Page 13 of Gemini Queen
Ronin blurs into ninja mode, and I swear he’s a thing of beauty. He’s a swirl of hair, a whisper of leather, a flash of steel, a hint of death.
Twin blades slice the air.
Then a glittering rain of blood sprays across the video slot machine and Ronin’s ghosting past the game before that casino rat’s body hits the floor. Gurgling. With the rat’s throat slit open. Which is pretty horrible.
Okay, so I’m a little impressed.
Even though I could’ve taken out my own trash.
I kick the fallen Beretta out of play—guns are my dad’s thing, so I’ve renounced them too. Then I pivot to clear my six before I follow Ronin past the drag racing console and theTop Gunfighter sim to the unmarked door tucked behind the popcorn machine. I’m actually starving, so I pause long enough to scoop out a warm buttery fistful and cram it in my mouth, moaning with pleasure at the salty goodness, before I follow the psycho through the door and up the narrow utility stairs. A single blue-white bulb gutters overhead as we climb, our soles silent on the metal steps.
Up is the wrong way, really, with my winch and harness stowed sixteen floors down and nothing but Wang’s private helipad above, according to Cleo’s schematic. But the utility stairs don’t offerdownas an option, and I do have Escape Plan C lined up on the roof.
It’s just that I hoped I’d never have to use it. My gut feels a little squirmy at the prospect, but that’s the job sometimes.
The business I’m in is called staying alive, and I’m pretty damn good at doing it.
Meanwhile Ronin’s moving at a good clip, but I keep up, licking butter from my lips as I dig out my burner phone and whip off a few words to let Xiao know I’m coming down the hard way.
This time I don’t even get a thumbs-up emoji.
Helluva time to go dark on me, babe. Cuz I sure could use the backup once I hit the street. I’ve got Wang’s boys, my dad’s casino rats, and now this freak from the Academy to shake off—
We’re about to hit the top of the stairs when the rattle of machine gun fire punches through the closed door above. Over the sound of that little welcome party, I’m hearing the businesslikethokka-thokka-thokkaof chopper blades.
Ronin crouches beside the door and looks back with a savage grin. That golden fire is rising in his eyes and dripping from his fingers. The ends of my hair shift and float around my shoulders—my own power rising in response to his and straining at the leash.
Take it easy, showgirl. Leave the pyrotechnics to Adam.
All that Gemini power’s so close to the surface it feels ready to burst through my skin. He’s doing it somehow, he’s setting me off. Being close to him like this. But I’m in control, and I won’t break my vow.
I won’t take out half a city block and eighty-seven innocents. There won’t be a repeat of what went down in Vegas the night my mom lost it.
“Hear those rotors?” Ronin says, and I dip my chin in a tight nod. “That’s our getaway vehicle, yeah? Stick close enough and he’ll cover us both.”
Before I can ask whoheis, that psycho’s reaching for the knob. I grab it myself before Pyro here blows our freaking cover.
“Jesus, Ronin. How about givinghima heads-up before we pop into view and turn into target practice?”
“Oh, he knows we’re here,” Ronin murmurs, heat rising from his skin to warm the stairwell like he’s a goddamn furnace. “You’ll find there isn’t much he doesn’t know. Ready to meet your future?”
Yeah, that’ll be a hard no. But he’ll figure that out soon enough. I step back from the door and flourish my stiletto in an elaborate invitation to lead the way.
Because I’m sure as fuck not going out there first.
The freak bares his teeth in a grin and launches through the door with hands blazing and twin jets of fire spraying from his fingers like gasoline from a firehose. This pyrophoric display gives me a whole new appreciation for the restraint he apparently did show when he lobbed that knockout fireball at me in the john.
As he runs, he sprays the helipad with fire in all directions. The rattle of gunfire sputters out as men scatter screaming. That’s one wicked effing gift he’s packing. Too bad adding Ronin the human flamethrower to my growing list of enemies isn’t my preferred way to end this disaster of a night.
But it’s not like he’s given me much choice.
There’s a Sikorsky hovering two feet above the helipad with its side door wide open. There’s a man crouched in the door frame, hanging half out of the thing shouting something at Ronin, long coat and Renaissance hair billowing around him in the breeze. There’s Ronin flowing into a run like a charging leopard and loping across the tarmac for the chopper. Finally, there’s me pelting along behind, hair streaming in my wake, tracking a good dozen bad guys around my perimeter as I haul tail. To my eye, Wang’s boys look a lot less motivated than Dad’s casino rats once they get a gander at me.
Their fucking target.
Because there’s nothing like a head of wild teal hair hanging halfway to her ass to paint a big fat bullseye on a Gemini girl’s back.
Since I calculated it when we planned the run, I know there’s an 8.3 foot gap between the helipad and the roof of Tai-Sun Tower Two, the twin of the one I’m on. Tower Two’s a high-end hotel with standard security and an underground garage where Cleo and Xiao parked the van.
