Page 89 of Theta

"Killy, I’m not leaving you."

"If you love me at all, you will." He leaves no more room for discussion, turning and firing. He has my rifle across his back and a pistol in each back pocket, pistol magazines bulging his hip pockets and stuffed into his vest.

A hot snap past my ear brings my attention back to the bad guys, and I fire back, missing but keeping their heads down. I turn back to Killian, but he's kneeling and driving burst after burst at the cluster of SUVs.

"FUCKING GO!" He screams, glancing at me over his shoulder. "You promised!"

"NOT THIS!" I yell back, cracking off several quick shots to keep the flanking squad behind cover. "I NEVER SAID I'D LEAVE YOU!"

Rounds stitch the concrete in a line of shard-spewing craters, walking toward him as he fires, fires, fires, and he doesn't so much as flinch even when the last round of the burst spits concrete at him from less than a foot from his toes. He fires back, and then tosses that rifle aside and swings mine around.

He glances at me over his shoulder, and the ragged desperation on his face is what sells me on obeying his plea. "Story. Please. I'm begging you. I will fight to my last breath to live and, if necessary, escape again to get back to you. But you have to get the fuck out of here before they rush us." He pops off a burst while I send a few rounds in the other direction, and then he cups the back of my head, shoves the backpack at me. Kisses me, quick and hard. "Please go."

I choke. "Killy. No. I love you. I'm not—"

"You fucking are," he snaps. "Me, worst case, they do some mean shit to me and then kill me. I'll fight like a fuckin' savage, I swear. I'll do my goddamndest to get to you. But you gotta go. They get their hands on you, it's a fate worse than death. I'll shoot you my fuckin' self before I let them have you."

I can't breathe.

"Killy, I…" I squeeze my eyes shut. "This goes against everything I am."

He nips my lower lip. "I know. But it's how it has to be." He turns away, fires. Turns back. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to me, okay? These fuckin' goons don't stand a chance. You know why?" His gaze sears mine. "Because I refuse to die until I've made love with you at least once."

"God, Killy."

"Now for the last fucking time, woman. Go!" The last word is a sharp, intense, growled half-shout.

I shrug the backpack on and tighten the straps, grip my pistol, pause. Kiss him, quick and soft, just a hint of tongue. "I love you."

"I know." He winks at me, cocky and suave, as if we're at a club instead of in the middle of a gunfight we don't stand a chance at winning.

For once, being vertically challenged comes in clutch—I'm short enough that I can run at a decent pace underneath the trailers, albeit hunched double. Anyone taller would have to damn near crawl. I refuse to look back. I hear Killy firing with renewed intensity, his bursts long and the pauses between them short.

Don't look back.

Don't look back.

Don't look back.

Just keep going.

Just keep going.

The line of trailers seems endless; Killy told me to cross the width of the pier away from the cluster of SUVs, but I opt to put some distance between us first, moving, perhaps stupidly, toward the pier's seaward end. But when I finally reach the end of the row and straighten—to the relief of my back—I've come a lot further than I thought. The sound of gunfire is now at least a quarter mile behind me, and the muzzle flashes are small bright spots in the distance. Even as I watch from the front corner of the trailer, one of the muzzle flashes swings upward before abruptly going dark—another one falling to Killy's marksmanship.

I should go back.

Circle around the other side and hit them from behind.

I could, I realize.

There's another lot full of parked cars on the other side of the pier. I could cross here, make my way back down the other way, find a likely spot, and start picking them off from behind.

The more I consider this, the better it seems.

Fuck running away.

Feeling a bit better about myself with this decision made, I wait until the mercenaries are focused on shooting at Killian to stroll, as brazenly as you please, across the pier, hoping the distance and the looming darkness of onrushing night will hide my passage.