The vampire beneath him snapped out of his daze and reached for him, but Harlow was there, plucking Foxx up with one arm as he fired a shot off with the other—zero expression on his face.
“About as skilled as the last ones,” Harlow grumbled as he set Foxx on his feet. “I just don’t see how they took Hanes down.”
“Sometimes all it takes is dumb luck to win. Even these idiots, as young as they are, are capable of ripping someone’s heart out. But…maybe more than one near the top of the hierarchy is older? We know at least one is old enough to make zombies…even if they were shitty.”
“Maybe… I guess we will see what his partner has to say, if it’s actually him waiting for us on the fourth floor.”
“Third,” Foxx corrected.
Harlow rolled his eyes. “Let’s behead these fuckers and get going.”
Guns raised, Harlow kicked in the door to the fourth floor. It swung open, knocking over the person behind it. Lunging at the guy still standing there, just as he raised his gun towards him, Harlow dropped one of his pistols in favor of grabbing the man’s wrist. Twisting it, the man dropped his own weapon as they tumbled to the ground.
Landing hard, the vampire yelped in pain when Harlow broke his wrist. But then the bastard rolled them, and Harlow was the one yelling as his body twisted awkwardly and a sharp pain shot through his back.
On his back now, teeth clenched in pain, he shoved his gun under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger just as the vampire was about to try to tear into him with his free hand. Blood speckling over Harlow’s hands and face, the vampire let out a gargled sound before collapsing on top of him.
Foxx jumping over head, removed any worries he’d had of others attacking from his mind, he shoved the man off of him.
Wincing as he sat up, Harlow growled, “Fucking hell,” when the pain remained. It felt like something in his back was pulling tight each time he moved.
Shaking his head, he ignored both the maniacal laughter and the screams he heard coming from further in the hall as he pushed up. Another slice of sharp pain laced through his back as he stumbled to his feet. He hissed, but forced himself to ignore it and fully straighten up. Harlow snorted in disgust on finding the vampire he hit with the door out cold nearby. How the fuck did these bastards kill Hanes?! It was just a bunch of dumbasses running around in cheap suits playing fucking mafia.
Glaring, he aimed and fired, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes.
Holstering his gun, he snagged the pistol he’d dropped off the floor, cursing as his back seemed to tighten further with that simple action.
“You okay?” Foxx asked, eyeing him with a raised brow. The man now stood only a few feet away from him, guns holstered, arms behind his back. There was a fresh coat of blood on the vampire, which just added to his already gory appearance. Foxx’s sunsuit, once a vibrant green, was now just varying shades of blood.
Harlow’s gaze briefly glanced down the hall, and he found four headless bodies lying in quickly forming blood puddles, arterial spray on the walls, with their heads lying nearby. It appeared as if Foxx had ripped their heads off—nice.
Turning to Foxx, he stretched his arms up, grunting as his joints popped. “I’m fine. Just fucking moved wrong.”
Pulling his short sword out, he quickly brought it down on the first man’s neck, and then the other, before returning it to its sheath. He was so going to have to clean everything later, or get a new sheath… With how much time had passed and the amount of blood, the leather would most likely be warped beyond repair… Harlow probably needed a new one.
His back had been tight as he’d bent each time…but the stretching seemed to have taken care of the pain.
Grimacing, he said, “Let’s find this hunter.”
“Right!” Foxx nodded. “No one else is on this floor. It seems they ran upwards while we were fighting.”
“Fucking cowards.”
“Okay, but…” Foxx giggled. “Look what I found.”
Harlow’s brow rose in mild shock when, from behind his back, Foxx brought out an old Tommy Gun, just like the ones old gangsters had used many decades ago.
“What is this, the 1920s? And why the hell didn’t they use it on us?”
“Who knows? But it’s loaded!” Foxx giggled evilly.
“I may…” He frowned and reached into his jacket. Harlow started feeling around his various pockets until he got to one on the lower right that he never opened. “Ha! I do!” He unzipped the pocket and pulled out a box of ammo. “Filled with Holy water.”
Foxx stared blankly for a moment before blurting out loudly. “How the hell do you fit so much in your leather jacket?! Is it bespelled?! Also, why do you even have that?!”
“Nope, just altered.” He tossed the box at Foxx, and the vampire caught it with ease, still staring at him with disbelief. “And I had an old Tommy Gun…just for the hell of it, but it blew up along with my house. Never actually got to use it in a hunt, which is slightly disappointing.”
“When?! When did you have it altered?! I watched you buy it—that exact jacket. And you are lying, aren’t you?! I bet Tony said no.”
