Killer Queen

5.

Thelma's pov

TW: GUN VIOLENCE AND BLOOD 

With trembling hands, I dropped the gun, the cold metal slipping from my grasp as I surveyed the scene before me. 

The man who had threatened our lives lay motionless on the ground, his life snuffed out in an instant by the hail of bullets that had rained down upon him.

Valerie's voice broke through the silence, her words a stark reminder of the reality of our situation. "Call the police?" she asked, her tone tinged with uncertainty. 

Derek shook his head, his expression grave. "No," he said firmly. "We can't afford to involve the authorities. We need to handle this internally." With a sense of resignation, I nodded in agreement, knowing that contacting the police would only complicate matters further. We were already walking a fine line between legality and the underworld, and the last thing we needed was unwanted attention from law enforcement. 

Instead, Derek took charge, directing us to carry Marquez to his room where a private doctor would tend to his injuries. With careful precision, we lifted Marquez from the ground, his weight surprisingly light as we carried him through the mansion's grand halls. 

We entered Marquez's room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over me. The opulence of his surroundings stood in stark contrast to the violence that had erupted outside, a reminder of the precarious balance between wealth and danger that defined our lives. 

With gentle hands, we laid Marquez on the bed, the softness of the mattress cradling his injured body as the private doctor got to work. Despite his injuries, Marquez remained conscious, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of gratitude and respect.

"Thank you, Thelma," he said, his voice hoarse with pain. "You saved my life out there." I offered him a small smile, my heart heavy with emotion. "It was the least I could do man," I replied softly. "You do so much for me already." 

~~~~~~

The tension in the room began to ease, a new figure entered the mansion, his presence commanding attention with every step. Dr. Volkov, an older man with a distinguished air about him, swept into the room with an air of authority, his Russian accent lending an exotic charm to his words. "Ah, my dear ladies," Dr. Volkov greeted us with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. 

"It seems I have arrived just in time to offer my assistance." Valerie and I exchanged a glance, the events of the shootout still fresh in our minds as we struggled to come to terms with the violence that had erupted outside the mansion walls. Despite our best efforts to remain composed, the shock of the ordeal lingered like a shadow over us, casting a pall of unease over the room. 

Dr. Volkov's presence provided a welcome distraction from the chaos that had unfolded earlier, his easy charm and quick wit offering a brief respite from the turmoil that threatened to consume us. As he regaled us with tales of his travels and adventures, I found myself drawn in by his charisma, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite the heaviness in my heart. 

But before long, Derek's voice cut through the conversation, his tone brusque and impatient. "We don't have time for chit-chat, Dr. Volkov," he said, his words a reminder of the urgency of our situation. 

Dr. Volkov's expression shifted, his demeanor becoming more serious as he turned his attention to Sanchez, who lay injured in the adjacent room. With a nod of understanding, he followed Derek out of the room, leaving Valerie and me to process the events of the day in silence. 

As the door closed behind them, Valerie turned to me, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Can believe say all this is happening?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. I shook my head, the weight of the day's events settling heavily upon me once again. "It feel like we living in some kind of nightmare," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.