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Bryce
I cracked off a pair of shots, the rounds hitting Roach square in the chest and sending him falling backward in his seat. He let out a yell of pain and that was it; I didn’t hear anything else from him after that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Papa and Thorne reach for their guns, each pulling out a chrome pistol. I grabbed my chair and threw it at Papa, the thing hitting him right in the face and sending him flying backward. I didn’t get him as fatally as I got Roach, but he was at least down for the moment.
But there was still Thorne.
“I’ll kill you, you ungrateful little fuck!” he shouted, drawing a bead on me.
Before he could pull the trigger, however, Anya snatched my kutte off from the table and gave it a whip-toss across the table, the vest landing with a soft slap on Thorne’s face.
“Ah, fuck!” he said, his vision covered.
The gun went off with a punch-bang, the bullet going wide.
I knew I’d brought this girl for a reason.
“Get out into the hallway!” I yelled at Anya.
She nodded and made a break for the door.
I followed right after her, another shot from Thorne’s gun sounding out and pinging against the wall right by my head. I shut the door to the office and ran down the hallway. Footsteps sounded in the bar, and I turned towards Anya.
“We’re about to have company. Stay close, and keep your head down.
She nodded in understanding. My gun in my hand, I stood near the door leading to the bar. The footsteps had stopped and I knew they were ready for me. Taking a deep, slow breath, I kicked open the door.
The gunshots sounded as soon as the door burst open. Pulling Anya close, I darted out as fast as I could, taking cover behind the end of the bar. I looked up at the mirror behind the bar and sure enough, a half-dozen goons from the crew, guys I’d never seen and were probably brought on with promise of possible membership if they took me out, were in the place.
More shots rang out as we took cover, the rounds crashing into the mirror above and sending down massive shards of broken glass. I pulled Anya out of the way of the shower, moving us further along down the bar. Raising the pistol over the bar and keeping my head down, I fired off a few rounds, one of them hitting a goon square in the forehead—the lucky shot to end all lucky shots.
Back and forth we traded fire, and just when I was out of rounds, I caught a glimpse of something behind some of the glasses under the bar. A broad smile formed on my face when I realized that it was the pump-action shotgun that the bartender kept around for emergencies. I pulled it out, loaded it with shells from the orange and black box next to it, and waited for my opening.
“We know you’re outta shots!” called out Thorne. “Come out now and we’ll only kill you. You make us come drag you outta there and we kill that bitch of yours before we put a round right in your fuckin’ head!”
That did it. Turning towards Anya, the look of fear on her face was the only motivation I needed to do anything it took to keep her safe. No fucking way was I gonna let these assholes lay a single goddamn finger on her.
Keeping the shotgun close to my body I stood up, training the weapon on the first goon I saw. I pulled the trigger, the gun going off with a thunderclap bang. The shot hit true, getting the goon right in the chest and sending him over the table just behind him.
I felt like I was moving at standard speed while the rest of the world was stuck in slow-mo. I pulled the pump of the shotgun back and brought the next goon into my sights. Another bang, another dead thug. Then another, then another. Thorne finally getting a bead on me and taking a shot that barely went wide was the only thing that got me to drop back down rather than finish off the rest of these pricks.
I looked over at Anya, who was curled into a tight ball, her wide blue eyes on me. She seemed to be holding up well so far, but the fight wasn’t over yet.
Gunshots sounded out, the glass bottles of booze lined above shattering into explosions of glass, the clear and brown liquids within spilling out here and there.
Anya pointed to my arm, where a large shard of glass from above had lodged itself into my forearm. Blood wept from the wound, but I couldn’t feel a damn thing through the adrenaline.
Two thugs, plus Papa and Thorne, I thought.
I knew that if I could just get it down to one or two of these assholes I’d stand a fighting chance. The gunshots died down for a second as they reloaded. I looked around for something I could use to even the odds, my eyes settling on the swing hinge that separated the behind-the-bar area from the rest of the room. Getting Anya’s attention, I directed her to the area, making sure she saw the latch that was currently holding the barrier up. She nodded in understanding and crawled carefully towards it.
“Last chance, motherfucker!” shouted Thorne.
Anya took her place, and turned back to me for instructions. I held up a hand and listened carefully for the men to finish reloading. Once they stopped, I looked at Anya with wide eyes and mouthed “now”!
She reached up and unfastened the hinge, the wooden barrier falling down and landing with a bang that sounded just as loud as a gunshot.
Now was the time.
More gunshots rang out, these in the direction of the noise. Anya hid safely behind the bar and I went over the barrier for another go. Once I was over I saw that the plan had worked—everyone’s attention was right where I wanted it.
I took aim at one of the goons and sent a round right at him. I pumped, turned my attention to the next, and with another bang, he was down too. Next was Papa. I lined him up but the shot went wide, instead hitting the lights above and sending a shower of sparks and glass down on top of him.
Good enough.
I didn’t have time to get Thorne, but when I heard his gun click empty I knew that the fight was over.
Leaping over the bar, I spotted Thorne going for one of the goons’ guns. I cut the distance between us and slammed my boot down hard on the thing, crunching a couple of Thorne’s fingers in the process. He let out a yelp as I stepped on him, looking up at me with eyes that boiled with anger.
“You did it,” he said. “You fuckin’ killed us all. I hope it was worth it.”
The shotgun in my hands, I pumped it one more time, and took aim.
“It was.”