Page 39 of Descent

“I swear, when we get back to the safe house I am going to scream into a pillow.”

“Don’t tease me with a good time. I’ve been dying to make you scream all day.”

My jaw clacks shut, a rush of heat filling my head. Both of them.

Squirming against the tightness of my pants, I follow her through the crowds, trailing our mark. She’s good. Never too close, never losing Lenny or his three brutes in the scattering of late-night revelers.

Until a jumble of traffic and bystanders obscures my line of sight for a moment. Lenny’s guys emerge from the crowd, heading another direction. Suddenly, the group pauses, words are exchanged. They fall back into step, moving more carefully as they cross toward what looks like an abandoned warehouse.

“Circe? You need to stop them from going into the warehouse.”

“No need, I nicked his wallet. He saw me, just barely. They’re following me.”

Risky. Smart if it works.

“Look for me on the roof.”

“Sure thing. I’ll have a front-row show to them filling you with lead if you mess this up. Shoving myself to my feet, I take the stairs to the upper balcony of the penthouse, dodging the plastic tarping and scaffolding of the renovations.

Thank you, Mr. Leung, for leaving town for the week.

Not that he’ll ever know I was here. Wedging myself against the wall and the stone railing, I kick my foot up, set the kickstand, and cradle the stock against my shoulder again.

A few minutes slip by, silence, then a scuffle through the mic, a grunt, a strangled yelp. I ignore it. The rustling continues for a moment longer before Circe chokes, “Er…A little help?”

“You got this.”

“Rrrrg!” Circe snarls in frustration, grappling with a much bigger opponent. From my vantage, she’s really putting up a good fight. Even if Lenny does have a garrote wrapped around her neck. She keeps one hand near her throat, blocking the wire as she kicks off the wall, rams an elbow into the guy’s ribs. Damn. Guy just won’t give up.

“Should I … ?”

“Er!”

“Say pretty please,” I offer flatly, taking aim.

“Pretty pl-please?—”

“Hold still.”

“Go fuck your—” Her words get lost in the clap of my shot. A shower of crimson explodes all over her. “Aw come on! You did that on purpose.”

“Uh, yeah. I saved your life on purpose.”

“There’s not enough shampoo in the world…”

“Meet you at the rendezvous point!” And I’m off. The gear is in my bag and I’m heading toward the door when I hear a scuffle and a curse outside. In a flash, I’m across the living room and through the window, out onto the scaffolding outside.

Two shadows rush into the room behind me, one of them shouting as I drop to the next tier.

Right into the flashing blade of a machete. Who uses a fucking machete?!

A flick of my boot redirects the slash and I knee the attacker in the face with my spare leg, sending him crashing through the crossbar. Thumps above me are way too close behind.

Leaping to the next plank, I almost miss, landing on my tiptoes on the edge of the board and flailing my arms to catch my balance. Losing that battle, I drop straight back, right into the guy chasing me.

My head bumps his chest. He shouts, jumping back. Reaching over my head, I slap his knife aside, my other hand stops my fall. And conveniently finds the handle of the machete.

Pinwheeling like a breakdancer, I launch the blade right at his fat head.

---