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He nods.
“Okay,” I say.
I jump up and fire twice. Two drops.
Byron is the last man standing, and he’s furious.
Frightened, the pilot of the helicopter takes off in fury.
Byron screams, “You bastard! You threw me to the fucking wolves!”
He turns around and opens fire. I roll out of the way.
Catching my breath, I reload.
I lunge forward and pull the trigger, hitting him in the arm. He falls back but shoots again.
I feel nothing besides the rush of adrenaline. But when I glance down, see red. Blood.
It doesn’t phase me until I realize I’m fucking hit. I fall to the floor and look up at Byron’s barrel. Laughing, he kicks my gun from my hand.
It’s either him or me.
In that moment, time slows down. I see Madison’s face. I feel her kiss.
I kick my thigh upward before he takes the shot. His gun slides across the room.
I hear Ricardo yell, “My fucking gun is jammed.”
That’s when I know I have to fight, not only for my life, but to see Madison again.
Byron fumbles to pick up his weapon, but I grab his feet and pull him back. In the process, I kick his pistol, and it falls toward the edge of the roof.
It’s a real fight now.
Byron hits my thigh, right where he shot me.
He pins me down, hammering my jaw. My head falls back and connects with the roof below.
Dazed, he hits me again and everything turns black. It seems every time I open my eyes, he hits me.
I’m losing…
Adrenaline kicks in to the highest degree. I reach in my pocket and feel the sharp blade of my knife. He knocks me right in the nose, and I lose grip of the handle.
I open my eyes again, but everything spins. I grab the handle one more time and grip it hard. I pull it out and swing upward. It connects against the side of his ribcage.
The blows stop. Byron collapses, screaming.
I fall back, holding my gunshot wound. I’m drowning in pain, and I can barely even look at Byron without passing out.
Nudging away with one ankle, I hear Ricardo move toward me. In an instant, a loud popping noise disturbs the wind.
“I’ll see you in hell, you bastard,” Byron mutters under his breath.
Ricardo’s gun, now unjammed, fires the rest of its rounds into Byron.
Ricardo stands, smoke drifting around his body. “You won’t see nothing.”
