Six(65)

His jaw ticked, teeth grinding. There was a lack of control of the situation, but I was certain he could handle it.

“There’s a fire escape.” He didn’t seem to be talking to me, but to himself.

“With a building this big, there better be.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Normally I don’t have baggage to carry around.”

“Cattle. Baggage. Yeah, I know, I’m a burden.” One step forward, two steps back. “If you’d give me one of your guns, maybe I wouldn’t be such a hindrance. I could help, you know.”

“By shooting me?”

“Really?” I threw my hands up in the air. “We’re being chased by half a dozen lunatics with Uzis. I don’t stand a chance against them, and I highly doubt they’d help me out. Plus, I’ve somehow grown kinda fond of your psychotic ass. Especially when being shot at by other people.”

He stared at me with that emotionless expression while he contemplated what I said. “It is a nice ass.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gun for some head?”

“I’ll get head from you anytime I want.” Reaching behind him, he pulled out a gun and presented it to me, grip first. “There are seventeen rounds. Make them count by actually hitting something and not me.”

There was a surprising heft about the metal in my hand. Probably about two pounds.

It was the first time I’d held one, and there was a wave of fear and excitement that moved through me. In my hand was a match for the gun he constantly pointed at me.

“Where’s the safety?”

Six’s brow scrunched up and he let out a chuckle. “There’s no safety.”

“What do you mean?”

“A lot of guns are made without external safeties these days.”

“Oh.” I took it in one hand and clasped my left hand over my right.

He stepped behind me and repositioned my left hand. “Move your thumb or you’ll get slide bite and bleed all over the place.” Uncrossing my thumbs, he moved my hand higher up the handle, making my left hand mirror my right. “Hold it like this. It will help offset the recoil. Use your thumbs as a guide for shooting.”

“Why my thumbs?”

“We’re not going to have time for you to get them in your sights. Your thumbs are closest to the barrel and pointing in the same direction. Not the best indicator, but a good guide for the right direction.”

I nodded and shook a little bit. When I was a teen, I’d shot a rifle a few times, but I’d never held or shot a handgun. It sounded like a good idea, but my insides clenched. Releasing my left hand, I held it in front of me.

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

He pulled his gun back out and held it sideways, his trigger finger was parallel to the barrel. “Get your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. I don’t need an accidental bullet in my ass.”

I nodded and moved my finger up. Thumbs on top of each other. Point and shoot when ready.

He moved to the door, turning the handle and opening it just enough to hear and see any activity outside.

Adrenaline coursed through me, my insides shaking as fight or flight kicked in. I wanted to flight, to run my ass away from a scenario I never should have been in, but the only way to do that and live was to fight.

We had to fight our way out. Fight to live one more day before he put a bullet in me anyway.

I took a few hard, deep breaths, locked my jaw, and nodded to Six. He held his finger up to his lips and slowly opened the door, looking both ways before stepping out. Following right behind him, I let the door lightly close behind me.

In the distance, the sound of a walkie-talkie could be heard, the words gargled by the static and echo. The reverberation down the hall made it hard to determine which direction it was coming from.

Six grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him.

Ten steps and stopped.

Listened.

Continued.

When we reached a cross hall, he flattened his back against the wall, and I followed suit. I didn’t hear anything, but Six didn’t move, didn’t even attempt to look down the hall.

He released my arm and held it out flat for me to stay, but never looked at me. All of his attention was focused as he took slow, silent steps.

Before I could blink, he grabbed on to something and pulled. A man came around the corner in time for Six’s elbow to connect to the side of his face. His arm straightened and fired off two shots before aiming down to the man he’d hit for another.

The concussion wave of each shot slammed every cell in my body. My ears rang as the shots echoed around the halls.

I expected him to grab on to me again and pull, but instead he kneeled down. A few steps revealed two other bodies—all three shot in the head and dressed head to toe in black.

“Shit,” Six hissed as he pulled on a thin cord that led to a box on one of the guy’s waist.

I looked down the way we came and back to Six, watching as he put an ear bud up to his ear. Moving my hand in front of me, I gripped the gun with both hands, folding my left on top of my right as he showed me.

Each second we stayed there, the faster the thumping in my chest and the itch to run grew. But Six knew what he was doing, and I had to follow his lead.

The faint clopping of shoes in the distance turned my head back to the way we came. My attention focused on the sound, trying to decipher if it was coming toward us.