Blood Money Hitman Walkthrough Novels & Stories

He told the driver where to stop and he did stop there when they arrived and waited for him to go get the money. Dixon opened the door to his apartment and looked around him, his breath was heavy, the floor was stained with blood. His blood, their blood. Eamon’s blood. He walked in, there wasn’t a body on the ground, he thought maybe the case had been reported to the police but it wasn’t. But Eamon’s body was gone. What could have happened? He walked upstairs to his room to get his cash. He took a lot of it and shut his drawers. This would be enough for tonight, for him to go get her, this was more than enough, he touched his face to feel tears streaming down his cheeks.

The cane in his hand crashes painfully into the prominent oss of my hip, and the fear of dying without having any guilt is so much, that I barely recognize the blow while holding Hunter's hand and bowing under the rain of projectiles to protect the upper parts of my body. Without wasting time on explanations, he stealthily pulls the improvised bag and backpack with money with his free hand, and begins to move to the door. The point where the wall gave way and let the shot escape to the closet door is right within reach of his head, and therefore, he has to bend down even more. For the first time in my life, I find some advantage in being small. “You’re bleeding more! "I point to the smaked t

Evenly's POV "I want you to help me kill her," I said, my voice calm,too calm. He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. Men like him didn’t need explanations. He just stared, his eyes as dark as the hood he wore. "Leave no trace at all," I added, narrowing my gaze. “I don’t want even her ghost finding its way back.” I pointed to the floor. A neatly stacked bundle of cash lay at his feet, a silent promise soaked in blood before the deed was even done.

Bound and sweating. "Spill," Damon growled, blade tracing skin. The man babbled: Marcus's network, dirty money from a corporate shark hating Damon's past takedowns. Safe houses, kill lists—Margaret next. Fists rained. Bones popped. Blood sprayed. Damon stopped only when breath rattled out. Answers carved in pain. Now they fueled payback. SUV hit pavement, speeding toward the address. "Old mill district," Damon said. "His playground."

Chapter 93 Nina’s POV The silence in the room felt suffocating. I kept staring at the blood trail on the floor. Small red drops. Each one made my stomach twist tighter. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Then I heard slow, heavy boots on the stairs. Dante came down. His right hand was wrapped in a dirty white cloth, but blood had already soaked through. Fresh drops fell from his fingers with every step. In his other hand, he carried a thick stack of money. Neat bands of hundred-dollar bills. More cash than I had ever seen in one place.

Blood poured from his mouth. “You always underestimated us,” I said quietly, taking the final few steps until I was standing directly over him, the roar of the fire filling the silence. “You thought your money and your planning made you invincible.” I leaned in close, “And you forgot one thing, Micardo.” I pressed the barrel of the M4 to the side of his head. “We remember.” I pulled the trigger. Micardo fell face-first into the burning limousine, his body collapsing into the heat and the flames.

Phil’s bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, as he grunted out, “Sure, Clutch.” “I simply need my good buddy Phil to hear my question as clearly as possible. So here it goes, one more time. Where is Cutter’s fucking money?” “It’s not here…” The first drops of blood appeared as the blade pressed into the soft flesh where his earlobe connected to his head. “I’ll tell you where it is!” he screamed instantly. “I swear to God, I’ll tell you where it is.” Clutch stopped, straightened, and looked at me, smiling. “See, it worked! He can hear just fine now.”

“This is it.” Cash takes his hand and pushes against it, popping the door completely from it's hinges. He catches it and tosses it down the abandoned hallway. Looking through the opening, rickety stairs lead down into a creepy dark room. I straighten my back and steel my resolve before I walk carefully down the stairs. Despite how narrow the stairs are, Mason and Cash manage to flank me, one on each side. As I get closer to the bottom, I begin to smell the smell. Blood, rot and death are overpowering.

Claire screamed, a shriek of pure, shattering agony that tore through the stormy night. She dropped to her knees, throwing her body over her husband’s bleeding chest, sobbing hysterically as his hand gave one final, weak twitch before falling completely limp. The hitman didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He turned the muzzle downward, aiming directly at the back of Claire's head. "A message for Blackthorn," the mercenary muttered coldly. BANG! BANG! The screaming stopped instantly. The living room fell into dead, suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of the freezing rain pouring through the shattered front door.

“Damn, I missed this.” Blood soaked the ground. Silence returned. “Clean it,” I said. “What do we do with the cash?” I lit a cigarette, eyes never leaving Omar’s crumpled form. “Take it,” I said. “Their blood paid for it.” We were back in the car. Blood wiped off. Guns reloaded. The city lights blinked far ahead like nothing happened. Collins let out a satisfied breath, cocky as ever. “I told you,” he said, grinning. “That bastard had it in his eyes.”