Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The next time, he picked up his Ingénue late.
He and Rissa were just over two blocks away from City Hall—her destination—when he realized the same kid had been behind them for an entire block.
It could be simply a coincidence, but the boy had looked at them a few times too many.
Most likely, it was simply his own paranoia, but Sin had lived as long as he had and kept his clients alive because he was a bit twitchy about these things.
"Princess?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Can you make a copy of that file?"
"A highly compressed one, but I can't access it," she said.
"Don't care. Just create it and stay close. We have a friend."
"Sin?" she asked softly, allowing fear to tint her voice.
It touched something inside him, so he patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. "I know, Princess. You concentrate on that and let me do my job. Just trust me a little fucking bit."
"Yes, Legate, but priests shouldn't cuss."
"Wrong kind of priest," he said, turning to smile at her and finding the boy still behind them. "This kind keeps your ass alive, not pure."
"Good," she said. "But why is it ok for you to cuss?"
While he loved that she was finally willing to ask, her timing couldn't be worse. "Can we talk about it later? I don't multitask as well as you."
"Yes," she whispered, her fingers gripping him a bit harder. "Sin, I don't want to die."
"Not today, Princess." He looked ahead of them and saw another man watching them a bit too intently. "Maybe tomorrow."
His free hand moved to his hip, and he switched off the safety of that gun, listening to the whine of the coils charging.
The Ingénue tilted her head, then reached over, her fingers sliding along his hip until she could reach the other.
She activated it for him. Fucking genius, he thought, damn near reading his mind.
"There's another against my ribs," he told her.
She trailed the palm of her hand up the back of his exo-suit, feeling for the holster so she didn't have to look.
When her fingers brushed it, she repeated the process and he released the safety of the fourth weapon.
Like the others, it made a sound as it activated.
Oddly enough, she hadn't started panicking.
Trailing beside him with her hand on his arm, she walked calmly, willing to go anywhere with him.
He checked the men again. They were definitely being followed.
Sinclair could count at least four now, and there were likely more.
He continued walking, hoping to make their destination without complications, well aware of how many people turned to watch them pass.
They stood out in a crowd. That was unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done for it now.
"Left," he said, leading her across the street.
He made for a less public area. It would limit the number of random people around, which meant fewer distractions and hopefully less collateral damage.
They were still headed toward the general direction of City Hall, but taking the "scenic route.
" Turning to look at the Ingénue again, he glanced over his shoulder.
A group of men were making their way across the street, two of them looking directly at him.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Princess, when this goes down, stay low. Don't run, don't panic, just get low and make a small profile. Got it?"
"Yes. Tell me when I need to initiate the wipe. It takes seventeen seconds."
"Not today."
They entered the dead-end alley and walked halfway, their feet splashing in the puddles as he aimed them toward a large metal dumpster.
His strides grew longer, the Ingénue trying her best to keep up, and he lifted her hand from his arm.
Guiding her beside the steel box, he pressed her against the brick wall.
"Stay in the corner," he ordered. She did, crouching into a small, tense ball. Sin held his gun against his leg and stepped forward, stopping so they'd have to get around him to reach her. "What do you want?" he asked lazily, lifting his chin in a taunt at the people he knew were watching him.
A punk-looking man stepped around the corner, holding a gun in his own hand.
His face was covered by a half-mask, hiding his nose and mouth from view.
A Kevlar-reinforced jacket served as his only armor, but it also made him blend in with the people who often used these streets.
So did his neon hair. The guy's eyes glinted metallically, and he'd made no attempt to disguise the data port on the side of his head.
"We're here for the Brain," he said. "She has something we need."
Sin smiled coldly and shook his head as more stepped into view.
They could see his gun, they recognized his uniform, yet they pulled their own weapons.
It felt like an old-fashioned western standoff.
He'd always liked those movies: simple, easy, and the good guys won.
His eyes moved from one face to the next, memorizing each because he'd need to describe them later.
"Can't have her," he drawled. "Keep walking, or I'll put a bullet in your brain. I have an obligation to protect my client. Any threats to her give me authorization to kill."
"Six to one, bad boy," another man laughed, lifting his gun. "You can't dodge all these bullets."
Lifting his arm, the Legate squeezed, and the gun whined as the bullet shot forward. The punk boy dropped with a small red hole in the center of his forehead. Sin pulled his second weapon.
They returned fire, ducking around the corner to avoid his shots.
Sin dodged, moving to the edge of the dumpster.
Using the steel for cover, he managed to take out another before the first bullet caught his shoulder, knocking him back.
The gun flew from his hand, clattering as it slid out of reach.
The exo-suit prevented the shot from piercing his skin, but damn that hurt!
He yanked another pistol from its holster and rolled, trying to remove as many as he could.
