How hard could it be? Wesley had killed Sloan once. He knew he could it again. Trying to escape would only give Sloan an opportunity that Wesley wasn't willing to give him. He'd already somehow managed to come back to life and stalk him here to the hotel, to this old bar in New York City. Wes wasn't about to let the man follow him farther than this right here.
It was impossible to convey everything through one look alone but Wesley tried. Even if Sloan did have most of his attention, it was Conrad who had his gaze. Don't move. He even smiled apologetically. It was his fault Conrad was caught up in this. But he would make it up to him after.
First, Sloan.
Wesley moved his eyes up to the shelf of broken liquor bottles. There was a heavy stench of vodka that grew stronger as it fell down like buckets over the glass and wood. Behind the mess, a mirror on the wall behind the shelves. He could see Sloan's reflection easily, even from the floor. It didn't look like Sloan had caught onto that little fact. Wes would think it strange later but in the moment, he could only bless his good fortune and take his shot. He flipped the pistol backward over his head just barely over the bartop and pulled the trigger. Behind him, he could hear Sloan doing the same. But it didn't matter. The Beretta was old but it was worth its weight. For a second time, he watched Sloan slump and fall dead to the floor.
He didn't think about where Sloan's bullet could have landed until he turned and saw Conrad hunched over. Blood was pouring out of his stomach so fast, there was already a pool of it underneath him. Wes jumped, immediately dropping the gun, and reached with both hands out. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" He put his hands over Conrad's, trying in vain to somehow keep the blood inside. "Conrad, I need you to stay with me, alright? Just don't close your eyes on me. Hey-" Wes lifted a red-stained hand to his face, holding him firmly and desperately by the cheek. "Stay with me!"