by Linnea May
It's almost time for the only thing I've been looking forward tonight. The dimming of the lights so we can enjoy the view from up here. I love the sight of the city from above, and the prospect of a spectacular view is one of the main reasons I showed up. I want to make sure to secure a good place right at the window before they make their official announcement to turn the lights down.
My attention is so focused on finding a free spot at the window that I don't even notice I'm standing next to the person who allegedly appreciates my presence at this event more than his behavior would lead me to believe. My uncle turns around to me, an indignant expression turning to a gasp in surprise when he realizes that I was the one bumping into him.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Clyde," I say in the most polite tone I can muster. "Just wanted to make sure I get a good view of the city."
My uncle nods, looking more annoyed than happy to see me.
"Sure," he says. "Smart to get up here before they make the announcement."
"That's what I thought."
"Should be any moment now." He demonstratively checks the time on his Rolex, appearing uneasy.
I know why that is. I know why he hurries to turn his gaze away from me, looking for my aunt to join us and provide a much-needed buffer between two people who haven't been alone in the same room for years.
Because of what happened back then. None of us could ever forget about it or act as if it never occurred even though I know my aunt would love to pretend just that.
She appears just before the announcement roars through the room, drowning out the music to let people know that the lights are about to be turned off for the highlight of the evening.
"Just in time," my uncle remarks as my aunt squeezes herself between us, moving toward the window so that I'm forced to make room for her even though it means my view will be partially blocked.
I get pushed aside, still footing away from the window as the lights go out.
It's a benign motion. Something that happens quickly and in a nonchalant manner.
But it's this little disarrangement between us that will change my life forever.
Chapter 3
Libby
The sound is excruciating, leaving my ears ringing and drowning the terrified screams that erupt around me.
It's the first time I’ve heard a gunshot in real life. And I only know it's a gunshot because the first shot is followed by a sharp pain in my shoulder. I'm pushed back by the impact, my body turning on instinct as a fiery ache takes hold of me. It's this little turn that possibly saves my life because a second later, another shot comes my way, passing so closely that I feel it graze the skin on my upper arm right next to where the first bullet hit.
This second bullet may miss me, but it finds a target nonetheless. My aunt doesn't shriek when she's hit; she doesn't flail her arms up or exclaim her pain in a shocked gasp as I did.
No. She just drops. A gruesome growl escapes her lips before she drops right next to me, and even in the dim light, I can tell that the blood she's spilling is coming from her head.
I know right then and there that my aunt is dead.
But before I have a moment to process this horrible realization, someone grabs me from the side, thankfully reaching for the arm that was not hit. My cry is suffocated by the brutality with which I am pulled aside and drowned by the screams that echo through the room as the crowd breaks out in panic. Another shot is fired, and then another, each one followed by a chorus of horrified shrieks and panic-filled commotion in varying corners of the room.
The pain in my shoulder is still very present, and I can feel my blood soaking the sleeveless cocktail dress as I'm dragged through the room by my uncle. I knew right away that it was his hand that closed around my upper arm, but I'm still surprised to find him running away with me like this, leaving my aunt—his wife for more than twenty years—behind without looking back once.
I try to yell for him, but my voice fails me, only producing groans in pain that are drowned out by another round of shots. I have no idea where they are coming from or how many shooters there are, but whoever is here to kill is aiming selectively and not just randomly shooting into the crowd. Only five or six shots have been fired since the lights went out, and most of them occurred at the same time right at the beginning. Or so I believe.
More shots are following now while my uncle drags me toward a hallway I hadn't noticed before. It's at the opposite side of where we entered when arriving at the event.
What is he doing? Where are we going? Why are people shooting at us?
I don't get to ask any of my questions, silenced by the hammering pain in my shoulder and the persistence of my uncle as he pulls me with him, weaving through a panicking crowd. There's so much movement around us, the frenzy turning into a danger. People are literally running on top of each other and falling because they tripped or pushed as someone else tried to get past them.
My chest tightens at the sight of it, almost overshadowing the piercing pain in my shoulder. I try to look up, tearing my gaze away from the terror surrounding us, and that's when I hear the voice over everything else.
"Over there! Get him!"
My uncle speeds up, yanking on my arm to force me closer. I almost trip because of the suddenness of his move but manage to catch myself just in time.
"Uncle Cly—"
"Stay close!" He cuts me off, intensifying his grip on my arm as we turn to the right, dashing through an open glass door.
I hear steps behind us but don't dare to look back. Instead, I focus on keeping up with my uncle, running right next to him when I finally realize where he's going.
There's an elevator back here that I didn't know about. It looks more like a cargo elevator, lacking the stylish décor and mirrors of the official elevators at the main entrance. The doors of the elevator are open, and I feel a moment of relief when we jump inside, and Uncle Clyde pushes a button at the panel to our right.
