learning to play the piano—all in the fingers. As the air leaves my lungs, I open my eyes, brace for the recoil, and slowly squeeze the trigger. The sound of gunfire echoes off sunlit buildings.
I don’t wait to see if I’ve hit him to find my next target. I aim and shoot again. And a third time.
“He pulled the pin!” Arrin whispers, her words barely making it past my ringing ears. I look at Bowen and Tommy. Bowen stands and chucks the grenade down the road, then he and Tommy run in the other direction. Gunfire fills the quiet morning. Bowen lurches and falls to the ground, and my heart misses a beat. Did he get shot? Is he dead? Tommy crouches down and pulls Bowen back to his feet. And then the grenade explodes, shaking the hotel, deafening my ringing ears, and creating a cloud of dust that hides Bowen and Tommy from view.
“We have to get out of here!” Arrin says, standing. Her voice sounds muted, like I’m hearing it through water. She darts toward the door. I take one final look below and swallow a surge of dread. While Bowen’s hidden by dust, I’ve been seen. The men too far from the explosion to be hurt are pointing at me. Guns go off and bullets whiz by my head or send sprays of glass flying from the building. And men are running toward the hotel.
“Oh, crap.” I sprint after Arrin.
Chapter 27
I sprint down the hall to the stairs, but before I make it to the thirteenth floor I hear the sound of feet thumping in the stairwell below, of someone coming up. Arrin stops and waits for me.
“They’re about to catch us. No mercy,” she says, her eyes hard. “Kill before asking questions.” A knife appears in her hand, and she pivots on the balls of her feet, braced for a fight. I balance the gun on my shoulder and wait. The thumping of feet grows louder. And louder. When the sound of heavy breathing accompanies the feet, I know we are about to die.
Men come into view, and all I focus on is the place on a broad chest where I have to put the bullet. In spite of the gun pointed at them, they don’t slow. I grit my teeth and find the trigger.
“No!”
I squeeze, and the gun discharges a split second before it is knocked out of my hands.
One of the men reels backward and topples head over feet down the stairs. Triumph swells inside of me. I’ve hit my target.
“What did you do that for!” someone booms.
“Fo,” Bowen groans.
I lower the gun and stare in mute shock. Bowen lies in a crumpled heap of blood and clothes on the landing below. I run down the steps and grab his shoulders. He goes rigid at my touch. “Not so rough,” he gasps.
I let go and stare at him. “Are you badly hurt?” I ask.
“You shot him, idiot,” Arrin snaps, slamming the rifle against my chest. I clutch it and everything goes numb—my fingers, my ears, my brain. Unable to move, to speak, I stare at Bowen.
Tommy eases Bowen to sitting and slings Bowen’s arm over his shoulders. Then he glares at me. “Never trust a woman with a gun. He comes here to save your life and you almost kill him,” he says, staring at me like I’m trash. “Are you hurt bad, man?” he asks Bowen.
Bowen nods and cringes, peering down at his stomach. Blood is soaking his shirt, oozing onto his pants, and dripping onto the floor. “I need coagulant. Now. Where’s your backpack, Fo?” Bowen asks. His voice is as unsteady as my hands.
“In the room,” I say, unable to take my eyes from the blood. Every heartbeat that passes, his blood flows more quickly, dripping off the hem of his shirt and splattering into an ever-growing puddle on the dirty floor. I turn and start running up the stairs toward the fifteenth floor.
“Hurry!” Tommy calls. “We fused the stairwell door to buy some time, but we’ve only got a few minutes at most.” I run faster, taking the stairs three at a time until I reach the fifteenth floor. I sprint down the hall to room 1515 and crash inside, jerking to a startled stop.
A small boy, maybe six years old, is sitting on the bed, an entire chunk of Spam straight out of the can in his hands—one of which is marked with the sign of the beast. He’s