Escape:Target D916 Book 2 |✓|

Chapter 9

Pulling his black tank top down, Draven concealed his weapon as he closed the door to his car.

His eyes settled among the four cars parked on the street in front of the house. Meaning, there would be more than expected. No matter, he continued his path, gazing around, surveying his surroundings making sure no one saw him as he snuck behind the house.

He heard a lot of low talking, murmurs and he cursed himself, not being able to make out the words said. He was more than certain it had been a meeting to discuss the hostage's death and Draven's soon-to-be-at least in their eyes, demise.

He removed the wrapped cloth from his jacket pocket, retrieved the scissors, and opened the breaker box. Eyeing the different color wires, he allowed his mechanic mind to do the work.

Red and black had been the main sources. Red though, was the tricky one, a risk. Instead of bargaining with the red wire in hopes of coming up lucky, he redirected his gaze over to the black wire and snapped it without hesitation.

He heard "What happened to the lights?" A grin found its way onto his face.

Hearing the grumblings from the men made Draven grin in fulfillment. For some reason recently he's been tingling to get his hands on somebody. A hankering for savagery. At least when he wasn't around his precious Angel, Sabrina.

She evoked tranquility and peace like no other. It influenced him even when he made an effort not to confront it.

Realizing a man would be sent to the breaker, Draven slid against the wall as though he were hiding away in the shadows and he heard the sound of exasperated breaths, and strides followed, drawing nearer.

Draven's eyes glimmered, guileful as his elbow whacked the man in the face and he lurched back with a groan. Draven didn't permit him to recuperate and instead swiftly before the man could restore his vision, Draven's hands wrapped over the man's head, and with ease and haste, his hands twisted brutally, snapping the man's neck.

He didn't need the other's hearing and so leisurely he laid him down in the grass before making way to the rear of the house.

Absentmindedly a sharp blade slid into his hand, winding, turning restlessly around in his grasp. Just as he pivoted a corner, he was met with wide eyes and before the man could shout, one quick movement and the sharp edge stumbled into his throat, obliterating his voice box. Draven laid his hand over the man's mouth stifling any endeavor of an alarm to his companions and laid him to the cold earth.

He heard a weapon cock and he moved swiftly out of range just as the shotgun went off, missing by a couple of inches. "I know you're here D9! Show yourself you coward" He hollered, surveying for any indication of movement.

Draven shifted his head with a low chuckle, hiding away in the shadows of the walls. The profile of the man's face glimmered by the daylight and Draven knew it was a matter of seconds before the man discovered him. Preventing that, he ventured out into the man's sight, slamming the barrel down with his hand and it crashed to the floor.

"Well, that wasn't nice" He chuckled.

Draven's clenched hand thrashed, reaching his adversaries' faces, who was filled with rage as his nose bled. With a frustrated yell, the man endeavored a charge at Draven yet that just brought about his demise permitting Draven to reach for his weapon, shoving the barrel against the man's stomach before it penetrated him.

Draven became bored with the absence of exertion and instead of laying him delicately like his associates, he simply pushed him down to the floor. "Fuck. You got your blood on my coat" He groaned and kicked the man.