“Time to go,” she says, pulling the van to a sudden stop.
“Be careful.” I pull my mask up, lean over, and kiss her hard. She kisses me back.
“You too. Don’t get hurt.”
“I’ll be careful too, don’t worry,” Liam says, throwing the back doors open and jumping out.
I give her one last look before following.
She stays where she is. If another car comes, she’ll circle the block and park again. If we come out and she’s not here, we’llrun north and she’ll pick us up on the way. That’s the idea, anyway.
I push her from my mind and follow Liam.
The building looks abandoned. The windows are boarded and covered in graffiti. But the bars look brand new and I swear there’s a small camera perched under a window sill looking down at the stoop. The front door looks new and it’s definitely one of those special heavy reinforced security models. Which doesn’t matter, because Liam straps a black canister to the frame beside the handle, yanks off the top, and backs away.
I crouch, gun raised, as the grenade goes off.
The door slams inward. Wood splinters and dust patters down around our feet as I storm forward into a shockingly nice foyer. The floor is hardwood, and decent paintings are hanging on the walls. There are crystal glasses on a side table, all of them filled with champagne. A mirror’s broken into a dozen big shards.
A man steps forward. He’s burly, wearing black, one arm over his face and the other slowly raising a gun. “Drop it! Down on the ground!” I scream at him, but he doesn’t react. I pull the trigger and my rifle bucks, hitting him straight in the chest.
The security man grunts and goes down. Blood bursts from the holes in his chest. I kick him in the face, knocking him sideways, and Liam’s right behind me as we storm into a large, wide-open back room.
At some point, whoever bought these houses must’ve gutted the insides and ripped down their interior walls. Instead of a narrow single row home, it looks like at least four of them have been stitched together. The place looks like a Las Vegas casino filled with card tables, waitresses, bodyguards, bouncers,men lounging around big TVs, and women draped in their laps looking bored. I’m shocked for a split second as I scan the faces, trying to find Dermot, but there are too many people.
“Everyone on the fucking floor!” Liam yells, shooting at the ceiling.
Girls scream. Bodies drop down. Other people fall out of their chairs trying to run. The place erupts into total chaos. Fuck, this is bad, this is really, really bad. Liam’s yelling at people to calm down, waving his gun around, and I’m desperately trying to find Dermot. All I need to do is spot him, take a few wild shots, and make sure one catches him in the head. That’s all we’re here for.
Gunfire erupts from somewhere at the far end of the room. There’s more screaming. Two waitresses go down, both riddled with bullets. Liam kicks a table over, gets behind it, and very casually returns fire. He’s shockingly calm under pressure. More people stampede nearby, several poker players trying to rush past me toward the door.
No Dermot. No fucking Dermot.
“Gotta move,” I shout at Liam. “He’s not here!”
“Look around. I got this.” Liam’s grinning as he shoots. At the far end of the room, more soldiers are piling through a back entrance. I count four, six, twelve, and more.
This is all wrong. There shouldn’t be that much muscle. The organizers specifically don’t allow soldiers hanging around during the games. They provide security, and it’s usually on the light side.
I fling myself sideways. Bullets rip the air around me as I desperately look for Dermot. One idiot tries to hit me with achair but I shoot him in the face. His brains explode backwards, splattering a girl behind him. She stands, frozen, sobbing. I knock her down, mostly to keep her from getting her head blown off. More guys try to get away, crawling like slugs. Several are huddled under a table.
No Dermot.
I kick my way through, but the muscle’s starting to push forward as the crowd thins. We’ve been lucky so far. They’re actively trying not to kill anyone, even though they’re doing a bad job of it. Otherwise, they would’ve rushed us and we’d be dead already. I kneel, fire, take down two armed soldiers, but more are coming behind them.
And that’s when I see him, standing in the middle of their protective cordon, grinning and shouting orders like a conductor in front of his orchestra.
“Motherfucker!” I scream and fire, but his soldiers get in the way. I only caught a glance though, but I’m positive it was him. I hurry back, falling away as the attackers return fire, and end up pinned down beside Liam.
“What’s the plan, boss?”
“He’s here.” I unclip a grenade from my belt. “Dermot’s here. He’s with the shooters.”
Liam grabs my arm. “He was waiting for us. This is a fucking trap.”
“I don’t care.” I taste dank, humid basement air. I feel the mouse scurrying around my body. My pants are wet from piss and my arms are wet with blood. “He’s dead.”
“Finn, damn it?—”