The first bullet shattered the crystal chandelier above the dance floor, sending shards raining down like deadly stars.
Ochieng didn't wait for the second shot.
He grabbed Veronica's wrist and yanked her down just as another bullet whizzed past where her head had been.
"Stay low!" he barked.
But Veronica had already drawn a compact pistol from beneath her silk dress.
She fired twice.
A muffled grunt—one bounty hunter dropped, clutching his gut.
The club had erupted into complete chaos. Wealthy patrons screamed, diving behind tables and couches. Security guards fumbled for weapons, unsure whether to fight or flee.
Ochieng scanned the room.
Four—no, five—attackers.
All armed.
This was a coordinated hit.
He snatched a broken champagne bottle from the bar, dodged left, and drove the jagged glass into a gunman's neck.
Warm blood sprayed across his face.
The man collapsed, gurgling.
Four left.
Ochieng grabbed the fallen assassin's pistol, rolling behind an overturned table.
Veronica was already moving, her movements sharp and efficient. She was no ordinary nightclub girl—she was trained.
But was she fighting for him or herself?
Ochieng didn't have time to wonder.
More bullets tore through the velvet couches, narrowly missing his head.
One of the gunmen reloaded—too slow.
Ochieng vaulted over the table, kicking the man's gun aside before slamming his elbow into his jaw.
The bounty hunter stumbled—but Ochieng wasn't done.
A sharp twist—a sickening snap.
The man slumped, neck broken.
Three left.
Veronica took down another with a well-aimed shot to the chest.
The last two hesitated.
They weren't expecting this.
Ochieng smirked, flipping the pistol in his hand.
"Now," he said, voice deadly calm, "who sent you?"
The gunmen exchanged glances.
Then—one of them lunged, pulling a dagger.
Ochieng sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the attacker's wrist and twisting hard.
A sharp cry—the blade clattered to the floor.
Ochieng followed with a brutal knee to the ribs, sending the man crashing into a glass table.
The final bounty hunter—realizing he was alone—turned to run.
Veronica's gun barked.
A single shot.
The man collapsed mid-step, dead before he hit the ground.
Silence.
The club was a warzone.
Bodies. Blood. Shattered glass.
Ochieng wiped his face, his sharp eyes locking onto Veronica.
"What the hell was that?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked over to the dying bounty hunter—the one Ochieng had taken down.
She crouched, gripping his collar.
"Who hired you?" she demanded.
The man coughed, blood trickling from his lips.
"…Y-you already know…"
Ochieng narrowed his eyes.
Then the bounty hunter's body went still.
Dead.
A cold silence hung between them.
Veronica slowly stood, turning to Ochieng.
Her gaze was unreadable.
"We need to get out of here."
---
Ochieng and Veronica slipped through the back exit of the Midnight Club, avoiding the sirens now flooding the street.
The air outside was damp, carrying the metallic scent of rain on pavement.
Ochieng was already thinking three steps ahead.
Someone powerful wanted him dead.
Shen Tao? Probably.
But why an open contract?
That was too reckless.
It meant someone was desperate.
Or someone else was playing a bigger game.
Veronica pulled her coat tighter around herself, looking up at him.
"What now?"
Ochieng exhaled, glancing at the neon-lit skyline.
"…Now we disappear."
She didn't ask questions.
She just nodded.
And together, they vanished into the night.
But Ochieng knew one thing for certain—
This was far from over.
---