I roll from under the car.
He hauls me up and looks me over, turning me around and then back.
“I’m okay. Not shot. I’m okay,” I repeat, the gun still gripped tightly in my shaking hands. I am trying to keep it pointed straight down so I don’t accidentally shoot him.
“Blood. She hit him,” Trick calls, running across the asphalt toward a warehouse.
“Come this way,” Sasha says, pulling me with him as he follows Trick.
We enter. Inside things are cool and dark. I try to control my panting breaths.
Sasha puts me behind a piece of construction equipment, a giant metal shovel thing that’ll be good cover. “Stay down. But if you get a shot, take it,” he whispers. He kisses my forehead, then he moves away silently.
There’s a whistle. I suspect it’s from Trick.
Something heavy skids across the ground.
What are they doing? Trying to draw fire, so they’ll know where he is? I took Leone’s gun. I don’t think he has another weapon on him. Unless he picked one of the mercenaries’ weapons up, I realize. And do I even know that Leone’s the only bad guy in here? No, I don’t.
There are other small noises. Soft snapping sounds.
The door near me is shoved open, and I see Leone’s silhouette mid-sprint. Before I even raise my gun, he flies forward as I hear two shots.
Then someone whistles, and it sounds like a deflating balloon.
“Funny,” Sasha says. In seconds he’s standing over me again. “He’s down, Raven. Lower that.”
I drop the gun’s muzzle and stand.
Trick pushes the door all the way open and stands in the doorway, letting light pour in.
“You don’t have to look. If you want to close your eyes, I’ll carry you out.”
I shake my head, but hold out the gun to him.
He tucks it away and guides me to the doorway.
“Nice whistling,” I say to Trick.
He winks at me. He could be shooting a Calvin Klein ad. His hair’s not even mussed.
Alberto’s face down on the ground. There’s blood dripping from the back of his head and saturating the back of his shirt. Both shots hit him.
A car screeches to a stop and the door flies open. C emerges and jogs over.
“Rachel?”
“I’m okay. Not hurt.”
He catches my chin and turns my face to examine what I imagine is a puffy red mark from the slap.
“I’m okay,” I repeat.
C looks at body on the ground with a hard expression.
I think about the past few days—and farther back—to Alberto’s spiteful brutality toward me and his tendency to hire mercenaries to kill C Crue members. What choice did he leave us? None. He brought this ending on himself.
C glances at me and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “Go get in the car. Zoe’s there.”
