Now that she had a feel for their gear, Bella moved deeper inside.
Phut. Phut.
Two vicious Cane Corsos were put down before they could even bark.
A burly man, doing pull-ups in the yard at midnight, felt a sudden draft. The next second, his world spun. His head rolled two meters away, his vision still catching a glimpse of his own headless body spurting blood.
A gang member walked out of his room holding a towel, heading for a shower. Seeing something wrong outside, he opened his mouth to shout—only to have Bella clamp her hand over it. She drove her combat knife through his heart, then eased the corpse gently to the ground.
Two men watching a soccer game didn't notice the door drifting open. Bella moved with ghostly steps, putting a bullet in the back of each head.
Another gangster sleeping in bed had his throat slit before he could wake.
One man, caught mid-assault on a girl, was grabbed by the forehead and chin. Bella twisted her hands. Crack! His neck snapped instantly.
More enemies within a ten-meter radius were dropped by her pistol.
Bella killed over a dozen people as she walked. Originally, she had cast an Invisibility Spell, but maintaining it was a hassle. She decided to switch to brute force and carve a bloody path through.
As long as no one sees me, it's perfect stealth!
After emptying two magazines, she found several girls in the rooms on the west side of the ground floor. Their hands were handcuffed to the bedframes; their eyes were glazed, clearly drugged and traumatized.
These scumbags!
Bella was truly furious. These traffickers were worse than the cultists in Silent Hill! They were rotten to the core.
A slight creak came from the door behind her. Bella whipped around immediately.
A white-haired old man in a black leather jacket had a gun trained on her.
She leveled her own weapon at him instantly.
"Did you kill those people outside?" the old man asked, his voice low.
He wore no hood, no mask, and didn't hide his voice. One listen and she knew: An American accent, clear as day.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Bella rasped, disguising her voice.
No point denying it. Even if she was recorded, it didn't matter—you don't know who I am!
The old man looked at the "FBI" logo on her vest, his aim steady. He pulled a photo from his jacket pocket with his left hand. "I'm looking for my daughter. Have you seen her?"
Bella looked closely. "That's Kim and Amanda, right? I saw them on the plane. But I don't know if they're here."
The old man slowly lowered his gun. Bella being a woman played a big part in lowering his guard.
He had arrived a few minutes after them and followed the trail of bodies. Under French law, the body count Bella racked up was enough to get her put away for life ten times over.
The old man was here for his daughter; Bella was here to vent her rage. There was no conflict. They could work together—at least for now.
They went upstairs and found the second level had also been mostly cleared. Bodies lay everywhere.
"I'm Bryan, ex-CIA. What is going on here?" Bryan checked the bodies and noted the clean, one-shot kills.
"My partner probably did it. We came to France for a trip, and these guys just..."
Bella didn't give her name, but briefly explained the situation.
The veteran agent was speechless. This gang really had a death wish. Not only did they provoke a retired CIA agent, but they also messed with two female hitmen.
It was no wonder he thought that way; Bella didn't look like a civilian.
Masked, raspy voice, body armor, ruthless efficiency, suppressed weapon, blood on her knife! Is this how a normal tourist dresses for Paris?
Compared to Bella, Bryan had just marched in. No disguise, just a pistol and pure rage.
On one hand, he was desperate. On the other, he didn't give a damn about the French government. As an ex-CIA operative, why should he?
"Who is he? Your friend?"
At the corner of the hallway, they met Natasha.
The redhead looked Bryan up and down.
"He's here to save his daughter. Same goal."
Bella whispered an explanation. Natasha had a similar thought: These traffickers are really looking to die.
If you guys are so tough, why didn't you go kidnap the President's daughter?
Pfft pfft! Bang bang!
With Bryan assisting and the team reunited, their clearing speed accelerated.
With the constant gunfire and the rapid drop in their numbers, the remaining gang members finally reacted.
Since they were exposed, pistols weren't cutting it anymore.
"Catch!" Bella opened the duffel bag and tossed an assault rifle to her "sister."
Then she took out another rifle and gestured to the old agent. "Want one?"
Bryan looked at his handgun. It lacked stopping power. He nodded readily.
Bella held an SMG in each hand, taking point.
Triggers held down. She swept left, dropping four or five enemies instantly. She raised her right hand; an enemy popping out was turned into a sieve.
Blood sprayed the walls. Limbs were torn apart by the kinetic energy.
She didn't even look at the corpses. As long as the hostility vanished from her psychic vision, the target was dead.
Unlike her magical gunplay, Natasha and Bryan moved with professional discipline—shoulders tight, stance low. Target acquired, trigger pulled, bloody hole delivered.
The rifles hit much harder than pistols. Entry wounds were neat; exit wounds were bowl-sized craters. Internal organs were churned to mush. Many gangsters died before they hit the floor.
The gunfire grew deafening. Outnumbered, yes, but the trio was unstoppable. The gang tried to organize two counterattacks, but both were crushed.
"Cough! Hey!"
Bella fished out two frag grenades from the bag. She thought about it and realized she didn't know how to use them safely.
She coughed once and handed the entire duffel bag—grenades included—to Natasha.