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As the gun went off, he was so shocked at what he’d done, he recoiled and dropped his hold so he could jump back.
The woman landed facedown in a heap, her arms out like she was trying for something just beyond her reach.
“What the fuck am I doing,” he said under his breath as he stood over his second dead body. “I’m a fucking feminist.”
Before he could—well, he didn’t fucking know what he was going to do—there was movement. The woman dragged her arms back. Gathered her torso. Slowly raised from the dead.
Her head cranked around to him, and the black blood that oozed out of the alarming exit wound gleamed. “Whatfuck.”
Um… yeah, he thought. That about covered it.
“Why the hell you do that.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Like he’d scraped her car or maybe insulted her hair. “But you punched me in the balls.”
“You think this”—she motioned to the bullet wound in her brain—“equal to slap in sac?”
“To be fair, you don’t have them, so you wouldn’t know.”
She spit off to the side, more annoyed than anything else. “I got knuckled in the boob once. It was not that big a deal.”
“You weren’t going to stop at the sac,” he said grimly. “Don’t front.”
She was silent. Then she cursed in Spanish, and against everything that made any kind of sense, she stood up—and because she had both of her weapons back in her hands, he pointed his at her. Or… hers at her.
“We don’t need to do this.” He stared at her eyes, stared into her. “And I will make it all up to you.”
“How.”
“I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you something worth killing.”
He didn’t know what the hell he was saying. What he was clear on was that he didn’t wantthathappening on half of his skull.
“You make good on your promise,” she said as she narrowed her eyes, “and you keep the guns. But no steal from me again.”
Evan thought of the additional weapons he had at Mickey’s. “Done.”
The woman turned back to the corner they were taking cover behind. As her matched pair of autoloaders pointed back in the direction of the doorway, he felt compelled to acknowledge her little boo-boo.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She glared at him over her shoulder. “My fucking job. Whatyoudoing.”
“But your…” He motioned around his own head. “What about—”
“You think I’m go to a doc in box? The ER? Fuck you.” Then she frowned. “Fine, we call for reinforcements. Then we go finish this job.”
Shoving one of the guns under her armpit, she took out a cell phone, and fumbled with her thumbs. Just as he was going to ask her if she needed help, she hissed at him and sent out something via text.
“Now we go get those two vampires,” she told him.
Across the way from where the slayers were, Shuli was still flat on his back. But at least his case of the stunned-stupids was dissipating, so he was able to see more clearly.
And what a view.
Looming over him, like a pissed-off Paul Bunyan who’d gone hard-ass and gotten himself a bunch of tattoos and some militia training, L.W. was doing that leg-plant thing he did, all but straddling Shuli cowboy-style.
“Must you,” Shuli muttered.
