“Aaaaahhhhhh!” Ruby screeched. “Aaahhhhhhh, aaaahhhh, aaahhhh!”
On the snow, Ruby’s left hand lay with the fingers curled like a dead tarantula. Still shrieking, her right hand starred in a bony claw, Ruby stared down at the empty space where her left hand had been only seconds before as her blood jetted from severed arteries.
“Jesus!” Sharon leapt onto Ruby, wrapping her up, bringing the still-screaming woman down to the snow. Clamping both huge hands around Ruby’s wrist, Sharon squeezed. “You sons of bitches, you sons of bitches!”
“Ruuubeeeeee!” Ray bawled. He made one abortive step toward his wife, and then checked himself, swinging the Browning back to Beretta. “Get up, you son of a bitch, get up! We’re walking out of here, and if one of you twitches, if one of you moves—”
No one twitched or moved, but Beretta did not get up either. The air was electric, fizzy with scents and meanings. There were so many that Alex only had time to think how strange it was that with all these weapons, no one had fired. The only one who’d acted at all was the ninja-kid from Leopard’s crew who’d hacked Ruby’s hand. Another ninja could’ve taken off Ray’s head with the same speed. With all these weapons, all they had to do was take Ray down. Although the Browning’s pull was medium—only five pounds of pressure—the chances that Ray’s finger would exert that much as the bullets chewed through his clothes and into his body were small. Not zero, but so infinitesimal as to make no difference. For that matter, Acne was right there and could take Ray’s feet out from under him with a single powerful kick. Any of them could do anything. Ruby was an afterthought, a display and show of power—and Ray should already be dead.
Oh my God. She gasped as the lightbulb flashed in her brain. He already is. This was never about choice because it’s the Browning. It’s Nathan’s rifle, and that very first day, when Spider pulled the trigger, it wouldn’t—
“Ray!” she screamed. “Ray, no, the rifle doesn’t—”
Ray squeezed the trigger.