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And this gun wound is a lot worse than I thought…
I grip my belly and gulp before letting out a shaky breath. I look down the hallway leading to the kitchen. Was I really hiding? Like some weakling?
It’s been a while since I’ve been shot, though. It hurts a lot more than I remember.
The blood trails down the corridor. If they were smart, they’d follow it. Because it sure as hell would lead right to me. I bite my lip and try to think. What am I going to do? Can I get to my armory?
There are bodies in the club, I know that. I’ve never, in my wildest dreams seen a death march quite like this one before. I would have to cross through the club to get to my office. It didn’t seem possible.
I scowl as I hunch over in pain.
They were thugs. All thugs.
I reach for the hem of my shirt and give it a hurried tug. I hesitate when my fingers brush across a sticky warmth. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and pull as much of the fabric as I can, tearing it all the way up to the dry area in the middle of my stomach. I roll the fabric to create a fold. And then another. And then another. And then I reach around my back to wrap it around me, tying it as tightly as I can.
I just need to keep the blood flowing.
I slide between the wall and the water cooler, dizziness beginning to ensue as gunshots start up all over again.
This was a massacre.
All around: gunshots and footsteps.
I take a step slowly toward the club.
Bang.
Another step.
Bang.
The pounding in my ears is even louder than the footsteps and gunfire. Just before I go through the door of the kitchen to the bar, I grab a kitchen knife. I wasn’t going to go out without a fight.
The door hits something as I push it open. I halt for a moment, take a deep breath, and peek through the crack. I sigh sadly when I see the foot of one of my chefs with streaks of blood all around him. I push the door harder, hoping I can get through despite the body on the other side. A muffled groan sounds out softly.
“Chef?!” I whisper. It’s strange to see someone so large crumpled to the floor like that, his body bent awkwardly. He’s a tall man. One of the tallest I’ve ever met. Broad-shouldered with a bit of a gut. And he’s dark-skinned with a smooth bald head. I can’t see his head, though. It’s buried beneath his toque, which is still pristine white even through all the chaos. Just how he always likes it…
He groans again, and his arm twitches.
“Pull your leg away from the door; I’m coming through!” I hiss through my pain. He obliges me, his leg scooting away from the door. I slammed it open and crumbled to my knees, searching over his body.
“I’m…okay…” he grumbles as he digs his hand into the waist of his pants. “Take this… My leg will just slow us down…”
His leg was sliced open like a piece of meat. I have no idea what the hell happened to him. But, I was willing to bet it looked a lot better than my stomach. “I got my guts spilling out here…” I try to make light of the situation, taking the gun from him.
“Kill those sonsabitches…”
I clench the gun tightly in the palm of my hand, my trigger finger itching to fire.
I want to do just that.
I want to kill all of these bastards.
My feet have become numb after the narrow escape from the last gunshot wound. I’m not sure if I can go through another ambush. I pop around the corner to the bar. My eyes widen in surprise as I slip on a pool of blood. It’s soaked through my carpet. There are at least five bodies there behind the bar.
My face scrunches on its own accord, and I feel emotion clench in my throat.
I know these people.
