Even if I didn’t know where Anselm was meeting his group of arseholes, the sound of the excitable chatter echoing off the glass walls of the room would lead me there.
Xenia whispers in my ear, “Anselm’s got all the men in there for an after dinner drink. Jesus, that’s such a bullshit Victorian tradition. What century does he live in? He’s got Arabella seated about three meters behind him. She’s not moving. Note her placement on your thermograph. There’s about thirty of the investors there, she’s the only woman.”
“Any problem with me killing them all?” I murmur.
“It’s hard to prove how many know about the organ trafficking, but it’s a safe bet that everyone does,” Xenia whispers. “This is looking more like an investor’s pitch. However, he’s got two members of theFolketingin there, the Danish Parliament? So you might want to just drive them out like cattle and let us take ‘em into custody.”
“You’re taking all the fun out of this job for me, Xenia. Where are the female guests?”
“They’re sitting on the terrace off of the dining room, having sherry or whatever the hell women drink at these things.”
“What about security?” I murmur. “I’m counting fifteen between this floor and the first. Who’s in the room with Anselm?”
“There are seven undercover guards that I can see, dressed in suits, and loaded up in bulletproof vests. You know he’d want to be always surrounded by his security without making his guests nervous.” She lays out their locations in the room and I close my eyes, visualizing it.
“Got it.” I pull the safety on my Dragunov SVD.
“Hey Logan, hold up! Your brother’s team just breached the-”
I pivot and fire seven times.
Chapter Eleven
In which we learn that people in glass rooms shouldn’t throw bullets. I mean, shoot. People in glass rooms shouldn’t shoot bullets.
Arabella…
Back when I was little, I could still hear the high whine of the mosquitos in summer when we were playing outside, the piercing sound warning me before they landed on my skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually been able to hear something that high-pitched. But the shrill buzz as something passes by me sounds just the same. The guard standing just behind me flies backward and I just catch a spurt of blood out of the corner of my eye before I spin around.
He’s lying on the ground, eyes staring blankly up at the translucent ceiling as blood drips from the hole in his forehead. Six more guards are dead in seconds, gore pooling on the pristine glass floor before the stunned guests begin shouting, scrambling away, glasses of brandy dropping in a spray of crystal as they shove against each other, trying to find cover.
A fist grips my ponytail and yanks my head back as I shriek. Anselm pulls me in front of him, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“Looks like the police caught up with ye already.” I make some sort of mindless snorting noise, a cross between a giggle and a sob. I’m giddy with relief and it’s ridiculous because he’s probably going to kill me before I can be rescued.
Anselm’s face is pushed against mine, his mouth right next to my ear. The rank scent of the vodka he’s been drinking makes me gag. “I will shoot a hole in her head big enough to put your fist through it if you don’t come in with your hands up, MacTavish,” he shouts. I freeze as he shoves the muzzle of his gun against my forehead.
At least it will be quick…
My shaking hand taps my leg and I remember it. The arrowhead in my pocket. It’s not big, maybe half the size of the palm of my hand. That must be why they missed it when they took me. I know it’s sharp as hell, I nearly nicked my thumb on it earlier. It takes agonizing seconds to slip my hand into my pockets, fingers curling around the stone.
“MacTavish, you have five seconds to surrender before I shoot the girl.” Anselmmustbe part lizard. He sounds eerily calm.
Where can I stab him before he shoots me?
Like an avenging angel, in comes Logan MacTavish, mockingly holding his rifle up and setting it on a table with exaggerated care. Still, the men around him are trying to back away, bright enough to know that even unarmed, this man is dangerous.
“A human shield, a wee bit cowardly, dinnae ye think, Anselm? I’ve heard you’re a huge fecking sharg, but to see it…” Logan shakes his head as if he’s genuinely disappointed.
To our left, a gout of flame shoots up, nearly as high as this glass cage suspended over the ocean, and I hear something that sounds like low thunder in a storm. It must be huge, though, because the floor rocks under our feet.
“You are insignificant,” Anselm says sharply. The gun is no longer pressed against my forehead and he’s firing at Logan. Screaming, I whirl and slash my little weapon, my arrowhead, against his hand holding the gun, the momentum sending the razor sharp stone across his neck and slicing through the side of his face.
Nowhe’sscreaming, his hand pressed against the blood spurting from his neck, his eyes wide and uncomprehending that anything could hurthim. The bastard manages to keep hold of the gun and he fires again, trying to aim it at me and hitting a guest in the shoulder as he swings his arm wildly.
I should be brave. I should cut him again, make him drop the gun but my arrowhead is gone, dropped from my nerveless fingers and I’m staring at the river of gore spurting from his throat like a fecking eejit, frozen in place. There’s three percussive booms, three more bullets shot from his gun but none of them hit me and then I realize they’re not from Anselm’s gun, they’re from Logan’s.
He leaps over a table, knocking two screaming guests aside as he lunges for me, pulling me away from Anselm’s body, now sprawled face-down on the glass floor.
