Colm
Thank fuck for Fallow and his freaky Vulcan hearing, because I hadn’t heard shit, and I’m not exactly someone who moves through the world with my senses turned off.
Although he did fuck me within an inch of my life a few minutes ago, so it’s possible haven’t been firing on all cylinders. But now that the room is full of gunfire and bullet holes, I’m wide awake.
Violence is a part of my job. It’s not one I revel in, but I’m also not afraid of it. I haven’t been shot at in this kind of overwhelming assault since the day Sav and I were attacked at the courthouse, though. An image of that day imposes itself on the dark room I was just standing in, and I feel the moment my brain screeches to a halt.
I’m on the floor. I must have dropped by muscle memory, because I don’t remember doing it. I rub my fingertips across the carpet for a second, and it helps me pull my consciousness out of the sticky trap of that memory. At the courthouse I was standing up and firing, taking down our attackers. Sav was the one onthe floor, and between the moment he initially went down, and when I dragged his limp body back to the car, I thought he was fucking cooked.
The carpet against my fingertips and my face drags me into the present. It’s possible that I’m shot and not feeling it yet, but I don’t think so.
Fallow.
The thought hits me with a tsunami of panic I wasn’t expecting.
Did he get hit?
Looking around, I do my best to focus in the dark. The curtain is still hanging over the window, although it’s a little shredded, and our attackers are obviously planning on waiting outside to see if we’re alive enough to return fire. I can already hear the muffled sounds of what must be them congratulating themselves on a job well done.
This kind of dumbassery can only be the Aryans. Even my guys would be coming in here to make sure the job was finished.
I’m still on the ground figuring all this out like a moron when I see Fallow. His cheek is cut and maybe his eyebrow, I can see that much. But otherwise, he doesn’t seem injured. His movements are just as fluid and stealthy as always as he moves over to the window in a crouch, gun in his hand that he must have grabbed from the side table and then dives through the broken window.
Dives.Like he’s fucking Superman.
Idiot.
More adrenaline hits me as I surge to my feet, looking around for another gun. A couple more shots ring out outside and make my breath clench in my chest.
I’m still in my fucking underwear and not nearly as graceful as Fallow, but I manage to duck through the broken window without cutting anything critical on the broken glass. There’s alittle more light in the parking lot, although not a lot. At least enough for me to see Fallow doing his best impression of Jason fucking Bourne against at least four Aryans.
There’s a body on the ground with Fallow’s knife sticking out of his neck, one guy standing off to the side grabbing his bloody leg, and it looks like most of the guns have ended up on the hard-packed dirt.
I don’t even know what the fuck he’s doing or how he’s doing it, but he disarms most of them with some martial arts shit. One guy gets grabbed and pulled right up close to Fallow before his own knife ends up shoved into his chin from below. He spits blood and gapes for a minute in shock, falling as soon as I put two bullets in his head.
It’s easy to pick off the rest, between my gun and Fallow’s… everything. I guess they weren’t expecting us to fight back. Or, more likely, they weren’t expecting us to be awake and thought they’d just slaughter us in our sleep.
Thank god Fallow woke up horny, or they might have succeeded.
It all goes by in a flash before I’m standing in the dim light, panting almost as hard as I was when Fallow fucked me. My gun is in my hand, and I can’t stop looking around, convinced there are more people coming.
“We should go,” Fallow says, walking over to me. The entire left side of his face is covered in blood—I think it’s his—while his dark clothes are covered in blood that hopefully came from the Aryans.
He gives me a quick up-and-down, as if looking for injuries, and I can’t help but do the same to him. His cheek is bleeding pretty good, worse than I first thought. Other than that, he looks intact. At least he got dressed first. Although his feet are bare, just like mine, and I’m sure we’re both a little cut up.
As if he summoned them with his words, I hear sirens in the distance. This is the middle of nowhere, and it’s not exactly an area that hasn’t heard gunfights before, but still. Nobody wants to be a part of this.
“Yeah, let’s bounce,” I say.
The glass crunches underfoot as we both move, making me wince. I wish he’d let me carry him, but I know better than to even ask.
It only takes a few minutes to grab our stuff and run to the car. I don’t bother to get dressed, throwing my clothes into the back of the SUV with everything else and planning to pull over in a while. What’s more important is that nobody catches sight of our plate and we’re long gone before the cops get here. The whole thing passes in a whirlwind of adrenaline, and I don’t think I catch my breath until we’re on the freeway.
I drive carefully, not speeding too much but not going so slow it’s suspicious. Fallow doesn’t say anything beside me but eventually starts to sift through the Walgreens bag he remembered to grab and work on bandaging his face. It’s dark in here, though, and whatever he’s doing is obviously ineffective.
“Just hold pressure for now,” I say, stealing a glance at him. “I’ll take a look once we stop.”
I’m waiting for a snide riposte, but nothing comes. Instead, he just huffs next to me.
