of gunfights, because in real life they’re absolute mayhem. Hazel doesn’t keep up her deer-in-the-headlights act for long, thank God, but it’s long enough to get my blood and adrenaline pulsing throughout my body. I’m vaguely aware of Nario telling me to stay in the car, but I can’t—not with Hazel out there.
Despite my anger, I can’t let those Irish pigs extinguish her fire.
I kick the door open and run into the lot.
The car is doing circles, spraying bullets, and from across the street, men on motorcycles are firing automatic pistols. Two of the Italians already lie dead. Blood pools on the concrete all around them.
A bullet pings against the limo as Nario climbs out.
“Shoot back!” I roar. “I’ll deal with the girl!”
I sprint across the lot, happy that Hazel has the good sense to duck down behind a trash can, but that’s another movie trope that doesn’t hold up in real life. An assault rifle bullet will tear right through that thin metal.
I have to get her inside behind the thick stone walls of the rec center, where I can watch the one entrance to the classroom.
“Stay low!” I roar at her, sliding down in the concrete. I wish I was wearing boots or sneakers. These dress shoes weren’t made for combat. “Use me as a shield, okay? Stay behind me.”
“And I thought you were the shadow,” she whispers in a disjointed voice.
The Italians are rallying behind Nario, but bullets are flying everywhere. The air rings out with them.
Crack-crack-crack, it goes on and on.
The limo is scarred already from the gunfight. The minivan is ruined. An Italian roars out into the night as a bullet catches him in the shoulder.
“Hazel.” I touch her face, but watch the lot. “Stay with me. Don’t freak out.”
“I’m here,” she whispers.
“What did I just tell you?”
“I heard.”
“Say it.”
“Stay low,” she says, her voice surer now. “Use you as a shield.”
I sidestep from behind the trash can, using one hand to aim my pistol and the other to make sure Hazel is behind me at all times. One of the helmeted bikers across the street notices me and directs a wash of bullet fire in my direction. I curse myself for not wearing my bulletproof vest. And I thank the devil that this man can’t aim for shit.
I take careful aim. The first shot thuds into his chest. The next tears through his helmet and sends him toppling to the floor.
“Do you have the key?” I yell.
“Shit!” Hazel cries. “It’s in my bag!”
Nario and the Italians have made the minivan into their barricade. Nario’s face is grim as he plants a knee and peers around the edge, firing at the bikers. The Irish have pitched up in their car across the other side of the lot. We make an uneasy triangle. I wonder how long it would take us to get to the van. Too long, I think.
That means we need to get inside the rec center.
“Where’s your bag?”
“The trash can!”
“Nario!” I roar over the bullets. “Nario! Nario!”
I think he won’t hear me, but finally he turns his head. I mime that he should cover me and he nods, turns to the Italians, and barks something.
“Behind me,” I tell her.
“A shadow,” she echoes.
We run back to the trash can.
A bullet chips the brickwork inches above my head. I feel the stones rain down, and then Nario’s covering fire fills the air. It’s deafening. My men all unload their weapons in a storm of bullets, giving us the time we need to grab the bag and sprint back to the door.
Hazel fumbles for the keys, curses, and then, with a calm that makes me oddly proud, slides it into the door and turns it.
I bundle her inside, the sounds of the fight getting distant. We rush down the short hallway and into the classroom. The lights are off, but the streetlights outside cast sharp light onto the epoxy floor.
“Behind the desk,” I tell her. “Head low.”
“Do you have another gun?” she asks.
I almost smile. I shake my head.
“Behind the—”
“Desk, I know.” She jogs across the room, slides across the desk, and ducks down.
I lie prone on the floor, my pistol aimed at the doorway, and I wait. That’s another thing people don’t realize about fighting. Waiting is sometimes the best option. I wait as the seconds turn to minutes, as my heartbeat begins to quiet down in my ears.
I hear Hazel shifting behind me.
“Don’t move,” I tell her.
“I’m not.”
“Seems like you are.”
“The bullets stopped.”
“It could