The gun was pressed firmly against the side of your head, the cold metal an unwelcome sensation. He could pull the trigger, end this right now. But something was holding him back – your beauty, your captivating presence. It was as if you had cast some kind of spell over him, something he couldn't quite shake.

"You mother-fudging pretty little witch," he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on your seemingly helpless figure. He couldn't understand why anyone would want you dead. What could you have possibly done to deserve such a fate?

"Beats me why anyone would want you in a coffin," he mused, his grip on the gun tightening ever so slightly. You were not like the others, not like the targets he had taken down before. There was something different about you, something that made him hesitate, even if just for a moment.