As was becoming habit, Spencer let out a silent yawn as he did his best to fight off the ravages of sleep that steadily drew closer like the tide upon the beach. Despite the long nap he had taken some fifteen hours earlier, it clearly hadn't been enough, not in the face of such a nerve-wracking day. Still, he forced himself awake, lying in the claustrophobic space underneath the bed, feeling as if he was encased within a coffin. All the while, he continued to try to make peace with what he was about to do.
'It's funny.' Spencer thought in dry amusement. 'If someone had told me as a child that I'd end up killing a man, I'd have bet everything it'd have been my drunken excuse for a father. Not a criminal overlord of one of the strongest gangs in the city.'
It was a thought that left him unsure whether to laugh or sigh at just how insane his life had suddenly become. Yet before he could dwell on it any longer, he was snapped back to reality as, for the first time in hours, he heard something other than the faint sound of his own breathing. At first, it was faint, near indecipherable, but within seconds it ballooned in volume until Spencer quickly recognised it as the sound of laughter. The same kind he had heard hours prior when he had peered his head around the corner and saw Ferdinand Salas.
Instantly, any tiredness Spencer had possessed fled his system. In its place came trepidation and nervousness that left him tightening his grip on his pistol, as he realised it was finally time. Less than a few seconds later, a massive bang echoed outwards as what he assumed was the door burst open. Then, like the breaking of a dam, raucous laughter flooded into the previously silent room. Only, to Spencer's horror, he quickly realised, it wasn't only the sound of laughter he could now hear.
"God, stop. You are insatiable." A sultry female voice giggled, making Spencer freeze in shock.
"Come on, sweetheart. I know you want to." The deep, gruff and slurring voice he assumed belonged to Ferdinand replied.
"Don't forget about me, baby." Another, separate female voice said.
"As if."
The conversation soon devolved into the sound of giggles and moans as Spencer heard them meander their way towards him before collapsing onto the bed. In doing so, the bed began to sink, further reducing the already limited amount of space he had. However, at that moment, Spencer couldn't have given two shits about the amount of available space he had. Instead, his entire focus rested solely on the two new problems he now found himself faced with.
Spencer bit back the curse on the tip of his tongue, doing his best to ignore the makeout session unfolding above and steady the panic rising inside him. His mind immediately began to race, grasping for a possible solution that, no matter how hard he tried, refused to come, leaving him unsure of what to do next. The entire plan had hinged on the fact that nobody would be alerted to Ferdinand's death until hours later. This would have given Spencer more than enough time to sneak out unnoticed and escape without any bullets being fired his way.
However, with the introduction of two new witnesses, that plan went right out the window. After all, it wasn't as if he could just kill Ferdinand without alerting them. Spencer didn't care how quiet his pistol was with a silencer; he doubted it was enough to stop them from hearing it less than a foot away. The only possible solution he eventually managed to think of was killing all three of them–a thought he promptly dismissed. He was already having an existential crisis with the idea of killing a renowned murderer; there was no way he could stomach killing what, for all he knew, were two innocent women.
Spencer let out a silent sigh, though with the groaning, moaning and rhythmic slaps echoing from above, he could've probably been as loud as he wanted without anyone noticing. He realised his only remaining option was to wait and hope that, once they'd 'finished', the two women would quickly make themselves scarce, leaving Ferdinand alone. So that was what he did. Fortunately, he wasn't subjected to it for long, with the shaking of the bed and the harsh moans tapering off about ten minutes later.
In the ensuing silence, after they had finished, Spencer waited with bated breath. He waited anxiously for the two women to make some kind of movement and swiftly exit the room. Yet as seconds soon turned to minutes, and he was met with nothing but the grating sound of Ferdinand's snores, Spencer was forced to face reality. They were not moving–a fact which left him wanting to let loose a frustrated scream and smash everything in sight.
'For fucks sakes! Could things go any more wrong?' He thought to himself bitterly with clenched teeth.
Still, despite the irritation bubbling inside of him, Spencer didn't budge from his spot underneath the bed. He remained hidden. He did so for what must have been another thirty minutes, until he was certain both the women were also sound asleep. Only when the faint sound of their throaty breathing could be heard alongside the thunder-like snores of Ferdinand did he begin to move.
Slowly, he wiggled himself out from beneath the bed, making sure to move as carefully as possible so as not to disturb the sleeping bodies just inches above him. The moment he managed to escape the tight confines, finally able to breathe properly for the first time in hours, he rose to a stand and stretched his aching, tender muscles. Only after he had done so did he turn his attention to the three sleeping forms that resided less than a couple of metres to his side.
If Spencer had believed Ferdinand would appear less intimidating while unconscious, he was sorely mistaken. Even as he lay unmoving, splayed across the majority of the bed and all but eclipsing the two beautiful women wrapped within his muscular arms, he was a terrifying sight. So much so that as Spencer gazed upon his monstrous physique as well as the myriad of scars that littered his body, he couldn't stop the slight fear that continued to grip his heart. Still, such fear was quickly buried, as at the sight of the two women, he was reminded of the urgent crisis he now faced.
He stood motionless beside the bed, at first unsure of what to do and feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place. Yet such uncertainty didn't last for long as he quickly realised one real course of action. After all, it wasn't as if he could simply leave and try again another day. No, he didn't even want to imagine what the kidnapper would do to his daughter if he tried to do that. Regardless of the danger, Spencer had to kill Ferdinand Salas tonight, no exceptions. He could only hope that by the time the women roused from their slumber and alerted someone about what had happened, he would already be halfway to the exit.
And so, with that thought in mind, as he did his best to calm his shallow breathing, Spencer slowly raised the pistol that for the past few hours hadn't left his grasp, and aimed it towards Ferdinand's chest. It was then, after crossing the little distance that remained between him and Ferdinand, soon towering over him, that he took a final deep breath and did what he had to do. With shaky hands, he clenched his index finger and pulled the trigger.
Or at least he tried to. Yet as the tension in the room became all but palpable, the expectant gunshot remained eerily elusive. Not because of any fault with the weapon, but because Spencer found his hand had suddenly turned rigid, as if frozen solid. No matter how fiercely he willed it, the finger resting on the trigger refused to budge, unwilling to cross the final inch needed. It was as if his body was fighting against him. But as the desperate need to exhale overcame him and forced him to reluctantly lower his pistol, he knew it wasn't his body that was the problem.
'Goddammit, you son of a bitch! Stop being such a fucking pussy and kill this bastard!' Spencer berated himself in his mind in an effort to urge himself to act. Yet, regardless of how many insults he hurled at himself to steel his resolve, as he re-raised his pistol once more, he continued to find himself incapable of pulling the trigger.
"God, why am I so pathetic? Why can't I find the strength to do the only thing that will save my little girl?" He silently muttered, consumed by self-hatred and disgust, as he stared at his trembling hands.
However, it was then, just as he felt completely defeated and prepared to lower his pistol back down once again in resignation, that something happened. The woman, who lay on the right-hand side of the bed closest to him, stirred in her sleep. A tiny, feeble shuffle accompanied by a whisper-like moan–something that normally wouldn't have even drawn Spencer's attention. Yet in the tense situation he found himself in, with his nerves frayed to high heaven, it was enough.
It was enough to cause Spencer to flinch in shock and for his finger, resting over the trigger, to twitch closed.