"Sin?" she asked softly, allowing fear to tint her voice.
It touched something inside him, so he patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. "I know, Princess. You concentrate on that and let me do my job. Just trust me a little fucking bit."
"Yes, Legate, but priests shouldn't cuss."
"Wrong kind of priest," he said, turning to smile at her and finding the boy still behind them. "This kind keeps your ass alive, not pure."
"Good," she said. "But why is it ok for you to cuss?"
While he loved that she was finally willing to ask, her timing couldn't be worse. "Can we talk about it later? I don't multitask as well as you."
"Yes," she whispered, her fingers gripping him a bit harder. "Sin, I don't want to die."
"Not today, Princess." He looked ahead of them and saw another man watching them a bit too intently. "Maybe tomorrow."
His free hand moved to his hip, and he switched off the safety of that gun, listening to the whine of the coils charging. The Ingénue tilted her head, then reached over, her fingers sliding along his hip until she could reach the other. She activated it for him. Fucking genius, he thought, damn near reading his mind.
"There's another against my ribs," he told her.
She trailed the palm of her hand up the back of his exo-suit, feeling for the holster so she didn't have to look. When her fingers brushed it, she repeated the process and he released the safety of the fourth weapon. Like the others, it made a sound as it activated. Oddly enough, she hadn't started panicking. Trailing beside him with her hand on his arm, she walked calmly, willing to go anywhere with him.
He checked the men again. They were definitely being followed. Sinclair could count at least four now, and there were likely more. He continued walking, hoping to make their destination without complications, well aware of how many people turned to watch them pass. They stood out in a crowd. That was unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done for it now.
"Left," he said, leading her across the street.
He made for a less public area. It would limit the number of random people around, which meant fewer distractions and hopefully less collateral damage. They were still headed toward the general direction of City Hall, but taking the "scenic route." Turning to look at the Ingénue again, he glanced over his shoulder. A group of men were making their way across the street, two of them looking directly at him.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Princess, when this goes down, stay low. Don't run, don't panic, just get low and make a small profile. Got it?"
"Yes. Tell me when I need to initiate the wipe. It takes seventeen seconds."
"Not today."
They entered the dead-end alley and walked halfway, their feet splashing in the puddles as he aimed them toward a large metal dumpster. His strides grew longer, the Ingénue trying her best to keep up, and he lifted her hand from his arm. Guiding her beside the steel box, he pressed her against the brick wall.
"Stay in the corner," he ordered. She did, crouching into a small, tense ball. Sin held his gun against his leg and stepped forward, stopping so they'd have to get around him to reach her. "What do you want?" he asked lazily, lifting his chin in a taunt at the people he knew were watching him.
A punk-looking man stepped around the corner, holding a gun in his own hand. His face was covered by a half-mask, hiding his nose and mouth from view. A Kevlar-reinforced jacket served as his only armor, but it also made him blend in with the people who often used these streets. So did his neon hair. The guy's eyes glinted metallically, and he'd made no attempt to disguise the data port on the side of his head.
"We're here for the Brain," he said. "She has something we need."
Sin smiled coldly and shook his head as more stepped into view. They could see his gun, they recognized his uniform, yet they pulled their own weapons. It felt like an old-fashioned western standoff. He'd always liked those movies: simple, easy, and the good guys won. His eyes moved from one face to the next, memorizing each because he'd need to describe them later.
"Can't have her," he drawled. "Keep walking, or I'll put a bullet in your brain. I have an obligation to protect my client. Any threats to her give me authorization to kill."
"Six to one, bad boy," another man laughed, lifting his gun. "You can't dodge all these bullets."
Lifting his arm, the Legate squeezed, and the gun whined as the bullet shot forward. The punk boy dropped with a small red hole in the center of his forehead. Sin pulled his second weapon.
They returned fire, ducking around the corner to avoid his shots. Sin dodged, moving to the edge of the dumpster. Using the steel for cover, he managed to take out another before the first bullet caught his shoulder, knocking him back. The gun flew from his hand, clattering as it slid out of reach. The exo-suit prevented the shot from piercing his skin, butdamnthat hurt! He yanked another pistol from its holster and rolled, trying to remove as many as he could.
Someone dropped. Bullets ricocheted off the asphalt, forcing him to flinch away. The steel dumpster was taking a beating, the banging sound of each shot almost deafening, but Rissa hadn't moved—or made a sound. She sat crouched in the corner with her hands over her ears and those beautiful silver eyes wide with terror.
He shouldn't have looked. The distraction cost him dearly as he took another hit, ripping a short scream from his lungs. His only solace was he'd cut their number in half. Now to finish this up.
The punks had scattered, shooting from too many directions and with too many things between them to hide behind. Sin had to concentrate on them one at a time. This group had some training. Whether they were an organized gang or mercenaries dressed to blend in, he didn't know. He also didn't have time to worry about it because he was still taking fire. The armor mightprevent a lot of damage, but a well-placed shot could definitely kill him.
He stepped out and fired repeatedly, over half the shots missing, yet it was enough to keep them back. One thug leaned too far out, so Sin twisted and pulled the trigger, watching him die—then pain flared across his own back. His legs crumpled, throwing him to the ground.
