I lurch right, diving low, and hear Gemma cry out.
Not just one shooter then.
Two.
As another bullet tears into metal inches from me, one thing becomes very clear: Townsend wasn't the only contract tonight.
Someone is trying to kill both Gemma and me.
I dump the rifle, grab my pistols from the bag, and run for her.
Bullets pepper the metal as I race across the catwalk. Below, the floor is in chaos. People are screaming and shoving to get out, scrambling to hide, or frozen in fear.
At the end of the catwalk, I leap onto the railing, then vault to some rigging, sliding down the thick rope to land on the stage just feet from my girl. My palms burn beneath my leather gloves from the friction, but I push down the discomfort and shove through two people running for the door.
Gemma is crouched over her father, blood on her hands as tears stream down her face.
"No. Not like this," she cries.
Another bullet slams into the wood a foot from her. She doesn't even flinch.
"Gemma, move!" I yank her down, covering her with my body as more shots follow. The second they stop, I leap to my feet and pull her up with me, hustling her toward the service hallway.
Wide eyes, glossy with shock, meet mine. "Dallas?"
"Gotta move, honey."
"But Dad?—"
"There's nothing you can do for him right now."
She looks back at her father's prone form.
I pull her into the shadows and grip her upper arms until she faces me. We have maybe five seconds before the shooters find us. "It's not safe here, Gemma. They're trying to hurt you."
She swallows.
"Trust me to keep you safe." She shouldn't. One of those bullets has my name on it. But no one else will protect her like I can.
I hold out my hand. If she hesitates even a second, I'll throw her over my shoulder and run. No way I'm leaving this sweetness behind to die.
Gemma meets my eyes and places her blood-stained hand in mine.
I tug her out the door.
The hallway is deserted. Sirens sound in the distance, and the terrified cries of the people inside are muffled.
We run through the maze of halls to the opposite side of the conference center and out the back door into the alley, lit only by the dim yellow light above the door. Garbage lines the brick walls and spills out of the large bins, turning the air rancid.
I pull her into the shadows and run for the mouth of the alley. My truck is two streets over. Close, but too far away for the clusterfuck going down.
Gemma's hand tightens on mine, her heels clicking on the cobblestones. I have to get her out of the alley before she twists an ankle.
Suddenly a shadow separates from the wall and steps in front of us.
I slam to a halt, catching Gemma against my back.
The dim light illuminates a thin line of metal as the man raises his gun, pointing it directly at me.
