Page 97 of Guilty as Sin

“Connor!” I bark.

He raises his gun toward the man in the kitchen. Surprising, but good. Test passed.

I step around the corner firing. Two shots in the chest, and the man’s on the ground. It’s what he fucking deserves for breaking into my home.

I heard Connor’s gun firing along with mine. Now he’s looking at it in his hand, confused. He’s not the traitor I thought he was. Which means he deserves a real weapon.

I reach for my backup piece, but my fingers find leather instead of metal. I glance down. There’s nothing in my holster.

Shit. There’s still one Vanleusen man left. If I can’t arm Connor, then I’ve signed the innocent kid’s death warrant. There’s no time for guilt, so I channel it into resolve. I’ll have to protect him myself.

“Where’s the other one?” I demand. I go into the kitchen to double tap the guy on the floor. Click. Fucking empty.

“What other one?” Connor asks. Then he shouts, “Fuck!”

I vault out of the kitchen. A second later, there are three guns drawn.

Mine, which is empty.

Connor’s, which is loaded with blanks.

And the final Vanleusen man’s. Which is pointed at me.

Connor fires into the man’s chest. He lurches. I whip my gun at him, but with his jerky movement, it bounces off his arm. He catches himself against the wall, barely injured.

I rush for him, but he lifts his gun at me again. It’s over.

Forgive me, Cora. I failed you.

The man howls and drops his gun. He stumbles as he turns around, revealing Cora behind him.

What the fuck?

How is she here? I blink several times, but I’m not just imagining her.

My wife’s eyes are crazed, blood spattered on her face and dripping from the switchblade I gave her. She’s panting, her teeth gritted as she readjusts her grip on the hilt.

When she leaps for the man, she thrusts her knife up into the hollow of his throat. Stab. Shouting with effort, she rips her blade through the man’s neck. And slash.

Just like I taught her.

My incredible wife.

Blood flings across our walls. The man thuds to his knees, then slams face-first onto the floor. Seven’s final man, dead.

“Cora!” I sprint to her.

How the fuck did she get out? Regardless, she’s safe now. It’s the only thing in the world that matters.

She whirls around to point her knife at me. I skid to a halt. Her ice-blue eyes are still crazed, her chest heaving erratically.

“What the fuck is wrong with your gun?” Connor shouts.

Cora and I both turn as he points the Smith & Wesson at the metal lamp beside him. He fires. The lamp clangs to the floor. But the glass table beneath it doesn’t shatter like it should.

Cora figures it out before her brother does.

“You gave him blanks?” she shrieks at me.