Chapter 25
Hellfire
Moving down the hall, I kept an eye out for anyone else coming my way. I made it all the way back to where we'd started without seeing another soul. Then I heard Butcher shout. My heart jumped into my throat as I ran toward the sound of gunfire.
I skidded to a stop when I saw Butcher on his back, two men standing over him with guns pointed at his head. "Drop it!" a third man yelled as he turned toward me.
I froze, my gun pointed at him. They were going to kill Butcher.
They’d managed to flip the tables on us.
If I didn’t do something we were both going to die here.
I couldn't let that happen. Not to him. Not to me.
Meeting Butcher's gaze, I gave a barely discernible nod.
At the same time, we lunged for the men closest to us.
Butcher reached up and grabbed the barrel of the gun, shoving it upward as he rolled to the side. The guy fired, but the bullet flew down the hall and buried itself into a wall. I shot mine in the chest, then turned and fired at the man who'd been watching in horror as Butcher fought his partner.
"Fuck!" The man shouted, his voice filled with pain as blood bloomed over his shirt. He slumped down onto the floor as he bled out.
I spun around and saw Butcher still struggling with the man who'd tried to kill him. He was happily sticking his knife into every part of the man when given the opening.
Grabbing the guy by the neck, I tossed him off Butcher like a ragdoll.
He hit the wall with a thud and slid onto the ground.
A quick check of the pulse assured me he was dead.
His head had hit hard enough to splatter his brains against the paint.
Not that he would have lived very long thanks to Butcher’s punctures.
"Looks like they got you, too," Butcher said as he got to his feet. His eyes were on my shoulder. It was the same one I'd been shot in the night we'd taken down the cult.
"It's just a graze." This wasn't the first time I'd been shot and though it was burning like a bitch, it wasn't like the last time. My poor shoulder was going to be a fucking mess of arthritis by the time I hit sixty though.
"We should get to another part of the house," he suggested. "We're sitting ducks if we stay here where they know to look for us."
"How do you know so much about the house?" I asked as I followed him back down the hall.
"Didn't you check out the blueprints Rip was handing out to the Wyoming guys?"
"No." There were too many other things on my mind, like my traitorous cousin. If we were lucky we’d get out of this alive and I’d be able to pay her back for selling me out to The Italians.
First we had to cut down the throngs of Amato’s men.
Without any idea of how many were here we were in danger of running out of ammo before we accomplished that mission.
We ran until we came to a door that led outside. It was raining, the first monsoon of the summer, soaking us both instantly. "Fucking rain," Butcher muttered.
The mud had us skidding, trying to keep our footing as we raced for cover. A bullet whizzed past my head and I ducked, nearly falling in the mud. Butcher grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. My shoulder burned under his pulling, but I pushed through.
"Where are they?" I shouted, looking around.
"I don't know." Lightning split the air, followed closely by thunder. We hadn't even heard the storm inside, thanks to all the insulation and gunfire.
The rain was pouring down as lightning split the sky. "We need to get to cover," I shouted.
Butcher nodded and pointed at a shed that was a few hundred yards away. It was small, but it would provide some cover from the bullets flying our way.
We raced across the compound, trying to get to safety before we were shot, again. The door was locked, but Butcher kicked it in and we both stumbled inside. He slammed the door shut behind us and I leaned over, hands on my knees while I tried to catch my breath.
Butcher looked at my shoulder, then down at his own ‘flesh wound’. “I guess we’ve had enough fun, it's time to get serious about these guys.”
“What?” It was all I could manage to say to such a ridiculous statement, though I didn’t doubt that he was having fun with this.
“We don’t need any bullet holes.” Both of us had managed to get away with grazes at this point.
He was right, our luck wouldn’t hold out forever.
Butcher peeked out the door “We’ll come out and hook right, around the east side is the entrance to the kitchen.
From there we can move past the dining room and upstairs toward his office.
He has a safe room back there, that's where he’ll make his stand. ”
I put a fresh magazine in my pistol and put the partial mag in my back pocket. “Ready,” I said with a nod.
Butcher hesitated for a second, looking past me with a grin. He tucked his pistol into his pants and reached past me. I turned to see what he was smiling at, behind me was a pile of lawn tools. He pulled an ax out of the pile and studied it. “Yeah, this will do.”
He hefted the ax, then peeked out the door again. “Let's go!” He bolted, I held my gun low and ran behind him, trying to ignore the rain that was pelting me. We made it to the kitchen entrance, and Butcher charged through with no hesitation.
What unfolded next was a true Viking’s Rampage raid. Butcher tapped into something ancestral and primal. Running through the door, cooks and helpers scattered in all directions. Butcher honed in on a goon in a suit. Swinging the ax as he ran, he caught the man in the chest.
He hit with such force that the man was lifted off the ground, the momentum carrying him in an arc, right into another guy.
Butcher heaved, ripping the ax from the fallen man's chest, bringing with it a spray of blood and guts.
He pulled the ax back over his head, and yelling maniacally, brought it down into the second man's skull.
Fuck. Me. Butcher was finally letting loose.
The door swung open, a man coming through with his gun raised. Butcher swung the ax up and took the man's hands clean off. The man fell, screaming at his stumps. Butcher casually stepped over him on his way out to the dining room. I followed his lead, walking past stumpy.
The dining room was huge, with a stereotypical mile long table.
We took up position on either side and began stalking toward the other end.
