Page 18 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
“Let’s go,” Una says as she pushes off the wall.
I follow her as she moves farther along the road, away from where the cars entered. A hundred yards away and there’s another street light, though it’s barely visible in the bad weather. We cross the road and find ourselves standing in front of the fence. I take out a red-light torch, and turn it on, giving Una enough light to see her backpack, but not enough to attract anyone else. She removes bolt cutters and opens a hole in the fence, allowing us to slip through. We’re almost blind until we meet the wall of the factory. We’ve studied the layout, though, we know where all the entrances are.
Running my hand along the rough, damp wall, I meet the corner and follow it around. I count ten short steps, and I know that there’s a back door only a few feet away from us. I also know it will be guarded. Una taps my shoulder, signaling that she’s ready to move with me. The two Elite guards are taken by surprise when I reach them, and I grab the first one, driving a blade straight into his throat. His eyes go wide with shock. It’s always humbling to see the startling realization in a man’s eyes, the absolute knowledge that he’s about to die. He chokes, and blood breaks past his lips as his body slowly buckles, his hands grappling to try to save himself. I lower him to the cold snow and yank my blade from his body. Blood stains the pristine white snow beneath him, and his dying gasps are drowned out by the winds that scream around us. Una is already at the door, ready to go. As soon as we step into the building, it’s like a vacuum, the void of silence deafening as the sound of rushing wind cuts off. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim yet sudden light. Una tugs her hood back, revealing flushed cheeks. Damp hair sticks to her face and neck, and tiny droplets of moisture cling to her eyelashes. Our breaths fog the air, and I rub my hands together, trying to relieve the numbness in my fingers before I have to use a gun. Living in the warmth of New York has softened us.
We’re standing in a small hallway. The walls are bare breeze block, and the single, exposed bulb that hangs above us swings gently before settling back into place. The filament glows dimly, the orangey tone making it look as though it’ll blink out at any moment.
In front of us is a single door. One way in, one way out. It’s not a good entrance. We’ll be going in blind and trapped. Usually, I’d hesitate, assess, and try to find another way—not today. I inhale, feeling the weight of the rifle slung across my back and the weapons that decorate my body like a second skin. They’re all the power or tactic I need right now. Yanking both guns from my thigh holsters, I shove the handle down with my elbow.
“Sasha!” Una hisses just as the door swings open, and I step into the factory. It’s an enormous space with a few of the SUV’s parked within the concrete walls.
Several eyes immediately shift to me, and I find a strange satisfaction in their acknowledgment. I’m not hiding, shooting them from a mile away. No, they’ll look me in the eyes and know that it was me that ended their existence.
“Shit,” Una mumbles.
And then I lift both guns and start firing. There’s a moment of sheer panic. Even from men such as these, there’s always a moment of disbelief, the shocking knowledge that their lives could end before they draw their next breath. They believe the it’s the luck of the draw whether the next bullet hits them. There is no luck here because I don’t miss. They will all die. Everything else disappears, and I fall into the rhythm of bullets leaving the chamber again and again. The scent of gun powder meets me, and I inhale it deeply like the scent of death itself.
Something grasps my arm, and I’m tugged behind a thick metal pillar. Una shoves my back against it and falls against me, her chest pressed tightly to mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, shaking her head in disapproval.
I blink, and the sound of raining gunfire trickles through whatever haze surrounds me.
“Don’t lose it on me, Sasha. I can’t be the rational one here.” She lifts two guns on either side of the pillar and fires several times.
The gunshots are deafening, and my ears ring for a moment. All I can hear is the quick-fire of an automatic weapon like the lazy thrumming of a bee’s wings. A sting tears across my arm, and I know I’ve been clipped by a stray bullet.
