Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Everyone on the fucking floor!” Liam yells, shooting at the ceiling.
Girls scream. Bodies drop down. Other people fall out of their chairs trying to run. The place erupts into total chaos. Fuck, this is bad, this is really, really bad. Liam’s yelling at people to calm down, waving his gun around, and I’m desperately trying to find Dermot. All I need to do is spot him, take a few wild shots, and make sure one catches him in the head. That’s all we’re here for.
Gunfire erupts from somewhere at the far end of the room. There’s more screaming. Two waitresses go down, both riddled with bullets. Liam kicks a table over, gets behind it, and very casually returns fire. He’s shockingly calm under pressure. More people stampede nearby, several poker players trying to rush past me toward the door.
No Dermot. No fucking Dermot.
“Gotta move,” I shout at Liam. “He’s not here!”
“Look around. I got this.” Liam’s grinning as he shoots. At the far end of the room, more soldiers are piling through a back entrance. I count four, six, twelve, and more.
This is all wrong. There shouldn’t be that much muscle. The organizers specifically don’t allow soldiers hanging around during the games. They provide security, and it’s usually on the light side.
I fling myself sideways. Bullets rip the air around me as I desperately look for Dermot. One idiot tries to hit me with a chair but I shoot him in the face. His brains explode backwards, splattering a girl behind him. She stands, frozen, sobbing. I knock her down, mostly to keep her from getting her head blown off. More guys try to get away, crawling like slugs. Several are huddled under a table.
No Dermot.
I kick my way through, but the muscle’s starting to push forward as the crowd thins. We’ve been lucky so far. They’re actively trying not to kill anyone, even though they’re doing a bad job of it. Otherwise, they would’ve rushed us and we’d be dead already. I kneel, fire, take down two armed soldiers, but more are coming behind them.
And that’s when I see him, standing in the middle of their protective cordon, grinning and shouting orders like a conductor in front of his orchestra.
“Motherfucker!” I scream and fire, but his soldiers get in the way. I only caught a glance though, but I’m positive it was him. I hurry back, falling away as the attackers return fire, and end up pinned down beside Liam.
“What’s the plan, boss?”
“He’s here.” I unclip a grenade from my belt. “Dermot’s here. He’s with the shooters.”
Liam grabs my arm. “He was waiting for us. This is a fucking trap.”
“I don’t care.” I taste dank, humid basement air. I feel the mouse scurrying around my body. My pants are wet from piss and my arms are wet with blood. “He’s dead.”
“Finn, damn it—”
I throw the grenade. It goes off a second later. Bodies break to pieces and there’s more screaming as I jump the table and start shooting. I’m killing, killing, a death god in his element, mowing down shooters like they’re straw targets. Blood, bones, brain matter, and body gristle splatters the walls and drenches the floor in slick gore. I scream, kicking one man in the face, bashing another with the butt of my rifle. I reload, shoot a third point blank, struggling to find Dermot—
Something sharp and painful rips into my shoulder. Another punches into my chest. I gasp, staggering back. Another smashes my stomach, knocking the wind from me. I see him twenty feet away, teeth showing in a snarl, and I try to raise my gun, but my body’s not responding. Blood pours down my forearm, soaks my fingers, and makes the trigger slick. There’s something wrong with my muscles. I can’t make them work.
“Come on! Run!” Liam grabs me back as bullets scream in the air. I stagger against him, the rifle falling from my numb grip. I try to pull my pistol but I can’t make my hand function.
We scramble over corpses. Liam throws another grenade over his shoulder. It goes off, but I doubt it kills anyone. The smoke and fire it makes covers our escape though. I smash sideways, tilt and nearly trip, stumbling to keep up. I’m breathing hard and I’m much more fucked up than I realize. Blood’s dripping from my fingertips.
The night smells fresh. I gasp for breath. The van’s there, waiting, and Liam practically throws me in the back. Shooters appear and Liam’s yelling at Caroline. She’s yelling back as the tires peel out and the van lurches forward wildly, swerving into a parked car, swerving into another, before righting itself. Bullets punch through the back panels and smash straight through the other side. Caroline keeps going and I’m thrown against the wall of the van when she takes a hard turn.