Lies(50)

Fox dives for the floor. “Fire in the—”

The whole building shakes once again and all three of us hit the ground. Everything becomes smoke-filled chaos. More rocket-propelled things must be coming at us, because there’s a hole where the kitchen window used to be and the cupboards behind us are now on fire. It’s not a big fire—yet, but still…we’re now in a war zone.

Ever so slowly, Fox pulls herself up off the floor. Glass has slashed her cheek; dust coats her dark hair. “Fuck a duck.”

“I’ll put out the fire,” I yell, after getting my coughing under control. Fox and Helene are the better shots, so me dealing with the flames makes sense.

Helene nods and gets back into position with a huge, shiny revolver. The sort of thing you’d see in a Western. Though, honestly, I think even John Wayne would be wary of something this size.

“I hate to make it personal, but these people are seriously starting to piss me off.” Moving somewhat slower now, Fox grits her teeth and draws the pistol attached to her thigh. There’s no stopping. No time to rest, let alone recuperate. “Scorpion is going to pay for this shit if she’s still alive.”

A small fire extinguisher hangs on the wall by the stove. Helene really did think of everything. Though, bulletproof glass would have been nice. Of all the things to skimp on. If we make it out of this in one piece, I’ll have words with her about it for certain.

I try to keep my head down, but this fire isn’t going to put itself out. So I reach up, angling the nozzle at the flames. Safe to say Helene’s expensive cabinetry is screwed. Same goes for all the fancy plates and crystal that have been blown to smithereens.

And it’s while I’m thinking these truly useless, stupid thoughts that two somethings hammer me in the back—making me gasp. My whole rib cage clenches up. Next comes a red-hot line of fire slicing across my upper arm. The extinguisher falls from my suddenly numb hands and all I can do is try and breathe through the pain. It’s excruciating.

“Get down!” shouts Fox.

Excellent advice. If about five seconds too late.

My ass hits the floor, my hand covering the bloody trail the bullet left across my arm. Ohmanholyfuckingcrap. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, taking a moment. At least the red stuff isn’t gushing. It just hurts like hell. Also, I think a rib might be broken, care of the bullets hitting the back of my vest, because every breath is pure agony.

In movies, when people get shot, they just tough it out. What utter and complete bullshit. My body is shaking and tears are streaming down my face. Still, at least I got the fire extinguished. The cabinet is just a smoking mess of foam and carnage. Too bad I’m crying and ruining my badass status.

“I’ve had about enough of this nonsense,” snarls Helene, setting down the revolver and pulling out her cell. Next, she shoves the first-aid box in my general direction, scowling heavily. Like I got shot on purpose or something.

The noise of various weapons going off seems to have calmed some. Not a lot, but a little. Instead of a constant barrage, it’s more of an intermittent rain of violence. Hopefully the bad guys are running out of people to throw at us. That would be nice.

Meanwhile, the pain is so bad, I kind of want to yell for Thom. But I grab the first-aid kit and find those antiseptic wipes Bear used on his wound. The best I can do is dab at the injury with my teeth gritted.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Once the command is acknowledged, Helene holds her cell up to her ear, taking a deep breath. “Archie…let’s talk.”




“This is a mistake,” mutters Thom, soon after.

Helene, of course, takes no notice.

“Using yourself as bait is unwise.”

“I heard you the first time, Wolf. The decision’s made. Do stop harping on about it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve lived a good life, giving most of it to this organization. If I have to make the final sacrifice to save it and take this abhorrent bastard out in the process, then I’ll count it a victory.” She sighs heavily. “Besides, I don’t see any of us getting out of here any other way. We have no idea how many people he’s brought with him or how well they’re equipped. What we do know is that we’re going to run out of ammunition, not to mention people to fire the weapons, in the near future. At least this way, there’s a chance.”

No one disagrees. It’s more than a little scary.

“I always rather wondered what it would be like to be on the front lines, actually tackling these sort of situations head-on.” Her smile is grim. “Think I’ve handled myself rather well, given everything.”

“Yes, ma’am, you have.” He passes her something, and she slips it into her right hand. It’s too small for me to see, but he doesn’t look happy about any of this. Not one bit.

We don’t have an actual white flag to wave around, but at least temporary truce talks are about to happen. The kitchen doorway has been cleared, open for one and all. Or for Archie and some of his people. And they walk in like they own the place. The head douche canoe is wearing a striped three-piece suit. To a gunfight. Jesus fucking Christ. He has glossy black hair and a thin, pallid face. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a banker or stockbroker.

Not so much the people accompanying him, however. Most of them are big, buff, dressed in black with tactical vests on, and weird goggle-type things sitting on top of their heads. Night vision or heat sensing or something like that. A variety of submachine guns and pistols are in their hands. Just like us, they came more than prepared. But no one’s pointing their weapons at anyone just yet. Everyone’s pretending to play nice.