Someone dropped. Bullets ricocheted off the asphalt, forcing him to flinch away.
The steel dumpster was taking a beating, the banging sound of each shot almost deafening, but Rissa hadn't moved—or made a sound.
She sat crouched in the corner with her hands over her ears and those beautiful silver eyes wide with terror.
He shouldn't have looked. The distraction cost him dearly as he took another hit, ripping a short scream from his lungs. His only solace was he'd cut their number in half. Now to finish this up.
The punks had scattered, shooting from too many directions and with too many things between them to hide behind.
Sin had to concentrate on them one at a time.
This group had some training. Whether they were an organized gang or mercenaries dressed to blend in, he didn't know.
He also didn't have time to worry about it because he was still taking fire.
The armor might prevent a lot of damage, but a well-placed shot could definitely kill him.
He stepped out and fired repeatedly, over half the shots missing, yet it was enough to keep them back. One thug leaned too far out, so Sin twisted and pulled the trigger, watching him die—then pain flared across his own back. His legs crumpled, throwing him to the ground.
"Fuck," he growled, rolling to take another shot.
He couldn't make his legs work. He couldn't even feel his legs! Dragging himself forward, Sin raised his left hand, firing wildly. He had to get back to cover! Hoping to make it back to his angel, he crawled, dragging his broken body behind him.
"God," he muttered, "This is pushing it a bit too much, ok?" He shot again, wildly, and heard a man yelp.
"Sin?" Rissa asked.
"Don't fucking move, Princess," he snapped.
"Ok."
From down the street, someone laughed. "She's talking, so hasn't wiped. You gonna give the order yet?"
"Nope, but I've got a bullet with your name on it," he called back.
"Yeah? So why you lying in the street, Father?"
A bullet hit the ground beside him, and Sin flinched.
"Not a Father. I don't fucking take open confession," he called back, trying to locate the shooter.
The next bullet hit his hand, and he felt something rip as the searing pain flooded him.
Sin gasped, yanking his arm to his chest and struggled to crawl faster.
Another bullet tagged his leg, but his armor stopped it from penetrating.
Daring to look up, he followed its trajectory back.
There, a lean man moved up the street, holding two pistols trained on him.
Sin fired with his good hand, the pain affecting his aim, but he hit the man in the throat.
"One left," Sin moaned.
"And you're fucked," the last man said around a laugh.
The boom of something hitting metal rang out as the thug jumped onto the dumpster. Sliding down the top, the man's eyes were locked on the wounded priest, but he was right next to Rissa. The asshole had used their own cover to hide his approach!
Sin rushed to raise his weapon—and heard a shot ring out. It wasn't his. Tensing, expecting the worst, he rolled. Dodging, still struggling to get a shot off, Sin watched the man collapse before he'd even pulled the trigger. A red stain began spreading from under the attacker's armpit.
By the corner of the dumpster, Rissa's arms were still raised, clutching his dropped pistol with both hands. He watched as she realized what she'd done and simply let go, the weapon clattering to the ground.
"Sin?" she begged, turning her delicate face to him. Her eyes were so big. "Sin!"
He sighed and waved her down. "That's the last one, Princess."
"Did I kill him?" Her voice quavered.
"You're good," he said, unwilling to lie to her but not wanting to answer the question either. "You hurt?"
"No."
"Ok," he said, dragging himself over. "I am."
She took a deep breath and scurried to his side. Her robe was stained with filth, and her hands were no better, but she reached for him. "How bad?" she asked, trying to be calm.
"Can't use my legs. You have to get out of here, Riss, because more are gonna come." He took a deep breath and laid his head on the asphalt. "Can you find your way back?"
"No," she said. "Not alone."
He chuckled, wincing at the pain of it. They both knew she could.
What she meant was she wouldn't. "Ok," he said.
"Then I have a problem for you to solve.
I have four guns, less than a hundred rounds left.
My transmitter will grant me access to any building in this city.
Besides that, we have a credit card from OutLink and you.
How do we get out of this? We probably have twenty minutes before their friends show up. Maybe less."
He watched her eyes flick from side to side as if she was reading something. Her brow wrinkled for a moment, then she smiled, reaching down to touch his chest. "And you. Where is the credit card? Can you get behind the dumpster?"
He slipped the card from a pocket on the underside of his arm, and passed it to her. Then he started crawling, dragging himself the last four feet with his elbows. She'd trusted him, so it was his turn to do the same.
"There's a few bodies over there," he warned her. "It won't be pretty."
"Then I won't look," she promised. "Sin, I need a bank machine, and the city map says there's one around the corner."
"Yeah. We're on 149th St."
She nodded. "I'll be back. Please stay alive until I am?"
He merely leaned back and smiled. Too cultured to do well in a run and hide scenario, his ass. Nope, his angel was proving to be a bit of a badass.