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Gun going off.
But Cinna’s chances for survival were better if I reined it in, if I forced myself to be smart.
All that flew out of the window, though, when I heard a long, high, cry reach to me from far away.
Fuck calm and collected.
Fuck every rational part of me.
That was my girl in there.
Being hurt.
If ever there was a time when I could let go, could let the dark side of me take me over completely, this was it.
I tossed my jacket onto the floor, not wanting it to get in my way, then slammed my hand into the door release bar, hearing the click like gunfire in my head.
“What was that?” I heard someone ask from a distance, even as the door slammed closed behind me. “Go, idiot,” the voice demanded again.
Not five seconds later, footsteps were rushing toward me, guns in their hands. But down by their waists.
By the time they could even raise them, mine was aiming and shooting.
Once, twice, on the first guy, then a clean headshot to the second.
Lackeys, I decided, because I could hear men’s raised voices from somewhere in the back corner of the basement.
The real bad guys.
The ones hurting my girl.
My teeth ached from my jaw clenching as I rushed across the space.
The basement was a maze of stacked boxes, creating hidden spaces. For men to hide and jump out at me. For them to hide Cinna from me.
An arm appeared in front of me, outstretched ahead of someone’s body.
I aimed lower and shot, hearing a howl of pain as the bullet sliced into somewhere in the fucker’s stomach, his gun falling in shock as he tried to press his hands against his wound.
His distraction was his downfall, allowing me to place my gun close to his face, squeeze the trigger, and watch half of his sorry fucking face get blown off, his body wobbling on his feet for a second before he crumbled to the ground.
“The fuck is going on?” another voice snarled.
“Over here!” Cinna’s voice, small, breathless, called out to me, making me change directions and make my way toward her even as she let out a grunt as someone struck her again.
“Shut the fuck up,” a woman’s voice snarled at her.
“You come over here, and she will take a bullet to her head,” the woman called, voice calm and collected, despite already losing three of her men.
But she’d just been distracting me, dulling my senses by tugging at my heartstrings like that.
Because I felt the muzzle of a gun press into my temple.
“Put it down,” a cold voice demanded.
I did, even kicking it away from myself.
He made a fatal calculation thinking I needed a gun for this, though. By not realizing that the animal side inside of me preferred to fight without one. Liked the feel of hot, sticky blood covering my hands, enjoyed the pain of beating someone’s face in.
