7. Magnus #3
That's when I notice the blur of a figure come around the side of the building. My muscles go into autopilot and retrieve my weapon, aiming it, and eliminating the target in one fell swoop.
“Two more, coming from the east.” Coen rushes over, pressing his back against mine.
“And the west.”
“Protect the entrance, at all costs.”
“At all costs,” I confirm.
We're stormed on both ends, more armed men running toward us in haste.
My breathing steadies as the call of duty settles over me, knowing that other than Dom, I wouldn't want anyone else with me than Hayes.
He might be a total lunatic, but so am I, and we work well together.
Almost like we're one extension of the other, a deadly duo that even freaks me out from time to time.
We move gracefully, removing threat by threat, dodging bullets, and circling our way through this attack. The bodies keep coming, one by one, along with the reverberation of gunfire, filling the night sky with a smoky haze and the scent of gunpowder and death.
“Fuck,” Coen shouts.
I take my eyes off the incoming men for a second to see the tiny blip of blood on his upper arm.
“Bastard nicked me.”
“You good?” I drop the magazine and reload quickly, not wanting to waste even a moment of time.
“I’ll be better when I kill the asshole.” Coen shoves off from the spot and goes straight into the line of fire, emptying every single round into the man who shot him. He presses the release and shoves in more ammunition, turning it on the next victim in his rampage.
I drop two more, the herd thinning and retreating from where they came from.
“You think you can kill us?” Coen shouts, spit flying from his mouth. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
I rush to his flank, facing the opposite way of him to keep all our viewpoints covered.
Bodies litter the ground; blood splattered all over. A sight I’m all too familiar with. One that should bother me but doesn’t. I’m well aware of how fucked up that is. Nothing I can do about it now other than embrace the darkness that has consumed me from within.
“We had to try,” a voice calls out from behind me.
“Come out and face me like a man,” Coen calls back.
A shape appears in front of me. I flit my gaze to see one in front of Coen, too.
The two dumbass kids that were guarding our hostage. They must have been working for Beckett this whole time, playing the role of double agent. What a foolish errand he had them on.
They stroll closer, taking their time, almost like they know they’re walking into their demise.
"Why?" I ask the dude heading in my direction. The taller, more nervous of the two. The other was obvious with his disobedience, this kid though, gave me a different vibe altogether. Guilty for sure, with something else underlying.
“We had to.” He keeps his gun to his side; his arm slack against him.
“Who cares why?” Coen wastes no time, pulling the trigger and dropping the guy approaching him.
Frankie, I think is his name, muffles a cry.
Coen continues forward and pops two more bullets in him, ending the poor sucker’s life.
The kid in front of me flinches with each round. “I had no choice.” His eyes water with tears ready to be shed.
“You could have come to us,” I tell him, my gun still aimed at his chest. “We could have figured something out.”
“I—I…” he struggles to find his words.
Anxiety, fear, and pure regret bubble out of him. He’s aware he screwed up, that he picked the wrong side. That he knows his chances of survival are slim to none. Because if it’s not us, it’ll be Beckett that ends him.
“You’re getting soft.” Coen pushes past me, moving quicker than I have time to react, planting a bullet in the kid’s chest, and one in his head for safe measure.
“Seriously?” Wide-eyed, I exhale. “You’re such an asshole sometimes.”
“Like I care what you think.” Coen walks a few feet to another body, nudging it with his foot to verify it’s dead. He shifts his gaze around the quiet lot and settles on me. “Isn’t it your job to anticipate this?”
“I told you it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”
And handle we did. Over a dozen bodies, their life force draining out and staining the ground around them.
Coen pokes the wound on his arm. “I got fucking shot.”
“It’s just a flesh wound. Don’t be such a baby.”
The door to the building we were guarding creaks open. “What are you idiots doing?” Dom steps through, surveying the mess we made. “You two sure do know how to throw a party, don’t you?”
I nod toward where he came from. “What about you? You have any fun?”
“Not as much as you did.” Dom walks over to our SUV, leaning against the top of it and peering inside. “Really? Our driver?” He sighs and pulls his phone out of his suit pants pocket, turning to face us. “One of you move him while I call this in.”
Hayes and I extend our fists, using our other hands as a table to rock-paper-scissors who gets to play clean-up duty. I throw paper; Hayes throws rock, only adding to how pissed off he is at me.
Whatever. Maybe if he’d grow up and learn how to communicate like a fucking adult, I’d be more considerate to the weird claim he’s staked on June. But until then, she’s fair game, and I will stop at nothing to make her mine.