The recoil kicked hard. Two men went down in sprays of red.
“Having fun yet?” I shouted. “Because I'm just getting started!”
Something slammed into my back. Not a bullet. A fist. Heavy. Professional. I stumbled forward, barely kept my feet.
Turned to find a man built like a tank. Shaved head. Tattoos crawling up his neck. Military bearing in every line of his body.
“You talk too much,” he said. Then hit me again.
This time I felt ribs crack.
Pain exploded through my chest, white-hot and immediate. I gasped, tasted copper. He followed with a left hook that caught my temple. Stars burst across my vision.
I hit the ground hard. Rolled. His boot came down where my head had been, cracking marble.
I swept his legs. He went down heavy. I was on him before he could recover, raining elbows down on his face. His nose broke. Then his orbital bone. Then something else that crunched wet.
But he got his hands up. Caught my throat. Squeezed.
The world started to narrow. Gray at the edges. My lungs burned.
I fumbled for my knife. Found it. Drove it into his armpit where armor couldn't protect. Twisted.
His grip loosened. I ripped the blade free and opened his throat.
Blood fountained. Hot. Arterial. Soaking us both.
I shoved him off and stood, gasping. My ribs screamed. My shoulder throbbed. My throat felt crushed.
But I was smiling.
“Who's next?” I called out, spitting blood. “Come on. Don't make me hunt you.”
Three left standing. They looked at each other. At the bodies. At me, standing in the center of carnage, drenched in blood and rain.
One ran.
I put an arrow through his spine before he reached the door.
The other two opened fire. I dove behind the altar as bullets chewed through wood and stone. Splinters rained down. Something hot grazed my calf, tearing through muscle.
I gritted my teeth against the pain and counted shots. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
Click. Click.
Empty.
I rose from cover, arrow already nocked.
“Bad luck.”
I fired. Caught one in the chest. He went down clawing at the shaft.
The last man dropped his gun and raised his hands. “Wait. Wait, please. I've got kids. I've got?—”
I shot him in the throat.
He went down gurgling, hands scrabbling at the arrow. Blood bubbled between his fingers.
