Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Priest growls. Sinner’s practically vibrating, like the tiniest thing will launch him through the air to tear out Romero’s throat. Colt’s fingers twitch. Hellfire sneers as he follows us with pitch black eyes. Their guns might be on the floor, but I have no doubt any of them can kill just as easily without one.
What a mess.
Romero backs us towards the front door. If he gets me out of here, it’s all over. But if someone makes a move, we might all die. A desperate man is dangerous, but more likely to make mistakes. There has to be something I can do.
He pushes the front door open behind us. The gunfire becomes ten times louder. A step back. Then two. His heel thunks as it catches on the threshold. His gun points up for a precious second.
I kick my heel backwards as hard as I can. A pained grunt tells me I connected with something sensitive. God, I hope I just crushed his balls. I dive forwards, hoping to get away, but even as he hisses between clenched teeth, his steel grip locks on my shoulder and yanks me back.
There’s the explosion of a gunshot and his hand loosens as Romero topples backwards, out through the door. Axel, clutching at his gut with one hand, has his gun in his other, a wisp of smoke still leaking from the barrel. Then he groans and loses the grip on his gun. It hits the floor with a clatter and he collapses with it.
Romero forgotten, I leap to Axel’s side. “Axel! Lie still!” My hands do nothing to stop the bleeding. It’s hot and sticky under my fingers. I look around, helpless.
Then Colt is at my side, already tearing his shirt off. “Gotta stop the bleeding. Help me roll him over.”
“Right.” I do, but what I want is to be held and comforted while I have a mild panic attack, not think about gaping gut wounds and gang wars. Maybe after my brother stops bleeding out.
“Sinner, take care of Quinn.” Priest points at me as he runs for the door to deal with Romero. Except, he stops, looking briefly confused. “Fuck, he’s not here.”
“Let him go,” Hellfire says. “We got what we came for.”
“Sorry, boss, no can do.” And then Priest is out the door.
36
Chapter 36 - Priest
Even in the dark, I can follow the bloody stains in the grass. Romero might have dragged himself out of sight, but he’s hurt. I’m tempted to find him just so I can sit there and watch his life seep outta him, one drop at a time, but it’s more important to get back to Quinn and get out of here ASAP. Axel needs help.
Romero’s still armed, so I track him carefully. Like a wounded animal, he’s making his last desperate attempt to get away. I hear him before I see him. A soft gurgle of a gasp. His pain is a sound I can appreciate.
But the next sound is of a car door being opened. Fuck, maybe he’s doing better than I thought. I hurry until I’m able to look around to the back and spot him climbing into the front seat of a sports car I remember seeing Sheila drive. Bright red, chrome trim, four exhaust pipes—I bet it cost him a shit-ton of money. It looks like it was built specifically to impress people who have better things in life to spend their hard-earned money on.
It’s as good a coffin as any.
He doesn’t hear me, too focused on getting himself inside the car. Is he thinking about getting to a hospital? Too bad he won’t make it.
Walking quietly behind him, I take way more fucking joy than I should in seeing him suffer. In seeing how much he hurts as he arranges himself in the driver’s seat. And still I wait, letting him slam the door shut and throw his head back onto the headrest while he catches his breath.
Finally, he gathers himself, and with a last glance towards the building, a little smile touches his lips, like he thinks he’s gotten away with it.
He starts the car. The headlights rise up from the hood and click on.
And there I am, my gun pointed right at him.
There are few things more beautiful than the terrified expression of his open mouth and wide eyes as he realizes he’s reached the end of the line.
It’s my turn to smile. I pull the trigger.
The bullet hole in the windshield aligns perfectly with the bullet hole in his forehead. His mouth is still open, but his wide eyes aren’t seeing shit anymore. Fuck you, Romero.
Before I turn off the engine, there’s a thump from the back of the car. Something in the trunk? It takes me a minute but I figure out where the release latch is.