Page 40 of Raiden

Did I pass him on the way back here? I was so focused I didn’t even see him.

I’m focused right now. I have more than enough bullets for this and right now, those assholes are temporarily distracted by the man who just plugged their car full of bullets.

That means he probably doesn’t have many left.

I never miss a target, but shooting live men, real human beings, is different.

I don’t close my eyes. I can’t afford to. I steady my breath instead and pull the trigger. Once. Twice.

Two bodies fall on the side of the car closet to me. There are shouts and a quick burst of gunfire rattles off, spraying the gravel in front of me. Something sharp cuts my face as it flies past and a warm trickle flows from the wound. The first body rounds the car. I aim for his head, and I don’t miss. The last man is smarter, using the car for a shield against me.

My head is suddenly light with the power of adrenaline bursting through me. I know I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

I drop down to the gravel, flattening myself as bullets spray above my head, right into the air where I was standing.

A different shot rings out, the sudden stillness deafening.

It doesn’t last.

I pick up my head at the sound of gravel.

Gunner shot the last man, but he didn’t kill him. The guy is crawling through the gravel, trying to make it back into the driver’s seat. He’s holding his guts, which doesn’t bode well for him. There is blood all over the gravel. Three bodies spilled out of the car, puddles of red growing beneath them.

Gunner appears like an avenging angel of death. The look on his face is so utterly blank and dead. Emotionless. He feels nothing as he grabs the man by the head, tearing off the tight black mask. I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Hired thugs do dirty work for the highest bidder.

Steel glints in the sunlight, the sky absurdly blue and clear.

“Gunner, no!” I haul myself to my knees, but I’m not fast enough to stop him. He brings the knife down, slashing across the injured man’s throat.

Blood sprays everywhere like a sprinkler coming on in a fire, soaking Gunner’s chest, his jeans, his face, his hands.

So much blood.

I drop back down to my knees, dig my hands into the gravel, and retch violently.

It’s not just the blood. Not just the gore and the wicked gleam of triumph in Gunner’s eyes like he lives for it. It’s the men I killed.

Three of them.

Three more lives, three bullets, three more ghosts to haunt me.

I know it was me or them. I had to protect Lark. I can’t imagine what would have been done to us, or what kind of trapthey wanted to lay for the men trying to get us back. I had no choice. They were firing at me.

Firing. At. Me.

They didn’t give a shit about me.

It wasLarkthey wanted.

Gunner drops the body and walks over. I see the toes of his blood-spattered boots come into view. The gravel dust he’s kicked up sticks to them.

He bends down, puts his hands under my armpits, and hauls me up with zero grace and all force. I try to walk, but my legs won’t do it. He throws me over his shoulder like a limp doll, gathers up my gun, and runs through the chain link fence, into the safety of the office.

I’m dropped to the floor like I’m not even a living thing.

Gunner has no care for it. It doesn’t matter to him that I’m covered in dirt and puke. He just wanted to get to his phone. He’s already calling Gray, or Raiden. They’ll come for us. The club will. They’ll take us back and make sure we’re safe. There are showers at the clubhouse. I can wash the blood off my hands.

I stare down at them. There is no blood.

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