Page 179 of The Counterfeit Lover

Just as he says that, one of the cars next to us takes a hit, the noise from the explosion making my eardrums throb. We don't wait, though, moving immediately and seeking cover behind another car.

"I rather think they're going for the kill—a fast kill," I grimace.

Since we'd moved, they hadn't once focused their attention on the women. That in itself says everything. They're either after Vlad or me. And I reckon this is the type of kill on sight mission, not one to draw things out by taking hostages or playing strategically.

No, it's a simple show of brute force.

"They will have to," he motions to the fire alarms now blaring in the parking lot, the sprinklers already hard at work to extinguish the fire from the car that had been hit. "They won't have much longer."

"Did you see how many there are?"

It had been one car only, but we can't discount the fact that more people could have been hiding here before.

"At least four. Two on that side, and I think they're carrying the heavy artillery," Vlad points to a far right corner. "I also spotted movement towards the other end, but I haven't seen shots from that direction."

"That's too close to the girls for my liking," I purse my lips. Even if they don't have the automatic weapons the others do, I don't want to risk anything.

"Sisi can take care of herself. But I don't think she can cover for both Venezia and Noelle," Vlad comments grimly. We're both wet at this point from the onslaught of water.

"Let's do this, then," I start, my eyes on any potential movement from the enemy side. "Chances are they are after me," I say as I give him a short spiel of why that could be a possibility. "You go back to the girls, and I'll try to get their attention. If theyareafter me, then they will surely take the bait and leave you alone."

"Fine. We can do that. But how are you going to face them alone? Need I remind you they have automatic guns?" Vlad mutters dryly.

"I'll manage it. You go protect them."

He gives me an odd look for a moment before he finally nods.

"Thank you," I nod at him just as he's about to leave.

His lips spread in his signature smile and he give me a mock salute before diving in the open space again, running at full speed through the storm of bullets before taking cover on the other side.

For a moment, I just wait, needing the confirmation he's fine. He gives me a thumbs up from the other side and I breathe relieve.

Knowing what I have to do I simply steel myself, hardening my focus. At this point I can't afford any distraction—no matter how much I may worry about my pretty girl.

If I take out the men, then there will be no more danger to her, too. And with that thought, I thrust myself in the open. Almost like waving a red flag to indicate my location, I stay still for a moment before the shots start.

This time, however, the men are done hiding as they dash out just as I start running towards the other end of the parking.

Like I'd predicted, they don't bother with the others, all of them following me.

To characterize it like a storm of bullets is an understatement, and I'm really taunting fate as I stop, bringing my gun up as soon as I have a clear shot.

It seems I have better aim than some of the men, as my bullet hits one of them in the chest—high enough that it's unlikely it hit a bulletproof vest if he had worn one. But as that moment requires me to stand still, a bullet from the other side makes it almosttooclose to my body. I whirl at the last moment, and the shot catches the fabric of my blazer as the material flies in the air.

Seeing this as the perfect distraction, I simply shrug it off my back, wrapping my fist in the top part of the material and twirling around while whirling it in the air—all in an attempt to distract them from my exact location.

The advantage of an automatic weapon is that it fires a rapid succession of bullets. The disadvantage is that it's not the lightest weapon, and while it continues to fire as long as the person wielding it keeps his finger on the trigger, it's not easily maneuvered—especially since he's not using a tripod for it.

In fact, as I continue to move through the curtain of bullets, I count down the seconds between the change of direction—even if it's half-an inch to the right or left. That tells me the range of movement of the wielder as well as the fact that the more he uses it, the more tired he will become and that range will decrease.

Now that all of them are in the open, I can see that only one of them has a machine gun. Two guys have regular guns while the third one has what looks to be a portable missile.

Military grade equipment.

What the hell? Who could have possibly supplied these guys with those weapons?

That must have been what caused the car to explode.

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