Page 251 of Inferno

"Why?" I spit back. "You out of bullets?"

Another shot hammers the car door, and I flinch instinctively. Conan drops down beside me, breath ragged, blood on his jaw.

"Plan?" he growls.

I jerk my chin toward the side door. "You run. Get Charlotte. I’ll keep him busy."

Conan’s eyes flick to Vlad, hiding behind a beam. "On three?"

I nod once.

"One. Two?—"

I rise like a fucking storm and unload in Vlad’s direction, bullets ricocheting off wood and steel. Conan breaks for the door, his massive frame smashing through like it’s paper.

I pivot to track him, but pain explodes through my skull, white-hot and blinding. Fuck. My vision flashes. I stagger backward, grabbing my head.

Vlad’s fist swings again, but I catch his wrist mid-air with my metal grip. He swings a plank at me and I kick him in the shin, knocking it out of his hands.

Before he can recover, I crack my brass knuckles straight into his mouth. He flies back into the shelving like a ragdoll. I’m wheezing, bent over, but adrenaline roars through my veins like jet fuel. He stumbles, and that gives me time to grab the plank.

As I swing at him, he blocks it with a goddamn iron pole.

"Fuck you," I growl.

He slams the pole into my ribs and I see stars, but I don’t go down. I lunge, headbutting him hard enough that he stumbles. His arms lock around my waist and shove me back until I slam into a support beam.

His hands go to my throat, squeezing, making my eyes bulge as I grapple to get him off.

"Not so clever now, are you, Mr. Quinn?" he spits. "Dying for that whore."

His breath is acid on my face. I jam my thumb into his eye, hard and deep, enough to make him scream and release me.

Spotting the gun nestled in the straw on the ground, I don’t waste the moment, I dive to retrieve it.

His expression turns ghost-white as he sees what I’m reaching for.

The gun.

My hand wraps around it, just as his boot crashes into the back of my skull.

I roll, dizzy but focused, and sweep my leg out, catching his shin, and he drops with a grunt.

I rise with my gun raised, pointing at his head.

"Never fucking call her that again," I snarl.

He spits blood right by my boot. "Go on. Shoot me."

His teeth are painted red, and he’s smiling like a devil that’s already lost his soul.

I stare down at him.

My finger twitches.

And that grin. That fucking grin makes it too hard to not pull the trigger.

"Fine," I mutter.

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