But my comfort is short lived when I turn around and see a man running toward us. A tall man wearing a waiter uniform and a black cloth mask across his face. He's moving fast and only a few feet away from the elevator, holding a gun in his right hand.
My uncle moves behind me, grabbing me once again, and... places me right in front of himself as if he was using me as a shield.
"Coward!" the attacker yells as he raises his gun, pointing right at me.
That voice. It sounds familiar...
I hold my breath, staring at the barrel while my entire body stiffens.
This is it.
This is how I'm going to die.
The doors close agonizingly slowly, seemingly moving in slow motion while everything else happens twice as fast. I don't try to evade the impending shot, but even if I had, I feel like my uncle wouldn't have let me move an inch.
He's hiding behind me.
He's actually using me as a shield.
"Uncle Clyde..."
Ignoring my uttered plea, he does something even worse.
The doors of the elevator are about halfway closed, and the attacker just three steps away from us when my uncle gives me a hard push from behind. I stumble forward through the closing doors—and right into the arms of the guy with the gun. He's just fired another shot in our direction. Met with stinging pain on the side of my lower abdomen, I bend over due to the impact just before I crash against a rock-solid chest.
He's still running at full speed when I'm thrust into his arms, crying out in pain and terror after my uncle sacrificed me to save himself. Our bodies meet with vicious force, pushing the attacker off his feet and down to the floor. I land on top of him, blinded and numbed by pain.
It hits me all at once.
The ache. The shock. The mortal agony.
Far, far away, I hear the elevator doors closing, frenzied steps mingling in the other direction, and a dark voice cursing close to my ear. "Fuck!"
It's the last word I perceive before the world darkens around me.
Chapter 4
Keane
"What is the fuck is this?"
Tom is pointing at the limp body in my arms, his face distorted with stressed disgust. "Who the hell is she?"
I'm grinding my teeth as I look back and forth between him and the unconscious girl in my arms, her pastel-colored dress drenched in dark red. Her entire left side is covered in blood, spilling from a rather serious gunshot wound to her shoulder and running down her torso until it blends with the blood that is coming from another wound right above her left hip.
Two bullets crippled her perfect body.
Neither one of them was meant for her.
Why her of all people?
"She's coming with us," I say, the expression on my face allowing no objections.
"No fucking way!" Tom protests. He's quickly joined by Brad, who is standing farther away from us, busy retrieving the big backpacks stored up here for our escape. We're on the rooftop, sixty-three stories above the ground, and getting ready to make our escape.
"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you," Brad yells over to me. "But that girl is not coming with us, end of discussion."
I grunt in response, casting a quick glance over at the paragliders Brad is unpacking. There are only three of them, two tandems because we wanted to make sure to get all four of us off the roof before the police came up here. The roof is only big enough for one wing at a time, forcing us to jump one by one, and if each of us had our own glider, the last person was very likely to be caught by the police. Our hope was to be able to use only two of those wings, both as a tandem, but we added a third just in case one of us was forced to stay behind. We know there's no time to waste. Once we're on the roof, we need to get down as quickly as possible.
Those are the orders.
Brad is already wearing his harness, and Tom was putting his on when I appeared on the roof.
But one is still missing.
"Where's Jered?" I ask, spinning on my heels with the girl still in my arms.
"He's not coming," Tom responds. "And neither is she!"
He comes closer in quick strides, pointing at the girl, who lazily opens one eye at just that moment, suggesting she may wake up soon.
Good. Having her unconscious would make jumping a lot harder than it has to be.
"What do you mean he's not coming?" I probe. "What happened?"
Tom's gaze darkens. "One of the assholes down there had a gun and shot back. One of the associates. He's out, but he took Jered with him."
"Fuck."
"You know how it is," Tom snaps. "We knew this could happen and—"
"Guys, we really don't have time for this!" Brad shouts from the back, waving frantically.
He's already strapped in, waiting for Tom to join him so they can make the jump we've practiced so many times before.
"Let's go!"
Tom hesitates for a moment, his eyes moving back and forth between me and the girl in my arms.
"Don't be a fucking idiot," he says, jutting his chin forward to gesture at her. "You'll get yourself killed if—"
"Go!" I cut him off. "You guys need to get off the roof."
He nods, throwing me one last warning look before he turns away and joins Brad. After he attaches his harness with a few quick and skillful motions, they start running toward the edge. We're up high enough to rely on the good wind in any case, but tonight the weather is in our favor. Their wing opens right away, lifting Tom and Brad off the roof long before they reach the edge where they would have been forced to jump.
Seeing them leave with such ease gives me hope that we can do it, too, despite the horrible condition of this girl. She's moving in my arms now, mewling in pain as she slowly regains consciousness.
I get down on my knees to lower her to the rooftop, treating her injured body as carefully as possible as I place her on the cement ground.
She's an Abbott.
When my target made a run for it, he took her with him, using her to protect his sorry ass as he made his way out.
