Page 66 of Because I Killed Him
Then, without a hint of hesitation, she squeezes the rifle trigger.
Time slows. I expect my life to flash before my eyes, but instead I recall a single memory of a garden, a rose, and a thorn.
I was five. My tiny fingers reached for the flower, then jerked back when a thorn pricked me. The shock of green blood welling from the wound made me cry. Dad knelt beside me, trying to calm me, but no words could cut through my tears. So he took the stem, pressed his thumb to the thorn, and pricked himself, too.
Blood dripped down his palm, green like mine. Dad held his hand up to my face, his baritone voice steady and sure. “The world doesn’t care about you, Loredana. If you bleed on the ground, the ground will drink it. But family is different. No matter how old I get or how far away I might be, I’ll always fight to keep you safe.”
Dad never broke that promise. Not then or now, even as the ground again waits for my blood.
The rifle fires, and the recoil jolts through Irene’s shoulder like a hammer. But just as the bullet leaves the chamber, a roar echoes in response. Blinding yellow light erupts as the device on my chest activates, and a shield materializes, its blazing energy flaring into a protective wall that envelops me completely. My ears ring from the gunshot, and what follows seems to happen in a soundless room.
Irene’s bullet strikes the shield, and the surface ripples, generating a pulse of energy that sends the round flying. The bullet ricochets andshatters a decanter in a spray of whiskey and glass. Irene lets out a muffled cry of shock. She staggers backward, nearly tripping over her spaniel as the rifle slips from her hands and clatters to the floor.
Irene and her friends shrink into the corners of the lounge. Their eyes are fixed on the glowing shield around me, their faces frozen in disbelief.
I can’t believe it either.
Winston Glass gave me more than a gift. He gave me a prototype still in development, something most people, including Blues, don’t know exists.
A creaking door breaks the silence. The women’s heads snap toward the elk-head door as it swings open, revealing the Purple Copper. His expression morphs from neutral to alarmed as he takes in the shredded Pinkies, the destroyed lounge, and the armed Blues.
“Miss Waldsten, are you—”
The Purple Copper falters when he spots the shield, glowing around me like a halo. His eyes widen, linger for a moment, then his hand jumps to the plasma pistol holstered on his hip.
“In the name of the law, youwillsheathe your weapons and stand aside.” He aims his pistol at the Blues, holds it in a double-handed grip, and pulls the charging handle.
Irene grits her teeth. All her weight shifts as if she’s about to rush the Purple Copper, until one of her friends grabs her shoulder.
I bolt toward the door, my thoughts reeling. I’m shocked the shield worked, shocked the Purple Copper kept his word, and most of all, shocked that Irene actually tried to kill me. There’s no way she and her Blues could have bypassed the Speakeasy’s surveillance. So what the hell was their plan?
“An earnest effort, Miss Waldsten,” Irene calls from behind me. “But boots are faster than heels.”
I’m unsure of her meaning until I notice the rapid change in the shield. The walls are fading to a pale, sickly hue, and the hum grows fainter as the electromagnetic energy sputters like a dying engine.
Dad warned me there’s no way to control the device manually. The shield is a prototype and still prone to glitches. It might cut off too early or fail to activate when I need it most.
When I reach the door, the shield sputters loudly, then the glow around me dies.
The Purple Copper meets my gaze, his face lit with sudden, frantic clarity. “Shit,” he breathes. “Run.”
We hurl ourselves into the corridor. Then we’re sprinting, feet pounding the floor, breaths coming fast and ragged as the elevators loom at the far end. Behind us, sabers spring to life with an electric whir.
“Faster!” the Purple Copper shouts.
I push harder, each step agony as my stiletto straps bite into my blistered ankles. The Purple Copper scans his Blood Ring against every private salon door we pass. One. Two. Three. The doors keep rejecting us, their lights flashing red.
The thunder of boots grows louder. When I hear a clicking sound, like a rifle bolt sliding back, I know Irene is right behind me.
On the fourth try, a salon door finally opens. I launch through, and one of my stiletto heels snaps as I hit the floor. The Purple Copper spins, slams the door shut, and locks it with a swipe of his Blood Ring.
The banging starts immediately. Dents bloom across the titanium, and the door shudders with each strike.
“Can they unlock it?” I rasp, eyeing the plasma pistol in the Purple Copper’s hand. Even with a full seventeen-round charge, it won’t save us.
“No.” He backs away from the door. “Blue salons can’t be unlocked from the outside while they’re in use.”
The pounding intensifies, each blow rattling the lamps on the tables near the sofas. The titanium door groans as if it might split open.
