My Taste
The silence that followed was shattered by a single, deafening gunshot.
Flichhh!
The sharp sound reverberated through the room, followed by the sickening splatter of hot blood.
Arthur's face was spattered with crimson drops, warm and sticky against his skin.
His expression remained eerily composed as he slowly reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a silk handkerchief. With practiced elegance, he dabbed the blood from his face, his movements unhurried and precise.
Behind him, RJ's lifeless body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, a gaping hole where his head used to be.
Arthur turned his gaze toward the window, where the faint glint of a sniper's scope disappeared into the distance. He folded the bloodstained handkerchief neatly and tucked it away before standing, his posture relaxed but his smile cold and sharp.