I walk towards Andrews, who glances to the left where Owen remains hidden. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a zip tie.
“Really?”
“It’s to slow you down, Kara, not stop you.” He smirks and throws the black plastic towards me. “You know what you need to do.”
“You saved me, all those years ago,” I say as I catch the plastic and slowly pull the cable ties over my wrists. “That man would have kicked me to death.”
“The fact you were still conscious made me realise you had a stubbornness that I could use. Like I said, little one, this isn’t personal. You are special to me.”
“That’s why you’re holding a gun to my head is it? Because I’m special?”
“That’s the exact reason I’m doing it, and why you are sliding on cable ties and not falling to the floor with a bullet in your head. This isn’t personal, but I’m no idiot. I know not to underestimate you.”
“I think you’re wrong there.”
“Which part?”
“The part where you said you’re not an idiot, because you are. You may not have underestimated me, but you’ve certainly underestimated him.”
Andrews eyes widen and he turns.
He’s fast, but not fast enough. Owen pulls the trigger and puts two bullets into Andrews, who has still managed to pull his own trigger, but his body is already falling.
The bullets cause destruction in his stomach and chest, crashing through bone, ligaments, cartilage, ripping through his lungs, spleen and kidneys.
He falls to the floor as Owen stands with the Beretta Brigadier held out in front of him, his eyes wide as he watches Andrews fall to his knees. His face is a mask of confusion, pain, then nothing as the life bleeds out of him.
He falls forward.
I pull the cable ties off my wrist and cross quickly to him, rolling him over.
His eyes are glassy, his blinks slow. Owen stands over him, still with the gun trained on him, but he’s not coming back from this. He blinks one more time before death takes him, and I stare down at his unmoving body.
They say your whole life flashes before you when you die. Maybe that’s true, but I can say that as you watch someone you care about die. Memories of the time together flash before yours.
How he pulled me from the street, took me to the hospital, nursed me to health, trained me, gave me a home, cooked me dinner, supported me on assignments, paid me, gave me a life.
A second chance.
It may have been business to him, but for me…it was more.
“You should never underestimate a politician,” Owen says, looking down to Andrews’ unmoving body, the blood seeping out from him, pooling onto the dark wooden floor.
I stare up at Owen, my eyes wide, my forehead wrinkled from a frown as I take in what he said.
“Never underestimate a politician? What the—” It bubbles up in my throat, and I can’t help it. I fall onto my arse, and I laugh.
I laugh so much it makes my ribs and cheeks hurt. Owen, who frowns at first, is soon sitting next to me on the floor, joining in.
The pair of us sit in the broken, bloodied mansion of Andrews’ safehouse laughing like we have completely and utterly lost the plot. Tears stream down our faces as I mock him in a voice and repeat what he says, which sets him off again. I wipe my tears and pull a deep breath in, resting my head against his shoulder.
“Now what?” he asks, resting his head on top of mine.
“We move.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“What did you say before you gave that press interview?”
