Let There Be Light

Chapter Forty Seven

The mans body went heavy in a matter of seconds without any struggle or noise – just like how I wanted it. Soap goes past me and to one of the other men from behind – just like I did. He brings his right hand to the man's chin and the other hand to the back of his neck and before the man knew what was going on, Soap moved both hands quickly – snapping his neck. A loud pop filled the air as his bones broke and stuck against his skin making his once smooth neck now having a large lump off to the side. The man body dropped making the floor beneath us shake and rumble.

The other two men that were trying to come to their senses ready their rifles. They jerk them back and forth at any sort of sound they hear since their vision hadn't come back yet. I take the knife I drove through the bastard's socket and throw it into the wall past the man in front of me. He and the other guy immediately turn around with their guns pointed at the knife in the wall.

I couldn't help but smile as I enjoyed taking their lives away. It was always such a pleasure to take the life from someone who didn't deserve it. It was my addiction, and I was only feeding the fuel to my fire. I look over at Soap and our eyes lock. He nods to me, and we both creep up behind the last two souls.

I firmly wrap my hand around my pistol in my right thigh holster and press the cold steel against the back of the man in front me head. "Where's Harley?" I say in a low tone. The other man turns around quickly. Soap disarms his guy, throwing the rifle to the floor. The man goes to reach for his pistol that's tucked in the back of his pants, but Soap quickly unholsters his and presses it to the man's forehead – causing the coward to stop.

The stupid fuck in front of me didn't bother or attempt to move – knowing his life was now in my hands.

Silence.

"Let us go and we will tell you where she is!" the other man urgently bartered. "Please! My son and I got forced to do this and we wish you no harm!"

I keep the gun pressed against his sons head as I turn and look at the middle aged man. "Son?"

"Yes," he says with tears in his eyes.

"Drop your weapon boy," I warn.

Nothing.

I shove my gun forward against his head causing his head to jolt forward.

"He doesn't understand English," the older man said with worry in his voice.

I let out a frustrated sigh, "Then you fucking tell him."

The father nodded rapidly, "Сын [Son]," he begins. "Все нормально. Положите пистолет на пол... медленно [Its okay. Place your gun on the floor...slowly]," he says as he holds both hands in front of him and slowly brings them down. I don't know a damn thing about the Russian language, but I could make out from his hand movements he was telling him to be cautious of some sort.

The man in front of me no longer kept contact with the barrel of my gun. He was lowering himself and carefully taking the strap of the gun off around his neck and gently placing the gun on the floor.

"Stand up," I demand.

The father moves one of his hands up and down real fast as his son comprehended – the back of his head resting against the front of my gun. Soap moves around, the gun still pointed at the father's head until he stops behind him.

"Now," I say as I remove my pistol and let it rest at my side as I let my arm rest.

"Thank you, sir!" the older man pleads as he brings his hands together and up to his face. "Thank you!"