Page 198 of Dirty Pleasures
The first bullet buried itself in my man’s right arm.
He shot my way, almost getting me in the neck.
Kaz’s back left me.
Scared, I screamed, “Kaz?!”
He shot at someone. “I am fine.”
Thank God.
Satisfied, I was shooting again and so were they.
Bullets whizzed past us, embedding themselves into the cracked tile wall.
Chips of porcelain flew like deadly confetti.
I fired again and again, each shot bringing down another opponent.
Behind me, Kaz was performing his own violent ballet. I could feel every powerful recoil of his weapon and hear the grunts that escaped with each exertion.
With my men down, I glanced over my shoulder.
Kaz’s once crisp black suit was now splattered in a grotesque palette of red and grey matter.
Rage bubbled up inside me, a hot poison that ignited my nerves.
No fucking more men!
I turned back, baring my teeth like a cornered animal. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I shook it off.
Six men entered with these green ghoulish masks leering as if they were assured victory.
MOTHERFUCKER!
I fired at the one in front.
It was a swift shot to the gut. He fell, doubling over in pain.
I tried to shoot at the second.
Both guns clicked.
Not this again!
The bathroom became a blur of motion as I engaged the attackers.
Kaz must have had the same situation.
He passed me like a force of nature, his movements a brutal ballet of violence. He slammed one attacker’s head into a mirror, shattering it into a spider web of cracks, then used the jagged edge to fend off another.
I need something.
I frantically looked around as a man aimed at me.
Come on.
I grabbed a heavy, broken piece of pipe from the floor, swinging it with all my might.
