I aimed and fired.
The bullet tore into his shoulder, ripping muscle from bone as blood scattered across his cheek. The impact of the shot threw him backward and he fell. The gun he was toting skidding across the floor and underneath a cabinet.
He gave a shout of pain and then like an injured animal, he began to struggle to get back to his feet.
A couple more men came around the corner, their attention diverted to their bleeding friend, and I took aim again.
“Tucker! Let’s go!” Charlotte yelled, and I felt the stirring of cold air at my back. She must have found the door. The sound of guns being cocked told me that more than one man had us in his sights.
I kept the shotgun aimed and steady as I backed toward the cold air. When I got close enough, I felt Charlotte’s hand on my shoulder as she yanked me through the exit and slammed the door.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and glanced at her.
There was blood on her face.
I grabbed her chin, pulling her around so I could ascertain how injured she was. Flashbacks of Connors lying in the sand, bleeding out and moaning filled my mind.
I shook my head. I didn’t have time for that right now. Charlotte needed me.
“Where are you hurt?” I demanded, squeezing her chin.
“It’s not my blood,” she replied, her voice flat.
We were standing very close to the man who was gunned down right in front of us. I probably had some of his matter on my face as well.
A bang on the door behind us caused my body to tense, and I glanced up the alley, noting the traffic whizzing by at the end. “Let’s go.”
We took off running. The sound of our feet pounding against the pavement seemed far away compared to the thumping of blood in my ears.
The door to the UPS store banged against the brick when the men barreled through, giving a shout as they saw us running, and gave chase. A bullet hit the side of a building beside us and Charlotte screamed, reaching up to cover her head with her arms. I kept running, scooping her up as we went, and dragged her the rest of the way down the alley.
Another shot rang out and I practically threw Charlotte away from me and out onto a busy sidewalk.
I turned back and fired off another round, the shotgun casing making a hollow ping when it hit the ground. One of the men went down and I smiled.
But the smile was short lived.
Because Charlotte screamed.
Forgetting all about the men chasing us, I barreled out onto the sidewalk, looking wildly around. She wasn’t hard to find.
Because she was the only one on the street with a gun to her head.
I stepped forward, holding my hands up in surrender. I wasn’t quite ready to put down my gun because if I had an opportunity to shoot, I damn well would.
The man holding Charlotte was who she referred to as Garlic Breath. He was sweating profusely, pale, and bleeding openly from the hole I put in his shoulder.
Frankly, I was impressed he was still standing.
He pressed a black pistol right up against Charlotte’s temple, and she was trying to shy away, but his other hand was gripping the back of her neck, pinning her in place. Some people gathered around, watching the unfolding horror. Other people were scurrying away. I kept my eyes directly on Charlotte and that gun as someone behind me whispered into their cell phone to who I hoped was the police.
I tried not to be distracted by Charlotte’s terror-filled eyes. I tried not to be distracted by the way her skin was completely colorless. Her hands were wrapped around her middle and she clutched the drive and piece of paper against her.
“Let her go,” I said, once again showing him I would surrender.
“Drop the gun,” he ordered.
I hesitated. He yanked Charlotte’s hair, making her cry out.
Slowly, I lowered the gun to the ground and laid it by my feet.
“Kick it away.”
Gritting my teeth, I did as he asked, pissed that this was happening. I could barely think because fear coated my insides, slowly spreading like some kind of contagious disease. I’d seen men killed right in front of me. Men I considered my friends. It haunted me to this day, but I survived.
Something told me if I watched Charlotte die before me, I wouldn’t survive it.
“Give it to me, bitch,” the man growled in her ear.
She recoiled. “No.”
He smacked her with the end of the gun, rocking her head on her shoulders. I leapt forward, and the gun turned on me.
I saw his finger on the trigger twitch.
“Here!” Charlotte cried, holding up the small black drive. “Take it!”
The distant sounds of sirens reached my ears. It was about damn time.
Garlic Breath ripped the drive out of her hand and then shoved her roughly to the ground. She fell on hands and knees, gasping for breath.
He leveled the gun at her back, a sadistic grin on his pallid face.
“No!” I roared as the bullet discharged, and I threw myself at her.
I plowed into her and the bullet plowed into me. Razor-sharp pain ricocheted through my entire body and I felt like someone had lit me on fire. With a deep grunt, I landed on top of her, crushing her against the pavement, wrapping my arms over her head to protect her further.
I felt blood begin to ooze out of my body, but I couldn’t tell where I’d been hit. I hurt everywhere.
“Tucker!” Charlotte yelled, trying to wiggle out from beneath me, but I wouldn’t let her.
“Hold still,” I ordered as I reached for the shotgun lying just a few feet away. At the curb, a dark-colored sedan came to a screeching halt and the door opened. I saw one extremely polished black dress shoe step out onto the street.
The shotgun disappeared.
Hands reached for me, yanking me off Charlotte. She began to yell and I began to fight. Adrenaline helped me move; fear for Charlotte kept me upright.
I landed a couple punches to the men who were trying to pull Charlotte and me apart, and then someone pinned me from behind, holding my arms, twisting them behind my back. Another man, one of the men from the alley, approached holding a small device.
A taser.
I started to struggle anew, but it was no use.
He hit me in the center of my chest, sending sparks of hot electricity jolting through my body and making me twitch. I spun, falling toward the ground, but hands caught me.
The last thing I saw was Charlotte being forced into the back of the car, and the last thing I heard was her screaming my name.
26
Charlotte
They were just letting him bleed.
The red soaked his shirt, saturating the fabric of the white button-up he was wearing. His skin, which usually held a golden tone, was now pasty, and every time I looked at him, the stain was wider than before. It was an all too grim reminder that time wasn’t on our side. If we didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to die.