Page 111 of Trigger Happy Ending

I'm not expecting them to roll out a welcome mat.

Keeping low, I ghost along the outside wall, footsteps so light, they're almost silent. The cold river wind comes off the Hudson, causing my eyes to water. Somewhere inside, music thuds low through the walls. Closer now, I catch the sound of drunken male laughter slipping out through the open window above me.

I crouch beneath it, my heart racing, but steady. My eyes flick to Soren’s. He nods once, before we split without another word. He hoists his muscular body upwards, catching the edge of the window frame with total ease. Even with the rifle slung across his shoulder, he’s nimble on his feet, a force of controlled power. A few seconds is all it takes for him to disappear through the opening and into clubhouse.

From my position in the shadows, I angle a small mirror to see inside behind me. Inside, the warehouse opens up into a cavernous main floor lit by hanging industrial lights and the flickering glow of neon beer signs. Thick silver rafters crisscross the ceiling and a metal catwalk runs along the upper level mezzanine, overlooking the open space below where old couches, a pool table, pinball machines and scattered tables sit. Typical bikie shit. Such awful decorating.

I see Soren high on the catwalk, rifle braced. One knee’s bent, the other foot hooked on the railing. Deadly and still, like a good soldier.

Soren’s voice crackles low in my earpiece. "I've got two guys by the main door."

A muffled crack snaps through the clubhouse from somewhere above. Then another.

I go still and hold my breath.

"Clear."

Upwards I go, slipping inside via the open window, staying low as I cross the open floor of the clubhouse. The first thing I see is a pair of bodies crumpled near the entrance, dropped where they stood, shot between the eyes. Blood begins to seep across the concrete beneath them.

Another suppressed crack cuts through the air and to my left, a man appearing from behind the makeshift bar drops to the floor, also very fucking dead.

Soren’s job is to take the outside threats, those on lookout, the ones who could slow me down.

Derek is mine.

I move through the warehouse quickly, footsteps light as I weave between the frayed couches and sticky tables. Somewhere deeper inside, men are laughing, drinking, blissfully unaware that death has climbed in through the windows.

I crouch beneath the bar and wait for Soren's signal.

"North corner, one incoming. Armed," Soren murmurs.

I pivot right, just as a man rounds the corner with a handgun. I drop low and fire once. The shot blows his chest wide open. Blood bursts and he goes down hard, the gun skittering across the concrete.

A shout echoes, followed by the harsh scrape of chairs across concrete.

They know we’re here.

At least half dozen men rush toward here me (way more than I anticipated goddammit), boots pounding, shouting obscenities and eyes wild with fury.

From his position high up on the catwalk, Soren sees the danger before I do.

One second he’s above me, the next he drops down, landing with a brutal thud. He hits the concrete running and is on me in a breath. A flick of his eyes is all the warning I get before his hands grasp my hips.

The world shifts as I'm airborne. My legs lock around his waist as he hauls me up against him. One arm bands under me, his hand spread wide over my ass, holding me there.

I hook an arm around his neck, already lifting my gun over his shoulder.

We turn as one, a perfect circle, and I fire.

The recoil slams up my arm as a man’s skull bursts in the edge of my vision, his body hitting the floor in loud crash. Soren’s rifle is slung behind him, and he brings his free hand up, holding his second weapon, a pistol, firing over my other shoulder.

Bodies drop around us.

Every step is improvised, yet we seem to know exactly what to do. We share a mind. We’ve never trained for this; yet it feels like we have. Like some twisted part of us has been building toward this exact moment the whole time. My thighs tighten against him as he spins, and I can feel the flex of his stomach under my legs, the power in him something I'm constantly in awe of.

A man lunges from the left; I put a bullet through his eye.

Another reaches for the knife at his belt; Soren puts one clean shot right between his eyes.