Page 77 of Tops
An instant later, it felt like a bee stung me on the shoulder, and the sound of a gun being fired hit me next. Bouncing off the walls amplifying the sound until it was deafening. Fire erupted behind me, pushing me forward against my will while I felt the back of my dress catch fire.
Why the fuck is there fire?
My ears rang as I stumbled. The smell of gasoline filled my nose, making me cough and spit. I thought there was blood in that. Blunt-force trauma, second-degree burns, gunshot wound. Things weren’t looking good for me if I were a report at a desk.
My head started to swim as I fell to the asphalt. A high-pitched squeal filled my mind until I thought my eyes would bleed from all the noise hammering to get out.
This must have been what dogs heard when you blew one of those whistles.
Thousands of tiny stones penetrated my palms, knees, and cheek as I laid on the cold ground. Each raindrop felt like ice against my skin as it fell on my body in a never-ending torrent. As I fought for consciousness, I hoped the rain would put out the rest of the fire.
There was too much pain in my shoulder, and I could not lift my face off the wet ground. Darkness closed in around me, but my heart began to flutter in my chest when a pair of thick motorcycle boots started walking through the pockets of still-burning mini-fires. The boots were headed directly for me.
He emerged from between the buildings and into the moonlight with a cigarette between his lips and a torch on full blast for him to light it. I was surprised his beard hadn’t caught fire yet. His long hair was tied back in a bun, the sides still shaved the same as when I last laid eyes on Fynn.
Now was not a good time for the hitman to show up.
My body felt too weak to scurry away, and even if I did, I wasn’t sure I would be able to stay conscious much longer. Fynn strode right up to me, squatting down to put his hands in my hair. My vision had failed when he bent down to pick me up, and I could only faintly feel the pain as he jostled my shoulder.
“I always knew you’d die in my arms,” he said, the thick low tenor of his voice breaking through the darkness. I could faintly feel the rumbling of his chest as he talked. “But you are not going to die today, my butterfly. Now it’s my turn to keep you.”
