Page 24 of Sing For Us

We both put on our masks and sneak around the back of the house, and Noa picks the lock of the back door. The back door clicks shut behind us. I adjust my grip on my rifle and scan the kitchen ahead. The house is quiet, but not the kind of quiet that means safety. It’s the kind that waits for blood, and retribution for the lives Sebastian has stolen. Because of the darkness in the kitchen, the guard who stands a couple of meters away, facing the opposite direction, doesn’t hear us.

Noa is behind me, and I crouch over the guard. He is about to turn around, but I am quicker. I produce a knife and jab it into the side of his neck while I hold my hand over his mouth. I muffle the sound of blood gurgling. I quietly put him down onto the floor and remove him so nobody from the living room can see him. I look behind me and Noa nods. We stand up, and both hold up our weapons. He has his machete, and I have my rifle.

I hate how naturally we fall into step. Like no matter how many times I’ve imagined killing him, no matter how many times I’d sworn to get revenge, our bodies still remembered.

A glance.

A shift of weight.

An unspoken plan.

I hated that.

Almost as much as I hated him.

Almost.

We reach the opening to the living room, and we both crouch behind the wall and peek around the corner.

Four guards.

One stationed by the staircase.

Two near the fireplace.

One standing watch by the front windows.

Sebastian has security. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have enough.

I pull back and hold up one finger, pointing to the staircase. Two fingers up for the fireplace and one finger pointing to the front windows. Noa nods. The bastard looks annoyingly good covered in black tactical gear. The scar mask only makes him look more dangerous.

I look away before my thoughts wander somewhere they absolutely shouldn't. Focus.

Mission first.

Murder him later.

I unclip the small explosive from my vest. It’s not powerful enough to level the room, but just enough to create chaos.

I hold up three fingers.

Noa rolls his shoulders.

Two.

He loosens the gun that’s strapped to his side.

One.

I toss the bomb into the center of the room. The explosion rattles the walls. The wooden floor splinters, while the glass shatters. Before the debris even has the time to settle, we move. The guard nearest the staircase reaches for his weapon, and I shoot. The bullet perfectly goes through his skull. To my left, Noa glides across the floor and uses his machete on the guards by the fireplace by slicing their stomachs with one swift move. They both drop to the ground, and he puts a bullet in both of their brains.

“Lana, behind you!” Noa yells at me. The fourth manages to get his pistol halfway out, but I am prepared. I fire, and the shot hits center mass, and the guard crashes into an overturned coffee table.

Silence returns almost immediately, but the ringing in my ears remains. I step over broken glass and scan the room.

Four bodies.

No movement.