Page 125 of Claim Me
"Oh, fuck," I mutter, because now I know.
"Protect me, Gabriel," Blue says through clenched teeth.
My five-sec ability works flawlessly. I see the man raise his hand, a small-caliber gun in it, and start firing in our direction.
In one sharp movement, I grab Blue by the shoulders and spin him behind me, forcing my brain into overdrive as it generates scenarios for nearly every movement, every tilt, every angle.
How I should position myself so the bullets miss us, while also making last-millisecond corrections before they even reach us, because he will adjust too the moment he sees us move, so everything has to be perfectly timed down to the final fractions of a second.
With an angry growl tearing out of me, I yank Blue hard to the left, tilting us about thirty degrees, and a bullet slices past two inches from my hip.
Another pull, this time to the right at a sharper angle, and a bullet cuts past my neck just as close. Another shift!
And this time it passes less than half an inch from my temple.
Fuck, it’s getting worse.
The man is moving toward us, firing again and again, his aim improving as the distance drops from two hundred feet to one hundred sixty, one hundred thirty… Fuck.
I realize there’s only one way we can survive this: we have to break into the conference room ten feet away, but to do that I need to generate another dozen scenarios, and the first five already show me the same thing: sooner or later a bullet hits me.
With a desperate growl, holding Blue tight against my chest, I move toward the room in jerky crouches and sudden tilts, like some unsteady, jumping animal. Shift.
A bullet misses me by a fraction of an inch.
Another shift!
Another jerk!
One grazes my jacket but doesn’t tear the skin. Fuck, two more seconds and I know he’s too close now, a hundred feet, there’s no way he misses no matter how I move, no matter whichdirection I choose, it will catch my shoulder, or my hip, or my thigh. There’s no clean outcome.
The scenarios can’t keep up anymore, even though my mind is pushing at full capacity.
Then I see it, one path with the highest chance. The bullet will graze me, that’s unavoidable, but if I make a sudden jump for the door, I can force us inside.
I slam my elbow into the handle, and I know this is where it happens, where the pain comes, but there’s no other option.
I feel a sharp yank high in my bicep as I shove us into the room.
In one swift motion, I turn, already knowing there’s a key left in the door by the cleaning crew, I twist it and push Blue aside so if bullets get through the door, none of them reach him.
The adrenaline hits so hard my vision burns red. I feel my muscles swelling, my neck glands throbbing under my skin.
In a brief flash, I see Blue’s face, a bit of my blood splattered across his cheek and forehead. His hands are clenched, he’s deathly pale, completely frozen.
I grab one of the modular tables and drag it into place under the handle, blocking the entrance so the attacker has more resistance to get through.
Blue stares at me, breathing fast.
"He’ll get in here, he’ll try to kill us," he forces out. "No one’s coming, no police, no security, the elevators are down, this isn’t an accident, it’s… perfect timing! All planned!" There’s something like desperation in him, a raw refusal to die.
I rip off my mesh mask, step closer, and grab him by the shoulders.
"I’ll do everything to keep you alive, Blue. I swear."
I pull him into my arms, pressing him against me, his fingers clutching at my suit, his head up, eyes locked on mine.
"I felt it, I know you were adjusting to his trajectory with your skill, but once he gets closer, you won’t be able to keep correcting for it. We’re going to die…"
