Page 6 of Blade's Runaway Bride
I press myself against the wall beside the door, listening to their footsteps grow closer. They're speaking, their voices low and tense. I can’t hear everything, but I catch enough to know they're pissed that their comrades haven't radioed back.
They're about to find out why.
The door creaks as the first one pushes it open. Flashlight beam sweeps left, then right, illuminating the pool of blood from the man whose face I smashed. He mutters a curse, stepping further inside, gun raised.
I let him pass me, waiting for the second man to follow. When both are inside, their backs to me, I make my move.
The first shot takes the rear man in the back of the head. He drops without a sound, brain matter spraying across his partner's jacket.
The second guy spins, firing wildly in my direction. Amateur. I feel the burn as a bullet grazes my upper arm, but it's nothing, just another scar to add to the collection. I return fire, catching him in the chest. He stumbles backward but doesn't fall. Tough motherfucker. My second shot hits him in the throat. That does the job. He collapses, making wet, gurgling sounds as he drowns in his own blood.
I approach cautiously, gun still raised. No need to take chances. When I reach him, his eyes are still open, pupils dilated with shock and pain. He's trying to speak, blood bubbling between his lips.
"Charles sends his regards," he manages to choke out.
I press the barrel of my gun to his forehead. "Send him mine."
The final shot echoes through the warehouse. His body goes slack, eyes still open but now empty. I holster my weapon and begin searching the bodies, looking for phones, IDs, anything useful. The club needs intel on Charles's operation, and dead Vultures MC are as good a source as any.
I find two burner phones, some cash, and a knife with an ornate handle. I pocket it all, then check outside to make sure there are no more surprises waiting. The yard is empty except for their black SUV.
When I return inside, I find Kelly standing over the body of the first guy I choked out. Her white dress is stained with dirt and blood, though none of it is hers, and in the moonlight streaming through the broken windows, she looks like some vengeful ghost.
"Is he dead?" she asks, not taking her eyes off the corpse.
"Yes."
"Good." There's that word again. Simple. Final.
She finally looks up at me, and I see something in her eyes I didn't expect. Not disgust or horror, but a cold satisfaction that matches what I feel after a successful kill. It's an expression I've seen on my brothers' faces, but rarely on civilians, and never on women who look like her.
"You're bleeding," she says, nodding toward my arm.
I glance down. The bullet graze has soaked my sleeve with blood, but it's already slowing. "It's nothing."
"Don't be an asshole. Let me look at it."
Her sudden shift from frightened runaway to commanding nurse catches me off guard. I find myself shrugging out of my cut and pulling my t-shirt over my head before I even think about it.
She tears a strip from her wedding dress—seeming to take particular pleasure in destroying the garment—and approaches me. Her hands are steady as she examines the wound, using the fabric to wipe away blood.
"It's not deep," she confirms. "But it should be cleaned."
"Later." I pull my shirt back on and slide into my cut. "We need to move. More might be coming."
She nods, understanding immediately. "What about them?" She gestures to the bodies.
"Not our problem."
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "You're going to leave four dead Vultures MC in an abandoned warehouse?"
"You have a better suggestion?"
She considers for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Fuck them."
Again, she surprises me. There's steel in this woman that I didn't see at first, hidden beneath the fear and the torn wedding dress.
"We need to ditch their vehicle," I say, nodding toward the door. "And take anything useful from it. Then we go to the clubhouse."
