New chapter! Please review!
P.S. Sorry for the shortness of these chapters, but I'll try and update quickly to make up for it!
Steve stood against the desk, idly surveying the hostages, gun at the ready. He had left Mitch in the back office, where he was working out their next move. Steve wasn't too worried, he had great faith in Mitch. Mitch was a thinker. Mitch had planned this whole thing, worked out the fine details, and given Steve the job of watching his back. Steve felt smug – he had done that, and done it well. Even Mitch couldn't have predicted an off-duty FBI agent in the bank. But Steve had dealt with that problem.
He looked over at the FBI agent. He felt slightly ashamed – he had gone for the kill, but his aim had been kind of off. Steve was relieved that none of his shooting buddies were here to notice his poor shot. Except Mitch, and Mitch was above these things. Still, he thought, grinning inwardly – even if he had missed his target, the agent didn't look like he had much life left in him.
Steve surveyed the scene with a certain satisfaction. It wasn't often you got the chance to take someone out, and he enjoyed the thrill. He admired his handiwork, as a craftsman might admire his creations, with pride and self-love.
The agent's eyes were open, and he was gazing blankly at the ceiling. Steve would have thought he was dead, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the rasping echoes of his breaths. In the quiet bank, the sound was startlingly loud.
That young guy was hunched over him, hands pressed down on the chest wound. Steve's lip curled as his gaze fell on him – stupid little jerk, mouthing off, talking to Steve like he was some fool. Still, Steve felt slightly mollified – his brother would die from the look of it. Sucked in! He had enjoyed making him drag out that body. Watched him gingerly grasp the man's ankle, the fear and disgust plain on his face. Watched him struggle (the manager was rather fat, Steve sniggered inwardly). Watched him slowly back onto the forcourt, clearly afraid. Steve enjoyed fear.
Nothing much had gone down thought. The cops had beckoned to him, trying to make him leave the bank, and Steve had willed him to do it. He would have dearly loved to finish off the FBI agent.
But the asshole had come back. Steve studied him. He was youngish, with dark curly hair, and at this moment looked incredibly pale. Steve noted the fear and distress on his features, pleased. Maybe before they left, Mitch would let him shoot this one, too.
The guy was muttering away, Steve assumed, to his brother. However… something was wrong.
Steve noticed the way his eyes darted around the room. The way he seemed to be listening. The way that, as he spoke, he looked not at his brother but at a spot somewhere beside his knee.
Something was up.
Pulse quickening, Steve casually, quietly walked around the room among the hostages. Some were silent, eyes closed, curled up as though to present the smallest possible target. One woman was praying, her mutters creating a dull hum that echoed round the room. A couple lay beside each other, holding hands, eyeing him watchfully.
Steve took no notice. Softly creeping up behind the curly-headed guy, he looked over his shoulder.
The jerk was using a bloody mobile phone!