Boxes & Smoke

Box 8

Alexei

She went through this–the direction he would take whenever he would avail for guns.

That stupid woman. How could she not understand?

Carver had visited there a couple of times. And even he didn't want to stand any longer in that place. There were a lot of stray men–people who didn't belong in any organizations. They do not follow any regulations. No one holds their throat to give them their limitations. They're as dangerous as he is or even more than that.

Paisley was meant to go there. Davidson might've pulled the strings again. They might've been the ones to send the information to lure her into that place. Kinsley Schleifer must arrive faster than him. Maybe those stray men could listen to the Schleifer's head more than anyone.

Carver was about to turn to another alley when a gunshot erupted not from afar. He immediately stepped on the break. It came from the opposite direction.

His hand landed on the steering wheel. Davidson might've caught Paisley before she could even go through the place.

Carver immediately took on that direction as he stepped on the gas once more. He passed by empty streets. And he turned to every shortcut he had remembered.

He then finally arrived at a dead road. His eyes had caught a glimpse of cars on standby in front of a structure. The three-story building showed no lights and it had been worn out by years of abandonment.

No one would dare to enter there. It's a private property of the Davidson. From the outside, it appears to be harmless land owned by the organization. But Carver knows that this is where they had put their victims. Wire fences surrounded the wide land.

Carver stepped out of the car.

His rifle was slung on his back while the handgun was secured on his belt. His eyes searched for the Schleifer guards. There were no evident cars around. Or they might have met their death on the way here. Carver didn't care less about either of those.

Before he could take another step. He felt the tip of the gun pointed at the back of his head.

"Put your weapons down," said the voice.

Carver stayed silent until more men surrounded him.

He knew that he shouldn't be worried about them. For he could feel it. Eyes piercing on a scope. And inside the scope was his image standing.

A sniper. South. North. Ah, West.

Carver's eyes darted in that direction. He saw a glimpse of a man aiming at him. He laid by his chest as he adjusted on his rifle's stand. He's quite far away. At the far corner of the building complex. But Carver still saw him as if his eyes had adjusted to a mode whenever things like this happen.