Page 95 of Guilty as Sin

Chapter 45

Brady

I land on top of the elevator and force my way out onto the deserted floor. Drawing my Glock, I make my way down the hall. As I pass the closed doors of evacuated apartments, I hear more assault rifles several floors below. There’s the loud bang of a grenade, and Finn’s voice clicks on in my ear.

“I got ten, including the injured guy,” he says, his breathing heavy. There are more gunshots, then he adds, “Eleven. Fuck. I’m stuck in the security office. There’s too many bodies blocking the door. The rest are headed your way, up the stairs.”

“Roger. Good work,” I tell him. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Nineteen, just for me. I grin as I open the last door on the right and lock it behind me.

It’s one of my weapons rooms. A cinder block cube, guns and grenades on the wall. A security feed. And a vent that looks down into the stairwell.

I designed it all for this exact purpose.

I holster my Glock and grab two more guns from the wall, both fitted with silencers. Then I get in position on the raised ledge, invisible behind the vent.

Burly men in stealth gear rush up the steps. They’re armed to the teeth, a black parade of assault rifles spiraling upward. By their formation and steadiness, they’re frighteningly well-trained.

I wait until the first two make it up the stairs and past me. The third guy in any group always has his guard down. No matter how good his training.

I squeeze the trigger.

One, two, three, four.

All four crumple to the stairs, dead. The rest of the men start yelling. Now it’s a shootout—they know my position.

I’m out of the way before they shoot through the vent cover. They waste their bullets on air. I take a grenade and wait for them to get closer. On the wall beside me, the room’s security feed shows me when they’re in position.

I lob the grenade, then duck and clamp my hands over my ears. It’s a smaller frag model, designed to obliterate hostiles in the stairwell without damaging this room. But the blast still shakes my teeth and leaves my ears ringing. My eyes sting with tears from the smoke. I blink them away and take a quick puff of my inhaler. As the acrid smoke clears, the camera shows my grenade got ten of them.

Gotta love explosives in closed spaces.

The two men I let past don’t return to check on the blast’s damage, or on their comrades. They must still be going up the stairs, men who follow the directive.

Seven knows how to recruit.

And how to train.

On the security feed, the three men left on my floor stay well clear of the vent. I curse as I watch them go around to find me. They barge out of the stairwell and shoot open the door to my hiding spot.

I’m ready for them.

With a silenced gun in each hand, I unload into the first guy. I dodge the second guy’s shot, winging him before I get him in the forehead. The third guy’s smarter. He keeps the wall between us as we exchange fire. He waits until both my guns click.

Then he rounds the corner. I toss down my empty guns, pulling out my Glock as the fucker closes in. He’s fast. He shoots my Glock out of my hand, then grins at me. Pauses.

He’s the type to play with his food.

He’s a big guy, at least seventy-five pounds on me. And he’s got two guns trained on me at point-blank range. I straighten. Facing my death.

Once this man kills me, I’ll have permanently failed in my duty to protect Cora.

In my earpiece, Blackbird asks if it’s time for the rocket launcher he has trained on the other side of the building. The explosion is our cover story, and we need to fire it before the police arrive.

The grinning giant in front of me keeps one gun on my face. Lowers the other to point at my kneecap.

“Finn?” Blackbird asks when I don’t answer. My younger brother hesitates, then makes me proud.