“Oh my god, Logan, that was… my god, that was so… I-I didn’t know w-what to do.”
I brush her hair back off her face. “Listen, I need to get you out of here, okay? The club isn’t far away, but we need to move.”
Glad we’re not relying on the NOPD, she takes my hand.
She nods. “I’m so scared.”
“Don’t gotta be scared, I won’t let anythin’ happen to you, but we’ve gotta move.”
I pull her up to standing, her crossbody bag still over one shoulder as I take her hand. “Are you good to run?”
“Y-yes.”
“Let’s go.”
We head for the door and Hustler is still guarding the hall when he turns and says, “Cash is pullin’ up to the back entrance. We wanna go that way, avoid the cops.”
“Shouldn’t I stay and give a statement or something?” Payden asks, looking between the two of us.
“Later,” I say. “Right now gotta get you outta here.”
“Help me!” someone screams from down the hall as we head past more bodies and Payden squeezes my hand.
“Stop!” Payden tells me. “I know that voice…”
Frankly, all I care about is getting her to safety, then I’ll come back and help, but then a girl appears from another office, holding her shoulder with one bloodied hand.
“Molly!” Payden shrieks.
The girl stumbles as Hustler catches her. “Oh my god, what just happened? Holy shit… Deidre… Is she… Is she okay?”
“We need to get downstairs,” Payden says as Hustler takes off his bandana and ties it around her shoulder as best he can. “I don’t know who made it.”
I know from her tone Deidre is no longer with us.
“He… He shot me…” Molly blurts, her tears flooding down her face. “W-who are these guys?”
“They’re my friends,” Payden tells her. “They’re the good guys.”
Friends. I guess I can’t be mad at her about that, even if I don’t like the sounds of it one bit.
“Did you see which way the shooters went?” I ask.
Molly shakes her head. “N-no, I just ducked for cover. They had masks on.”
“She needs an EMT,” Payden stammers the obvious.
I stroke her cheek, knowing she’s in shock. The scene before us is harrowing. “They’re on their way?—”
“I can’t…” Molly starts to sag into Hustler’s arms even more as she glances around. “So many people…”
We need to keep fucking moving.
Hustler picks up Molly, who looks as if she’s about to faint, and we head down the back stairwell. As we’re descending, Harlem and Tag, the Sergeant at Arms, are running up.
“Multiple gunshot victims,” I tell them. “Think the suspects are gone, but didn’t check the entire buildin’. It’s a mess in there.”
“Got it,” Harlem says. “Ambulance is pullin’ in the back, cops are out front.”
