Twice.
His body jolted one way, then the other.
Alara was released, and she scrambled forward toward me.
The guy was still on his feet.
The third bullet had him on his knees.
“Stop,” Alara pleaded. “You don’t want to kill him.”
But she was wrong.
I did.
I really did.
I knew it was the adrenaline, the fear, the anger.
But she was standing in front of me then, using her body as a shield, preventing me from emptying the magazine into his body.
Not that it mattered.
Because Zeno, seemingly finished with his guy, strode forward, almost casually, moved behind the guy, yanked his head to the side, and shoved the sharpened piece of metal into the guy’s carotid.
Alara must have seen my reaction because she whipped around, let out a small cry, then turned back to me. “Don’t look. Close your eyes. Don’t…”
I’d already shot the guy.
This wasn’t as gory as the movies made it look.
And it was all over in seconds.
The body fell slack, to the ground.
I glanced over, finding the other guy similarly still, facedown on the floor, a pool of blood haloing him.
There was a sound behind me, making me whip around, gun raised.
“Whoa,” Uncle Chris said, hands up, the gun in one of his palms. “It’s alright. Put the gun down, Liam. It’s alright.”
He was talking to me like a scared dog.
Like I might go feral and put a dozen plugs in him.
I lowered my arm.
Zeno was at my side then, grabbing the gun from me and walking over toward his desk.
It was a swarm then, Costa men rushing into the apartment, weapons drawn.
I was still staring at my uncle.
When, suddenly, Alara nearly tackled me with a hug.
“You’re okay. I was so worried you weren’t okay.”
She was making crying sounds then—big, hiccuping sounds.
