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Quickly, he realized he couldn’t run forever. Especially in a town in which he was likely the only foreigner, which meant they would find him wherever he went.
No, if he wanted to escape, he needed to get rid of them first—before they did the same to him.
His mouth was set in a grim line as he rounded the corner to a building.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes as he did his best to remember the teachings from his childhood. He might be a little rusty, but he could still fire a gun.
He listened carefully to the noises outside, letting his senses guide him. When he heard someone come in his direction, he struck out. Using his elbow, he jammed it into the man’s gut, twisting his arm and removing his weapon. As fast as he could given his rusty condition, he moved, aiming the gun towards the men running towards him. He held onto the man as a shield, thinking they wouldn’t shoot at their own colleague.
He was wrong.
Just as he started shooting, they did too, most bullets making their home into the man’s body. Raf managed to hit a few, their bodies crumbling to the ground. Unfortunately, they managed to hit him too.
He winced as a bullet grazed his arm where he wasn’t shielded, and he did his best to maneuver the body to provide more protection, all the while continuing to fire at the incoming men.
He counted about three more people as he backed away in an attempt to look for more coverage inside the building. He didn’t know how many rounds the gun had left, and the odds didn’t look to be in his favor.
A few more shots later and he emptied his gun.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he threw the body to the ground, running to the back of the building. But his poor physical condition prevented him from getting there before the men caught up with him.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath when he found himself surrounded.
His eyes roamed wildly around as he did quick calculations. It was three against one, and with his limited strength, he doubted he could take them head on. That meant he had to improvise.
Spotting a trash can in the back, he grabbed it, hurling it at the men chasing him. They released a string of curses, but weren’t deterred.
One was faster, catching up with Raf and shooting at him, the bullet whizzing right past him. Eyes wide, he turned just in time to avoid another bullet.
He grimaced as he bent his knee, jabbing it into the man’s stomach as he struggled to take the gun from him. In the ensuing fight, the man’s hand latched onto his pouch, the string breaking and the contents falling to the ground.
It was almost like everything happened in slow motion as Raf turned his attention to the floor and the shattered vials of the drug that soaked the material of the pouch. But he didn’t get to dwell on it as the man attacked him again, the others coming from behind, their weapons ready to shoot.
His shoulder wound was paining him, as was the fact that he was unused to any physical exertion due to months of being locked up in that damned room. But he also knew that this moment was a critical one.
He either fought for his life, or resigned himself to dying. Yet the former alternative was out of the question. Not when his promise to Lucero was still foremost in his mind. He’d vowed he would return for her—that he would free her and they would be together.
And that was a vow he meant to keep. No matter how hard the road ahead was, he was determined to prevail.
For her. For them. For their future.
He refused to believe that this was the end—not when their relationship had barely started.
He got in a few blows, but the other man did too. He reeled back, his mind fogging up. But he wasn’t about to give up. Clenching his fists, he aimed for the man’s neck, hitting him right below his jaw in a blow that sent him tumbling to the ground.
Raf was quick to get the gun from him, turning his attention to the others and shooting. He got the first one in the chest and the other in the head.
Adrenaline swam in his veins as he found himself staring at their bodies, his breathing labored, his body close to its breaking point.
Knowing time was of essence, he went back to his pouch, gathering some of the money that hadn’t been stained by the liquid and getting out of the building.
Without looking back, he went straight to the car shop from before, buying an old ride and getting in front of the driver’s seat. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far away from that town as possible. If the men had communicated his whereabouts, chances were that more people would come after him.
He managed to drive for a solid three hours before he found himself slipping. His head was throbbing, his arm even more so. He wondered how much time he had before he went into withdrawal, and based on past experience, he doubted he had more than a full day. Pursing his lips, he decided to take a small break at a gas station, eat something and patch up his bleeding shoulder.
Raf parked his car, getting out and keeping his head down so he wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. He went inside the gas station shop, buying some water, food, disinfectant and bandages, as well as a sewing kit and a spare shirt. If the clerk noticed why he needed those, he didn’t comment, simply ringing up all his items and accepting the money.
He took his items and went into the back to one of the bathrooms, locking himself inside and taking his shirt off to inspect the damage the bullet had done to his shoulder.
