Page 145 of Scarlet Angel

I want to believe. But from inside this tin can, it’s sounding like we got stiffed.

I flatten my lips against hers, memorizing the feel and the pulse through my body. All too fast, it’s over.

I watch as she stretches an arm high above, and I hold my breath, searching for Fisher.

His hand reaches down, and I breathe more easily as I push up on her bum, helping her rise out of the vehicle.

Given the intensifying smoke, this rig could blow any second.

Gunfire returns, and I send a prayer to the heavens that Scarlet’s taken cover and then haul myself out of the hole.

My arm muscles burn as I pull. Fisher’s on the edge, shooting, giving clearance.

I don’t see Scarlet. Nor Sophia.

I roll out of the hole, scrambling down the side.

Both Scarlet and Sophia are crouching on the ground, guns out, firing back.

“How many?” I ask, boots landing with a painful crack on the pavement.

“SITREP unclear,” Fisher shouts. “Visibility zero.”

“SITREP?”

“Situation Report,” Sophia says. “Fish, they aren’t military. You lead, I’ll cover.”

“Negative,” he argues.

Looking over my shoulder, I estimate we’ve got a football field’s length to reach cover. Unless these blokes are shit shots, they’ll fill us with lead before we reach the warehouse.

A boom sounds, and the van shifts, throwing us back against the pavement.

My ears ring.

Smoke’s everywhere.

I swipe my eyes and blink.

High above me, Scarlet takes aim, her hair flaming, a vision in marred white.

Bap. Bap. Bap.

I push up, coming to her side.

To my right, a rifle aims at my angel.

Time stills.

All my senses heighten.

I sail through the air, feet leaving the ground.

I pull the trigger and answer with a barrage of gunfire.

And he’s down.

Sirens ring.

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