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Someone mutters, “No women? What about her?”
The men around us chuckle. I’m not laughing.
“I’m a different story, piss-ants,” Caroline says.
“If you come out of this alive, I promise, there will be trucks of women,” I tell them.
Caroline rolls her eyes, but it’s something they need to hear right now. They need to know that everything will be okay if they fight hard enough.
“I’ll get you whatever you want. It’ll be a big celebration,” I reiterate.
“Where will the Hell Squadron meet us?” someone asks.
Before I can answer, I hear the door slam. I hear the footsteps of heavy boots walk around the kitchen. I see the black leather mask of a thin-built figure walk in slowly, submachine gun held at his waist.
I drop to the floor and scream, “Get down!”
I grab for my gun, but it’s almost too late. The man starts firing rounds off. The gun in particular shoots at least sixty bullets per few seconds, enough to kill an entire squad. I know, because I used to own that gun.
I grab my pistol and take aim. I fire one round off. Then another. And another. The man drops in a pool of blood, clutching at his wounds.
I hop to my knees and run over to Caroline. “Are you okay?” I ask her, kissing all over her face.
I glance over my shoulder and see another take aim at us. I fire another clip off, and the man drops like his friend.
“I’m okay,” Caroline says.
“Hide,” I say.
She nods.
I roll into the kitchen. Glancing outside does me no favors as it’s too dark to see anything. I lock the door, and put a table in front of it.
Men are scrambling to their stations.
“Guys, it’s too late for any more questions. We need to barricade ourselves in,” I say with urgency.
Jeffco picks himself off the floor and helps Iago up. A bullet has grazed Iago’s cheek, but he’s okay. He wipes the blood off with his shirt and pulls his gun out.
He screams at his men. “You see what happens?”
Iago grabs the guy who organized everything, and he handcuffs him to a door handle.
“This is wartime,” he tells everyone. “If you want to hurt us or do anything that throws my gang into the flames of death, so be it. You’ll be a prisoner of war.”
The man spits at Iago. “Fuck you.”
Jeffco takes the butt of his gun and slams it across the top of his head. The man slumps over, unconscious.
“Christ,” I whisper.
Caroline shakes her head. “I do love you, Rowan. I don’t know why I do. It goes against my better judgment, but I can’t run from the truth. I love you.”
“But?” I ask her, holding my pistol straight at the door.
“But I can’t be here forever. I can’t do this. I’m not dying like this,” she says.
I take her words to account as another few men try to get in through the front door. I fire off a few rounds, and she covers her ears.
