Page 112 of Shatterproof

“Take the shot,” I command prior to curling my gun around the edge of the corner.

“Copy that.”

Assuming Reynolds instantly takes the shot, I do the same, hitting the shooter on the left in the leg. The small pause in firing has me sliding into sight, delivering one shot to the ribs of the male bent over checking the other male’s injury, one shot to the first man’s forehead, and one kill shot to the assailant struggling to process his pierced lung.

“And Guggenheim’s on the move,” Blu announces, although there’s mirth in his tone. “I repeat, the German Cockroach is on the move.”

The need to scramble to my feet increases exponentially.

“You’ve got maybe twenty seconds.”

Which isn’t really enough time but fuck, I gotta make it enough.

I can’t let him hit that switch.

Sprinting even harder than I did the day I earned my medal, I race to the end of the tunnel, taking the curves without caution and ready to shoot anything that moves. The rapid pounding of my heart matches the one of my feet as I push every muscle I have to defy the odds.

Do the impossible.

Rather than taking the few short steps up to the door, I leap over them. Use my shoulder to burst open the door seconds after Guggenheim and the head of security team. There’s no hesitation to unload a bullet between the gunman’s eyes nor is there any when it comes to clipping the computer guru in the arm, successfully stumbling him away from the switch his beige shaded fingers hadn’t quite managed to collide with.

Agonizing cries get drowned out by my declaring, “That was a warning shot.”

As if he hadn’t heard me or now magically doesn’t speak English, Guggenheim makes a second attempt to reach for the failsafe prompting me to clip him near the knee. “Fuccckkkkkk!”

“That was a timeout shot.” His body rumples against the doorframe. “The next won’t be so gentle.”

“Fuckkkkk,” the Doctenn accented man howls in agony.

Wrapping my hand around his throat is accompanied by wedging the edge of the weapon into his mouth. “Here’s the thing about me, Guggenheim. I’m not jus’ trained tosavelives…” The firearm gets shoved in a bit deeper. “I’m trained to keep a person alive untilI’mready to let them die.”

His muffled sobs around the pistol aren’t shocking.

“If you would like to live more than a couple more hours, I suggest you stop tryin’ to push that button and give meexactlywhat it is I’m here for.”

Blu suddenly appears over the man’s shoulder. “He ready to talk?”

The hasty nodding causes me to smirk and gingerly slide my weapon back. “Seems like it.”

Guggenheim sucks in a deep breath prior to shouting, “The safe combination is-”

I keep my firearm positioned for firing while Blu begins the zip tying process, “We’re not here for what’s in the safe-”

“Could we be?” Reynold’s joking is attached to him holstering his weapon. “Maybe call it a bonus?”

“What’s wrong, Reynolds?” Blu tightens the restraints, wordlessly informing me I can lower my gun. “Running out of escort money already?”

“Stripper.”

“Still not much better,” my best friend taunts between chuckles.

“I’m bleeding to death!” Guggenheim loudly whines. “I’m gonna lose my leg if you don’t do something!”

“You’re fine,” Reynolds insists and joins Blu in the transporting action. “The bullets didn’t even hit you.”

“They did!”

“Theygrazedyou,” Blu mirthfully corrects.

---