Page 146 of Out for Blood
Fucking coward, always hiding behind someone else.
I track him through my sights and fire.
His body immediately folds.
The same hands that mutilated women go still.
The sight should feel like justice. Instead, it only reminds me how much was taken. It will never be enough.
The buyers are shouting now, stumbling over one another in blind panic, trying to find their guns in their mess of clothes.
Gone are the masks of power and smug expressions.
Now they’re the sitting fucking ducks.
Tyler and I advance together as a single unstoppable force.
The endless rage I’ve carried inside me since the night everything was stolen.
It all comes pouring out in a storm of bullets. Tyler and I deliver judgement, and when the final buyer hits the floor, silence crashes over the theater.
Smoke spirals lazily from the end of my suppressor.
Bodies litter the stage and front row. The architects of this horror will never hurt another soul.
My chest heaves as the room comes back into focus.
“Backstage!” Tyler shouts.
The word snaps me into motion.
We sprint across the stage, weaving between bodies and discarded masks. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out every other sound.
Tyler grabs a heavy velvet curtain and hauls it aside.
We burst through.
Dim corridors stretch beyond, twisting through the belly of the theater.
My pulse hammers in my ears as we move.
Tyler takes the first room and I take the second.
He throws the door open, weapon raised.
Empty.
I clear mine moments later.
Empty.
Nothing but abandoned equipment.
We keep moving faster now.
The corridor seems impossibly narrow as we sprint toward the last door.
Tyler turns the handle, locked.
