Home is Where the Heart is.
Trevor wasn’t sure what to expect when he peered inside the door. On his list was not the muzzle of a Makarov pistol. Not that he knew the make, the muzzle of any 9mm pistol looks pretty much the same when you are on the wrong end of it. Growing up in London he’d never been on the wrong side of a gun. Even traveling the world after school, he’d been lucky never to experience the excitement of looking death in the eye. It affected him.
His head spinning at this new development, he should’ve been more surprised, when the muzzle started speaking Russian. He’d never taken an acid trip, but this is what he assumed one must be like.
He thought a voice next to him was speaking Russian, but found it hard to concentrate on anything other than the gun.
The gun started
