Page 42 of Killer Bones

He dives to scoop up a pistol.

Fuck. The doorman is mine. If he rises and reacts fast, we have this.

The plentiful glass makes seeing what’s happening elsewhere simpler. I glance through it and beyond. The jetty and yacht area boils with men who must’ve heard the gunfire, but one of the snipers is on the ball. Rifle cracks whip the air, and two men drop to the ground.

At the door, the second man has chosen to kick the doorman in the head, which was wise. Then he ducks to the right and uses a steel pillar as cover. Not shooting me, though, that is less wise. I take a precise shot at what I can see of his leg, and he shrieks and collapses onto the ground, rolling over, clutching that wounded limb. Izzy has risen to hands and knees, and when he rolls into her, he grabs her and hides behind her, his gun at her throat.

“Fool! I was going to torture her!” I yell, kicking over a coffee table to make a distraction before I shoot his friend again. It looks good and ruthless, I figure. Makes him think.

I dodge to the left to get cover. His first shot at me goes wide, and he lets Izzy go free. Then he grabs her again. He’s clearly decided she makes a good shield.

Bright blood puddles across the gray pavers from his friend’s wounds. That one is quite still and probably dead. The longer I take to do something, the harder this gets, but Izzy is struggling and making it impossible to safely aim.

Then she twists aside, rolls, and I see the hesitation in him, as he wonders if he should take out her or me. Idiot.

I shoot him, the knee this time, by accident—I was trying for his groin. I stand to get a second, better angle. He’s rolling again, a bullet in each leg, sobbing loudly. Izzy crawls away, going to the periphery of the fight like I told her to.

From a few yards away, I halt, take deliberate aim, and shoot.

The gun jams.

Fuck. I drop it and run in to kick his asshole head in.

But… Life likes throwing shit at you.

He flops onto his stomach and sees me coming. Blood-smeared, his gun-hand pops up, the muzzle tracking me.

17

Adelmo

His gun rises. I grimace, expecting the hammer punch of a bullet.

And Izzy comes back to kick him in the gut.

Then I kick his head and recover the gun.

I drop him with that third shot, back of the head, like they planned to do with Izzy. Blood sprays across my tiles. Amazingly, the glass around us is intact.

It’s done. She’s free.

There’s always something ready to go wrong. I check outside.

At the yacht…most of them are down and out, dead probably—only one is running, aiming to vacate the premises having seen his friends get killed. The sniper cracks off two more rounds, and he skids and flops down onto the green, perfectly mown lawn beside my swimming pool.

“Damn. He’s bleeding into my pool.”

I offer Izzy my hand, while examining her for new wounds. The old bandage is loose. Her hair has flown everywhere and sticks to her, has turned into a bird’s nest of sorts. Her dress is fucked, marked, torn. Her nipples show through and my breath catches. I smile. Yessss. We’ve done it.

Montez? The waitresses will have dealt with him. I count the gunshots I remember hearing behind me. Three, and that was ages ago. Kasimir has spoken since then also. I heard his voice. All is good.

The only blood is on her side and seems not to be Izzy’s. She looks flustered and in pain—understandable, considering the manhandling. I pull her to her feet, and she yelps. I didn’t hit her stabbed hand?

Frowning, I zero in on her side again. Then her focus drifts past me. Her eyes show fear. Her mouth opens then she dashes past me, heading into the house.

Catching her by the waist, I turn to find Kasimir there. Rage has turned his face red. A pistol hangs from his twitching hand, and he’s bringing it higher.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Though she’s trembling, Izzy stands before me, facing off Kasimir like a mother bear defending her cub. “No. Please. Leave him alone.” Her voice caught on the last words, cracking from strain and fear.