I burst into tears. It’s a key.
It’s my salvation.
A few seconds later, I’m inching my way down the dimly lit hallway as gunfire continues upstairs. I get all the way to the end of the hallway before I realize I have no idea where I’m going. I know the way back upstairs, but that’s precisely where the shooting is happening, so I want to avoid the main part of the house. Instead of going up the stairs, I continue along the hallway until I reach the end. There’s a doorway, faint sunlight streaming through and hitting the hallway floor, and I figure if nothing else, it’s a step closer to being outside. I can hide once I’m out there and wait for a ceasefire - or until everyone’s killed each other.
God, I hope Jase is all right.
I peer around the corner, seeing nothing untoward in what looks to be a dry food store, and I creep in, making my way around sacks of rice and canned fruit stacked halfway to the ceiling. I look up, seeing that the light was coming from a window set high in the wall, and I groan inwardly. It’s fucking high, and probably locked. I keep it in mind as an alternative while I forge forward, leaving the food store and turning another corner into what appears to be a large wine cellar.
I hear the click before I even see him. I jump slightly as cold metal presses against the back of my neck.
“How the fuck’d you get out here?” Dornan asks gruffly, as he grabs me in a chokehold, pulling me close to him so my back is pressed firm against his chest.
“Picked the fucking lock,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well,” he says, dragging me to the side. “Aren’t you industrious?”
I dig my fingernails into his thick arm, but he doesn’t even flinch. Shit fuck! Freedom is so close, I can taste it on my tongue, and now he’s got a goddamn gun to my head.
I’m so fucking dumb. I should have gone upstairs.
He continues dragging me, and I gasp as a crapload of guns are leveled at both of us. It’s unnerving having so much gunfire aimed at me, even if some of them are trying to get through me to shoot Dornan.
My eyes widen as I look at the players in this Mexican standoff. There’s Emilio, with a gun in each hand, both pointed at Elliot. The Prospect has one gun leveled at Elliot, the other at me. Elliot’s locked onto Dornan’s head, the red laser target from his impressive-looking gun right between Dornan’s eyes. And Jase is aimed at Elliot, though he looks pretty fucking calm.
Until he sees me.
His face falls as he sees Dornan using my body as a shield.
Dornan chuckles at the assortment of men with their weapons aimed, nobody daring to make the first move and set off a round of deadly dominoes. Shoot and be shot. And nobody’s in the position to shoot enough bullets to wipe everyone out before they turn on him.
Fascinating. Terrifying.
“Let her go,” Elliot says, his gun trained on Dornan. Dornan laughs. “I’ll shoot her before you can pull your trigger, boy,” he responds gruffly, keeping himself shielded with my body. Elliot’s struggling to keep aim on him; I can tell by the way they are both shifting continuously. I’m still trying not to throw up at the reality of so many guns in one room, especially the one digging into my temple.
In front of me, before I can even comprehend what’s going on, The Prospect shoots Emilio dead between the eyes. What the fuck? The noise is as deafening as it is unexpected - as in, very. I gasp as blood and bits of Emilio’s brain explode out the back of his head, hitting the wall behind him with a meaty splat as he topples to the ground, lifeless.
Dornan tenses behind me, choking me harder so that I can hardly breathe. “You little fuckin’ traitor,” he says through clenched teeth. “Jase, shoot him for me.”
Jase points his gun at The Prospect, who’s got his gun pointed at Dornan’s head. I’m struggling to catch up, struggling to breathe, and struggling to understand who the fuck is on whose team. Jase continues to aim at The Prospect as he backs over to where we stand, taking up position next to his father.
I’m so fucking confused right now.
It gets cleared up real quick with what happens next, though.
In the blink of an eye, Jase turns sharply to face his father, his gun now pressed firmly against Dornan’s head. “Let her go,” Jase says to his father, and I feel Dornan tighten his grip on me.
“Get your fuckin’ gun away from my head,” Dornan spits.
Jase doesn’t budge, but he doesn’t have the power position for long.
“Little brother.” A voice sounds from behind Jase. Who the fuck else is in here? I hear another gun being cocked and suddenly, Jase isn’t looking so smug. From where I’m standing—or rather, being held at gunpoint—I can’t see who’s behind Jase, only that there’s a snub-nosed revolver pointed at the back of his head. I can’t keep track of the players in this massive Mexican stand-off. It would almost be laughable, if we weren’t all one move away from being shot ourselves.