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I shook my head. I needed a cold shower and less access to porn.
Or maybe more.
I filed it away into my WTF drawer.
Boredom had been banished. Zara was on the move.
I shadowed her ass down the street, being as professional and subtle in my trailing as I could when there was only one of me. Her jeans were a perfect mold of her butt with no room left between skin and denim. What I’d seen of the front of her black T-shirt, before she turned away, had been less sexy but more informative of her state of mind, perhaps.
Fuck you and the unicorn you rode in on.
Now I knew she hated unicorns, that her tits were a good handful, and she’d skewer the man who tried to grab them with a unicorn horn ripped loose from its owner.
The latter was confirmed by the graphic below the text, of a hand brandishing a bloody unicorn horn.
When she entered the liquor-mart, I paused outside for a minute to reverse my jacket and slip the hood over my head. Then I followed her in and pretended to study the aisle of goods close to the cash register. It was a gamble. She might remember me, but I had an itch that said she’d already spotted me and might try to duck out the back somehow. The store had only one other customer.
None now, I noted, as a woman exited after paying the man behind the counter. He wore a nametag that saidKevin.
Another customer entered, striding directly for the checkout, and pulled out a Glock 42 or 43, and thrust it at Kevin while grinding out a low threat. He shoved Kevin against the cash drawer and scanned the rest of the shop.
“Everybody keeps outta my fucking way, or I’ll fucking blow you full of fucking holes!”
The familiar prickle of danger crawled across the back of my neck.
Kevin was in the mood for shooting people too with added fuck or not. He’d magicked a sawn-off shotgun from under the counter. Illegal, but effective.
At five yards distance, Kevin’s shot might just take my legs off too. I went sideways. Hand twitching to draw my own Beretta, but as soon as I did that, the irate customer would notice. A second more and he’d have holes in him anyway because Kevin’s shotgun was tracking around.
I almost wished for the Taurus as well though too many guns on a man made it difficult to look average.
Mr. Irate swung as fast as only a man as jumpy as a grasshopper on crack might. His elbow bumped Kevin, and the shotgun blew a hole in the counter front that blasted out a cloud of wood splinters and dust.
I pulled my Beretta, stepping sideways again for a clearer aim. This first round might go straight through the perp and into Kevin. Couldn’t be helped. If I tried for a better angle, Mr. Irate was going to jerk off a round.
The two men struggled, waving weapons, grimacing and grunting.
Then, she was there.
Zara.
A single stride and she threw and shouldered Mr. Irate backward, by way of one hand on his shooting wrist and the other on his neck. He pivoted over her ankle that she’d conveniently placed in the path of his leg.
I advanced on the trio at a run. I wasn’t sure what I needed Zara for, apart from starring in my own private porn film, but being dead would probably make her useless.
The robber’s gun fired into the ceiling. Then he slammed into the floor, headfirst, with an unexpected force as she somehow kicked him as he went. Nowthatmaneuver I refused to believe.
The thud was loud, and Zara held the Glock.
The felled man lay like a starfish, limbs outstretched, limp and unconscious but nowhere near as cute as any sea life.
With a fancy flicker of fingers, she twirled the pistol, reversing it to aim the pretty silver thing at the perp’s head. If she fired, it would be murder.
BUT OH THE GORE WOULD BE MAGNIFICENT.
Theredthrummed in my veins. Acid on fucking wings.Throb, throb.My eyes wide, I felt my pulse slow and grow loud.
At the last millisecond, something went wrong.
