Kael’s heart hammered, but his voice stayed flat. “Death before dishonor.”
Lobo reached for his piece on the table.
Lobo’s smile didn’t waver. He pulled out a second pistol—a compact .22 with a suppressor already threaded on. “Then you die knowing something true. Shame you won’t tell anyone.” Death Before Dishonor 2 Pistols Zip
The sound was still almost polite.
He crawled.
The zip-ties made aiming impossible. So he didn’t aim.
Not toward the road. Not toward help.
He pressed the .22 to Kael’s temple. Zip. The sound was almost polite—a zipper closing, a briefcase snapping shut. Kael’s body jerked once, then folded into the mud.