Page 92 of Hell Hath No Fury

He blinks, some of that defiance dimming as he searches my gaze, but he doesn’t stand down, obviously still conflicted. He leans toward me, but the other three grab him, keeping him in place, so he leans away from their hold and says quietly, “She will find us and do worse.”

“She won’t find you because she will be dead.”

He searches my eyes again, and I don’t know exactly what he sees there, but he relaxes and shakes his friends off. The defiancein his eyes changes, relief shining back at me as he nods his understanding.

They turn as once, each glancing in their own direction, ready to make a run for it when I stop them. “Wait.”

The previously defiant boy turns back to me as I secure one of my weapons and reach into my pocket, pulling out a business card I always carry there and holding it out to him. Hesitantly, he takes it, frowning as he reads the front.

THE END

He flips it over, frowning again at the numbers printed there, so I say, “Call it. They’ll help you.”

He looks up at me suspiciously, and I attempt to give him my best reassuring smile, but the chaos on the other side of the room is spreading, drawing my attention. After a moment, he nods again, shoving the card into his pocket before they turn and make a run for the exit.

I watch after them, ensuring the door closes on their departure, and then turn my focus back to the task at hand, thankful my intuition didn’t get me injured or killed this early in the mission.

Concrete flies around me, a bullet buried in the concrete beam beside me. Ducking down, I curse loudly, annoyed that I didn’t get back on target sooner. More bullets bounce around me, and I crouch lower against the beam, peeking around to see where the gunfire is coming from.

A lone man with a big gun approaches, and I roll my eyes, wishing I could get a direct shot without having to come out of my hiding spot.

The gunfire ceases, and I peek out again, snorting as he stands out in the open, reloading his hand cannon. Smiling, I come out from behind the beam, gun hand raised as I move into a spot where I have a clear shot of him.

His eyes widen, his reload hitching as he loses focus, but then he drops the hand cannon, yanking a pistol from his jacket, lifting it, and rushing toward me just as I squeeze the trigger.

Click.

My gun misfires, then clicks again and again, the cruel smirk on the advancing man’s face punctuating the predicament I’m currently in.

Shit.

I glance around, seeing no one nearby I recognize, then quickly turn my attention back to my immediate problem, closing the distance between us. He lifts his arm higher, points his gun, and stops.

Bracing myself, I watch his hand, waiting for the telltale squeeze around the handle a split second before the trigger finger pulls.

“Lilith,” Mickey shouts just as the gun fires—bang, bang, bang—the force of his body hitting mine, sending me sprawling. The impact takes the wind out of me, and we slide a few feet from the momentum of the fall, coming to rest some distance from the center of the chaos.

Lifting my head, I see the man with the gun still walking toward us. He squeezes the trigger again, then frowns when nothing happens, tossing the gun aside as he continues closing in on us.

Choking for breath, I quickly roll onto my hands and knees, using the wall to stagger to my feet. Supporting myself on the wall, my hands close around the hilt of a sword displayed directly in front of me, relief washing over me as it easily lifts from its holder.

I turn my head slightly, listening, waiting. I remain motionless until the air shifts around me, until the last second before his hands would close around my neck, and then I spin, stepping out and back with one foot as my hands lift, swinging the sword around in an arc meant for death.

He doesn’t see it coming. His eyes widen almost comically, the bloom of red at his neck slow to start but soon drips, then runs freely, and he falls to the floor as his hands are still lifting to his wound.

“Incoming,” Mickey says sharply, and I look up just in time to see two more men bearing down on me. I turn my body, holding the sword out of sight until they’re almost in front of me.

Shouting, I leap forward, shoving the tip of the blade into the throat of the first man, then spinning away, using the momentum of the move to yank the blade free. Swinging back around, the blade sings through the air, cutting deeply into the side of the other man’s neck, then sliding free.

They both stand there, momentarily stunned, blood slowly seeping, then spurting freely as they both sink to the ground, toppling face-first onto the concrete.

A glance around reveals no obvious incoming attack, so I turn back to Mickey, dropping the sword at my feet. I kneel beside him, patting his arms and chest, looking for blood. “Are you hurt?”

Mickey slaps my hands away and attempts to sit up but then groans and falls onto his back, panting slightly. “They got me somewhere. Hurts to breathe.”

“Should’ve killed him a bit slower,” I grumble, yanking his suit jacket open and noting the blood on his shirt.

“You’ve always had a penchant for the dramatic,” Mickey jokes, then coughs, flinching in pain.

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