the front of the huge, gaudy mansion. I’m glad I’ve got my close-faced helmet on, because the visor is preventing me from being blinded by the spotlights that someone turned on throughout the yard when the first shots were fired out back. Those gunshots are my cue; and as I duck around the corner of the house, I can see the two guards at the front door holding their hands up to shield their own eyes. I spring over the low bannister and then grip my pistol in both hands just as the nearest guard spots me and raises his own weapon.
For the rest of my days on earth, I’ll struggle to articulate what those next few seconds felt like. Something happens inside of a person when they’re staring death directly in the eye. I don’t know if it’s chemical, spiritual, or some strange alchemy of the two, but in those few fleeting moments you either ascend, becoming stronger, faster, better, than you’ve ever been in your life…or you die.
I’m not an avid gun collector, so I couldn’t tell you exactly what the small sub-machine gun the guard pointed at me is called. I was damned lucky that he was apparently also unfamiliar with the weapon, as he raised it towards me with only one hand. Every nerve in my body seemed to be electrified at once, and time slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl as I pulled the trigger before he could completely turn to face me. I didn’t notice how badly my hand was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me until my first shot, which I had intended to hit the guard center mass, flew high and struck him in his right shoulder.
My jittery hand contributed to saving my life, as the force of the slug jerked the guard to the side as he returned fire. The fully automatic weapon, held in only one of his hands, spewed forth a thunderous line of lead and fire…that raked the front of the house and missed me entirely as my second and third shots sent the man spinning to the ground. The ringing in my ears combined with the hammering of my pulse inside my head was so deafening I could barely hear Nash as he stepped over the body of the other guard across the porch.
“If he had braced that gun the right way, he might have had you,” Nash comments as he kicks the weapon off the porch. “Can’t hold an automatic with one hand; they’ll run away on you,” he adds calmly.
I clap him on the shoulder and shake my head to clear the shock that’s trying to settle over me. I don’t have time for regrets right now, especially not for hired thugs who earn a living by protecting a sex-trafficking piece of shit like Harry Cox.
When the front door swings open, both Nash and I are immediately back on guard, our weapons raised and ready. “Come on,” I hear Silas hiss from the doorway. “Get inside and help me sweep the area.”
“Malcolm and the others are already in the back,” Silas adds as we rush past him and he pulls the front door shut. “I came in through the dining room window there,” he nods towards a side hallway. “Kitchen is over there. Let’s clear out anyone in there first.”
“Did you hear that?” Silas whispers as we move quietly from the empty dining room to the kitchen.
“Hear what?” I ask because my ears are still ringing from the shots I fired and landed.
When Nash and I both glance over, he lifts his helmet’s face shield, then points at a door and mouths, “I think someone’s in the pantry.”
Could it be Jetta?
Maybe when the shooting started outside, she heard it and decided to hunker down in the closet. “Check it, carefully,” I tell Silas. “Cover the entrance,” I say to Nash. Both men nod. Nash turns his back to us to keep an eye on the cracked door to the kitchen. Silas lowers his face shield and moves quietly over closer to the pantry. Slowly, he turns the doorknob with his left hand while aiming his gun straight ahead in his right. A second later he jerks the door open wide and a woman shrieks loudly.
“Jetta?” My heart is beating a thousand thumps a minute when I rush over to get a glimpse around Silas’s shoulder. At first, I don’t see anything but shelves full of food. Then I look down. Cowering on the floor