And she called him uncle.
I couldn't just leave her, especially now that I know who she is. We didn’t know Clyde Abbott had a niece who was still alive. It was our job to eradicate the Abbott family, thinking only two of them were left. Those two, as well as three associates were on our death list for tonight.
This girl wasn't.
She may be an Abbott, but no one declared open season on her.
I couldn't kill her.
But I couldn't leave her either.
Her eyelids flutter, and she grimaces in pain when I release her.
"Hey. Hey!" I urge her to fully wake up, gently slapping her pale cheek with one hand while I brush a few strands of hair out of her pretty face.
Fuck. This would be a lot easier if she was some old dude or a violent brute who attacked me. I'm sure I would have no problem emptying my gun in that case.
But with her, I just couldn't.
I've never shot a woman before, let alone a young woman like her. The same sensual beauty who stole my focus just a few minutes prior to our mission. An innocent bystander who was used as a human shield when my target got away.
That's another detail I haven't disclosed to my comrades yet.
Clyde Abbott is still alive. As far as I know, I'm the only one who failed to complete his mission tonight. And on top of that, I'm carrying trouble with me.
Trouble in the form of a beautiful girl who now looks up at me with terrified wide eyes while shivering in fear and pain.
Fuck.
"Wh-who... what—"
"Hush." I place my finger on her trembling lips. "Now, listen to me. This is what's going to happen. You need to stay with me, stay awake, and do what I tell you to do. Understand?"
She nods hesitantly, too afraid to argue.
"Hold still for a moment."
Again, she nods, twitching only slightly when I carefully investigate her wounds. The one at her shoulder is definitely worse than the other. It looks like a through-and-through shot with a visible entry wound at the front and an exit wound at the back, suggesting that the bullet is no longer inside her body. Good, that's something.
The wound at her hips is clearly just a graze shot, and while it may hurt like a bitch right now, it doesn't put her in any immediate danger. The wound on her shoulder needs treatment as soon as possible, or she'll run the risk of bleeding to death.
Either way, I need to fucking hurry.
I release her and run over to the pile of harnesses and the unfolded paraglider, returning with just the passenger harness.
"I know you're in pain, but you need to pull yourself together right now," I tell her before lifting her from the ground. "Get up on your feet."
She shakes her head. "I-I-I can't. I'm too—"
"Yes, you can!" I object. "And you fucking will. Now!"
She cries out in pain when I hook my arm under her healthy shoulder, pulling her with me as I rise to my feet. Lucky for me, she's quite the lightweight, so holding her up with one arm while getting her into the harness with the other is manageable, despite the lack of support from her side. She hangs limply in my arms, barely able to stay on her feet even with my support. To my surprise, she lifts her arms and legs as needed, thus speeding the process of getting her safely into the harness.
I keep checking the hatch behind my back, knowing it's only a matter of time until the police dash through that hatch in pursuit of us. There were enough witnesses at that party to point them in the right direction.
We need to get away from here.
I make sure the harness fits tight and secure on the girl's limp body before I swoop her up in my arms again to rush over to the glider. Setting her back on her feet, I hurry to slip into my harness and check the lines of the wing. Brad did a great job in getting everything ready for us. He must have been up here long before me, which makes sense considering I had to chase that Abbott asshole down the hallway when everyone else was already done with their job.
The
girl moans weakly when I pull her close to my chest, trying to connect her harness to mine.
"No," she protests weakly, only now realizing what's about to happen. "No, no, let me go."
She tries to fend me off, almost losing her balance, but lacks success in her endeavor.
"Shut up," I hiss at her. "You're coming with me."
"No, I'm not."
Her words are slurred as if she was highly intoxicated. She keeps writhing in my arms, making it impossible for me to close the harness clips, despite her bad constitution.
I don't have time for this shit.
A shocked gasp flees her lips when I pull out my gun and place the barrel on the side of her head.
"Comply—or die."
She stiffens, not moving an inch while I push the gun at her temple. I have no intention of shooting her—I really don't—but if she's the reason I don't make it out of here in time, I may have to reconsider.
I don't ask for another confirmation, but after I remove the gun from her head, holstering it securely at my side, she no longer struggles. She stands still, only slightly hunched because of the pain in her shoulder and hip, but obediently moving along as I take a few steps forward.
"I'll count down, and then we run," I say, placing my lips close to her ears. "You run with me as well as you can, and when I tell you to, you lift your legs. Understood?"
She's quivering, tears streaming down her face as she shakes her head. "I can't—"
"Yes, and you will," I insist. "Because if you don't, you're dead."
She bites her lips, almost choking on her urge to wail violently. Part of me feels sorry for her. Here she is, after what I'm sure must have been the most traumatizing thing ever to happen in her young life, with blood running down her fancy dress, fiery pain pinching through her shoulder, and she's about to jump off the roof strapped to a man who shot at her.