“Fuck,” he screams.
"Where's the third one?" I kick the gun away from him.
"I don't know, man. We split up to search the place." I shoot him again, right between the eyes, he drops immediately, losing my attention.
I hear footsteps behind me. I spin, my weapon tracking the movement, and find the third Reaper emerging from one of the spare rooms. He's got a gun pointed at my head, and his smile's ugly.
"Drop it, Saint, or I’ll put one in your skull."
Time slows. I can see the sweat on his brow, and the slight tremor in his hand that says he's running on adrenaline and fear. He's going to shoot, I can see it in his eyes.
The shot comes from behind me.
The Reaper drops, and I turn and see Ava standing there in the doorway of the panic room, Hustler's backup piece in her shaking hands, her face pale but determined.
"I told you," she says, her voice remarkably steady. "I can handle myself."
For a moment, I just stare at her. Then I'm crossing the distance between us, pulling her into my arms, my weapon still in one hand but the other wrapped around her like I can physically shield her from everything that just happened.
"You're supposed to stay in the panic room," I say against her hair.
"I heard fighting, and thought you might need help."
"You could've been killed."
"So could you." She pulls back, looking up at me with eyes that are fierce despite the fear I can see lurking there. "We're even now. You've saved my life twice. I've saved yours once. One more and we'll call it square."
Despite everything, despite the bodies and the blood and the danger, I laugh. "Deal."
The other ol’ ladies come out and wait for Vulture to let us know it’s safe.
Vulture’s voice echoes up the stairs. "Ice Pick, we clear?"
"Clear. Ava and the ol’ladies are safe."
"Thank fuck for that. I need you down here Ice Pick, because we've got more company. The feds followed us here, and they want to talk."
Of course they do. I holster my weapon and take Ava's hand, leading her downstairs where agents in FBI windbreakers are processing the scene. Bodies are being photographed, evidence collected, and in the middle of it all stands a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and an expression that says she's seen worse.
"You must be Ice Pick," she says, extending her hand. "Special Agent Forrister. Robert's sister."
I shake her hand, surprised. "Didn't know Robert had family in the Bureau."
"He doesn't advertise it. Different career paths, similar goals." She looks at Ava. "And you're Ava Langley, your investigation's caused quite a stir."
"That was kind of the point," Ava says.
"Well, it worked. The raid on the warehouse was successful. We've got twenty girls safe, multiple arrests including several high-profile buyers, and enough evidence to prosecute everyone involved." Agent Forrister's expression softens slightly. "You did good work, Ms. Langley. Dangerous work, but good."
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now? Now we process the scene here, make sure everyone's secure, and start building cases against the Reapers and everyone connected to their operation." She pauses. "You're aware that several members of your club engaged in a firefight on your own property resulting in multiple fatalities?"
"Self-defense. They breached our gate, opened fire first."
"That's what your brothers said. And the evidence supports it." She looks around the destroyed clubhouse. "You're lucky, Ice Pick. This could've gone very differently."
"We're not lucky. We're prepared."
