With a sickening “bang!” blood sprayed into the air and splattered against the wood grain of Mills’s desk. The bullet, at point blank range, tore through the right side of Mills’s throat. Most of his neck was intact, and therefore, he remained alive. But he was stunned, winded, and careened into the floor with a clatter. The wound may not have been an instant kill, but there would be no surviving the blood loss. Mills was as good as dead.
Violet lowered her gun. She glared down at Mills, who clutched his pulsating wound with slippery hands. More and more blood, seemingly by the gallon, flooded his tawny suit and pooled to the floor.