Page 59 of Gunslinger Girl
Behind the desk, Selene stirred.
“Stay down for a moment, ma’am.” Beau uncovered his wristband again. “Santino, there are at least two more outside. Ready?”
The Tin Men formed up around the terrace entrance. At Beau’s command, the windows opened.
Ignoring Sheridan’s attempts at assistance, Pity pushed to her feet and limped after them, one thought beating in her head like a drum: One bullet left… one bullet left…
But when she got outside, only a single attacker remained—the man she had shot first—his arm clenched to his ribs. She spotted a pair of hooks gripping the edge of the balcony, ropes pulled taunt behind them. Santino was beside them, looking over the side. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, pulled out a knife, and sawed through the ropes. When that was done he peeked out again before turning back, satisfied.
“Pity?” Beau appeared beside her. “Are you okay?”
She blinked at him. Only the faintest flush tinted his sharp cheeks. “I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice sounded thin, distant.
“You’re bleeding.”
She looked down. The bottom of her left pant leg was soaked through; bloody footprints trailed behind her. “Oh. A scratch. It barely hurts anymore.”
“That’s because you’re going into shock. Santino, sit her down before she passes out.”
“It’s nothing.” But the moment the words were out, a buzz began in her head. She holstered her guns, shivering.
“Don’t argue.” Santino gathered her into his arms and carried her over to the desk. With his knife, he slashed the fabric of her pants. “Looks like it went straight through,” he said. “Not too bad, but it’ll need attention.”
“Sir!” called one of the guards. “Got another warm body here!”
It was the man Pity had hit in the helmet. Some of the Tin Men surrounded him, the others dragged in his cohort from the terrace. The guards bound the attackers’ hands behind their backs and deposited them before Selene, who was steadying herself against the other end of the desk.
With a tender touch, Beau brushed the hair away from the cut on her forehead and dabbed at it with a handkerchief.
She waved him away, eyes ablaze. “I’m fine.”
“You need to see Starr.”
His tone carried something Pity had never heard in it before: worry.
“When we’ve finished here.” Selene brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “Patrick? Are you okay?”
Sheridan, to his credit, did not look nearly as bad as Pity felt. His face was flushed, and a line of sweat painted his brow, but he took in the proceedings with restrained aplomb. “I am.”
“Good.” She addressed two of the Tin Men. “Take him back to his suite.”
“Selene, I—”
“This isn’t something you need to see. My apologies, breakfast will have to wait for another day.”
As the men escorted him to the waiting elevator, Pity made a move to follow.
“Pity, you stay.” Selene gestured at the prisoners.
The Tin Men pulled them into kneeling positions and ripped off their helmets. The one from the terrace had pale hair and a ratty face. His companion was older, with a red scar over one eye.
Santino looked them over. “Mercenaries. And not cheap ones, judging by the armor and weapons.”
Selene considered the pair. When she finally spoke, her voice was as soft as a kiss. “Who sent you here?”
Neither replied.
“Ma’am,” Santino said, “would you like me to—”
