was still out of reach.
After about six hours or so they estimated, in walked a few of the mercenaries, including the leader. Almost immediately, he’d started by threatening them to reveal the source of their information, something that Booker scoffed at.
When the revolver came out, the entire mood had shifted.
The revolver was slowly lowered from pointed at Booker’s head. Then the man turned and gave her a menacing grin.
“Shall we play a game?” The leader growled, accented English making the words sound even more terrifying. He regarded the gun for a moment, then spun the cylinder a few times. “Speak,” he snapped at Booker, “Or I fire.”
Booker caught her eye. She carefully shook her head minutely. He kept his mouth shut.
The revolver faced her again. Click.
Now at Booker. Again, no. Click.
Back to her. Click.
Him. Click.
The revolver was held steady only inches from her forehead. The leader wasn’t afraid of shooting her. “Last chance,” he said.
“Go fuck yourself.”
He turned back and grinned. And pulled the trigger.