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Crossfire in the chapel
last update2025-07-15 18:23:13

Scott kept pacing back and forth in the restroom, his heart racing, sweat pouring down his face and soaking the collar of his black shirt. His breathing was shallow, his nerves coiled tight with tension.

Suddenly, the door slammed open with a loud BANG, crashing against the tiled wall—and in stepped a towering man.

He stood at least six feet tall, built like a professional bodybuilder, with bulging muscles that threatened to tear through his black combat attire. In his grasp was an MP5 submachine gun, its muzzle glinting under the restroom’s fluorescent light.

Scott froze the second the man entered, his gaze locking on him like a hawk spotting its prey.

"The Baron wants you downstairs," the man growled, voice gruff and dangerous, his hands gripping the weapon tightly, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Baron? That’s strange,” Scott replied coolly. “I could’ve sworn I walked into a church... not a gang’s lair.”

The man smirked, a mocking expression twisting his lips. “Seems you’re ye
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