Three men burst through, into the room. I raised my pistol and started firing.
With an angry, berserker-like curse, Butcher chucked his ax overhead, hurtling into one of them.
He had his pistol out now, firing into the remaining man. He was angry that he had to relinquish his toy. We made it to the end of the table. I was about to check the bodies for more ammo when a hail of gunfire came through the doorway. More goons on the other side.
We dove to either side of the doorway. I had just started to yell to Butcher when a man ran through the door.
Before I could fire Butcher charged into him, catching the man at the waist and tossing him onto his shoulder.
With his free hand he leveled his pistol and ran through the door.
He was using the man as a human shield. A living human shield.
Jumping Jesus Christ, I’m glad this thing is on our side.
Butcher charged straight at them, the man he was carrying played his part well, absorbing all the bullets fired at Butcher. The guy was alive when Butcher started the charge. By the time he closed the gap the man must have taken twenty bullets and was hanging limply in Butcher’s grasp.
Butcher plowed through them, dropped his human shield and started to stab the men around him.
Where he got the knife from I didn’t know, it seemed to just materialize in his hand.
I pulled my own knife and waded into the fray.
We expertly and gracefully cut, slashed and stabbed until no one was left moving inside the room.
Blood was splashed all over our clothes.
We looked like we’d just walked out of a horror movie.
Butcher wandered over to where he had thrown his ax and pulled it out of the body.
The wet sucking sound had a look of disgust crossing my face.
“Ready?” he asked, as though this was all completely normal.
I nodded as he stuck the bloodied ax through his belt, so it dangled there like a gory warning.
Moving upstairs, we made our way down the hallway and into what looked like the largest and gaudiest waiting room known to man. “We must be close to his office, his safe room.”
“Should be through those doors” Butcher said, pointing with his knife.
We were right. The doors flew open and half a dozen men poured out, firing.
“Fuck!” I bellowed, unable to form the words to warn Butcher.
Not that he didn’t see the threat. I caught a round in my thigh and fell to my knee with a grunt of pain.
Butcher grabbed me by the collar and dragged me back through the door we came out of, taking cover behind the wall.
I sat on my ass, back to the wall as I surveyed the damage.
“Did it go through?” he asked, prodding at my thigh.
Shoving his hands away before he did more damage to my leg, I looked at the front where the wound was visible and bleeding.
Grimacing, I felt around on the back side.
No hole in my jeans, or blood, back there.
“No, it’s lodged in.” Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d be dealing with another gunshot wound and another visit to Crash Cart.
“Sucks for you.” He reached down and took my gun from me. “Don’t worry, I’ll kill them for you.”
“What the fuck, Butcher?” I never got an answer.
He took off through the door firing. I ripped off two long strips from my shirt, bundling one up over the bullet hole and tied the other around my leg over it.
I winced as I pulled it tight and knotted it.
Not tourniquet tight. It didn’t look that bad and I had no idea how long we’d be here.
I didn’t want to lose my whole fucking leg.
The doorway opposite us burst open, making me jerk in reaction. I reached into my waistband for the small pistol I had tucked away earlier. It was in my hand before I realized who I was looking at.
“Hellfire?” It was Lockout and the rest of the crew.
I blew out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank fuck it’s you guys. Come on, get me up, Butcher went through there. He needs our help.”
“Speak for yourself, gimp.” Butcher strolled into the room and dropped the pistol he stole from me into my lap. It landed on my wound.
“Goddamn it, that hurt. Fucker.”
“Amato’s in there, no more goons between us and the safe room.” He pulled the ax from his belt, then continued his casual stroll out of the room.
“Butcher, where are you going?” Lockout hollered
Toxic put his arm on Lock’s shoulder. “Best to let him get this out of his system.”
“Where’d he get the ax?” Riptide asked the room.
“We’re going to have to deal with that sooner or later.” Lockout muttered, ignoring Rip’s question. He let Butcher go with a shake of his head.
“Yeah, well, later is always better with Butcher,” Toxic replied.
Ricochet and Smokehouse helped me to my feet. They moved to put a shoulder under each arm, but I shrugged them off. I could walk. I’d limp, but I could walk. We moved into the next room, the waiting area. Butcher had left the bodies strewn around like a child leaves their toys on the ground.
“Jesus,” Riptide muttered as he looked around. “He didn’t fuck around, did he?”
“Nope,” I answered. Honestly, if I had to be stuck in this fucked up situation, there hadn’t been a better choice than having Butcher by my side.
But I was fucking glad to see the rest of my brothers here.
Amato didn’t stand a fucking chance. Gunfire ripped through the air as Butcher found more enemies to engage.
Lockout sighed and glanced over at Toxic. “I know he can handle it, but I still want you to go with him.”
Toxic grinned. “Mostly so he has a babysitter, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Sure thing, Prez,” Toxic said and trotted off toward the sound of the shooting.
He was humming as he went. I shook my head when he started singing, his voice echoing back toward us.
“One little, two little, three little dead goons. Four little, five little, six little dead goons.” The song trailed off as he got farther away.
“Does he ever have a bad day?” I asked the room. There were grins and shrugs in answer. Toxic’s infectious good mood was a good counter weight to Butcher’s psychotic nature, so no one questioned it too closely.
“Let’s get this done,” Lock said, staring at the door to what could only be Amato’s office. We gathered around, guns raised, while he lifted a boot and kicked in the door.