Are We Partners? | ✓

• c h o i c e

Hopkins stopped when felt the cold kiss of a gun barrel against his nape.

It was incredibly dark inside the crypt, and apart from one or two light points installed by Holt's men, they were lost in darkness after leaving the spiral staircase behind. Hopkins raised his hands and, with the corner of his eyes, saw Clark do the same. While she was under a thug's aim, he didn't had to work hard to realize who was pressing a damn gun barrel against his neck.

"Seems like we meet again, friends," Charlie whispered, his voice echoing through the stones. "You're right on time. Holt is anxious to see you."

They walked in silence. Every time Hopkins tripped on skulls, bones or coffins, Charlie shoved him, ordering him to continue. After a labyrinth of stone statues, rats, rotten bones and broken ancient coffins, they arrived at a great rounded hall, full of skeletons resting in gaps in the wall, holding swords and daggers, embraced by dust and spider webs.

But it wasn't that that caught his attention.

Apart the enormous room size, there was two bifurcations, two doors with the Russian eagle of two heads beautifully carved on the top of each entrance. Hopkins glanced at Clark, who was absorbed by every detail of the room, watching everything like a scientist whose best theory is, suddenly, proven. This shit is real. The fucking Romanov's Vault exists.

Hopkins turned to face Holt, who was sweating in shirtsleeves, holding a pistol and walking in front of the doors. His bloodshot eyes flickered the newcomers with a humid smile.

"Ah, Mr. Hopkins! Ms. Clark!" Holt exclaimed in a mischievous tone, looking like the crazy man he was. The men aimed their rifles to them, and Holt smiled, waving his gun. "You two got a perfect timing. We're about to make History, so, please, open the doors of the Romanov's Vault."

Hopkins clenched his jaw and didn't move.

"Maybe you need another encouragement, Mr. Hopkins?" Holt puckered his lips before smiling again. He made a sign for a man, who shoved Spankin' into the room, in the arms of another thug. Hopkins felt his stomach turns inside his body.

"Liam! Liz! Let go of me, you chickenshit!" Spankin' shrieked, kicking and punching the air.

Her screams perforated his ears, making Hopkins clench his fists, ready to broke Holt's perfect nose. Furiously, he tried to reach the girl, but the thugs raised their rifles before he could advance.

"You know, Mr. Hopkins, we all have a weakness," Holt started, raising his eyebrows, smiling like a gentleman. "Something you can't live, breathe without. Something you'd give anything for; money, fame, people. Turns out that you just have to make a choice, Mr. Hopkins." He chuckled, pointing the gun to Clark and Spankin'. "You open the Romanov's Vault, or choose what weakness we'll exterminate first."

"I don't know how to open it," Hopkins barked, glancing at the stone walls. "Not without Clark."

"Is that a choice, Mr. Hopkins?"

He pointed the gun to Spankin', who kept eyeing him, trying to get rid of the thug's grip around her arms. Hopkins puckered his lips. If Charlie's gun wasn't so buried down his nape, he would've twisted Holt's neck.

"If I open the Vault," he said bitterly, "you'll kill all of us."

Holt smiled and shrugged.

"That's a choice that belongs only to me, Mr. Hopkins."