Tucking the gun into the waistband of my pants, I jump to my feet and pivot on my boot heel in his direction.
He already has the other Luger pointed at Klaus. Leaning back on his knees, the fascist’s blonde-white hair is caked in dirt and blood, hiding most of his face from me while he grips his still-bleeding hand.
Bes doesn’t look much better. His shirt is half-untucked and his vest lies in a blood-stained heap on the ground beside him. A bruise blooms across his jaw, blood dripping from a slight cut onhis lip onto the collar of his white shirt. I can’t see his left arm so I have no idea if he’s bled through, but he’s favoring it more than before.
Despite my presence, neither of them seem to take any notice of me, or give any indication they witnessed what happened between Ingrid and I.
My first instinct is to sneak up behind Klaus to help Bes gain the advantage. Something about the way the two men are locked on one another causes me to hesitate. It feels personal, in a way. As if theyknoweach other.
“—will find you. You won’t win,” Klaus seethes as I edge closer.
Sweat trickles down Bes’s temple and shimmers in the moonlight. Yet his hand remains steady, his finger hovering calmly over the trigger. I might not know Bes very well, but he doesn’t strike me as the type to kill someone in cold blood. Even if that someone is one of the God Men.
“It’s not about winning,” Bes argues, voice hard. “It never has been. It’s about doing everything in my power to purge the earth of demons like you.”
Grim but determined, Bes narrows his dark eyes.
“By any means necessary.”
The sharp sound of the gunshot ricochets along the museum wall as the Luger recoils. I duck reflexively and throw my hands over my head, but that doesn’t stop the ringing from echoing between my ears.
Klaus crumples to the ground.
Straightening slowly, my breath stutters.He did it—Bes actuallykilledhim.
This can’t be the same man I met in the desert—the one who talks like he’s in a hurry to be somewhere, who has to push his glasses up his nose and constantly tuck his wild hair behind his ears. And now he’s killing these God Men with their own guns?
I might have to consider reevaluating my earlier assertion he’s never been shot before. Someone who handles a gun that well uses them often, and has likely had one or two pointed at them in return.
Chest heaving, my attention shifts from Klaus’s lifeless body to Bes. His expression is rigid and raging with fire, and I have to admit, I’m afraid of what I see.
By any means necessary…
As the fire slowly disappears from his deep brown eyes, he reaches back to tuck the Luger into the narrow space between his shirt and pants. Lastly, he runs both hands through his dark hair a few times, smoothing it back.
He approaches me, eyes roving across my body to discern if I’m injured. “Are you hurt?”
Grateful for this concern, I show him my unwrapped palms. “Never been better.”
He nods, pushing his glasses up his face. “Come on, we need to get to the motorcar.” He grabs my fingers, purposefully avoiding my palm. Heat zings up my arm from the contact. “We have to hurry—there might be more of them.”
Good Lord, I hope not.
Dropping his hand, I snatch up my pack and suitcase from where I dropped them, slinging my bag over one shoulder. “Hopefully they’re not as smart as you and we don’t have to worry about cut fuel lines.”
“The car belongs to the museum and would’ve been parked out of sight,” Bes amends. “But if Cec is correct about the curator’s assistant, then I don’t bloody care whose car it is. We’re commandeering it.”
I blink at the venom in his words. “Fair enough.”
Before I go any further, I glance over my shoulder at Ingrid.
She’s still unconscious, and I consider if I should follow Bes’s lead and kill her after all. She threatened to hunt me down if I didn’t, and I believe her.
No—I’m standing firm on my decision. I’ve killed enough people today. I could ask Bes to do it, but that doesn’t feel any different than pulling the trigger myself.
Besides, the gunshot likely drew people’s attention. It’s only a matter of time before curious bystanders come to investigate. We can’t be here when they do.
Bes rounds the corner with me at his heels, the two of us skirting along the side of the building. Once we make it to the front, I find a black automobile parked haphazardly in the middle of the half-moon driveway, waiting for us.That’s convenient.
