Page 111 of Triple Threat

There was another blast, and the room rattled.

That one was close.

I picked up the Belgian P90 and racked the bolt. The chamber was clear, the mag ready. I sighed, Lach needed to hurry.I looked over at Sadie and she had never seemed smaller, or more frightened. Well, almost never seemed so small, she was a stick wrapped in skin when Lach had first brought her to the house.

“Here,” I said, and handed her one of the Berettas from the gun rack. “It’s simple, this is the safety, keep that on until I tell you to click it, like this,” I showed her how the safety switch worked, and made sure that the selector was set to semi-auto. It didn’t hold many rounds, and it wouldn’t do for her to squeeze the trigger and empty the gun with it on auto. “These are Lach’s, his favorite right now. If you’re in danger, point this end at the baddies and squeeze the trigger.” She looked like she was going to be sick, but that steel inside her wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Okay.” Her voice was a mouse’s squeak.

“You’ll be okay,” I vowed. “Nothing will happen to you. I am your shield.”

Chapter Thirty

Lach…

Everything was going as well as could be expected. Half the house was blown to bits, the other half looked like a tornado had hit it. I had to thank Roan for all of his over the top planning and fortress building. It had just seemed like a weird hobby all these years, almost comical. Now, it was going to save our lives. I was about to make a joke when I caught several rounds in the chest, slinging me into the doorframe I was using as shelter and then the ground caught me.

That hurt.

I checked, and the dragonscale armor took all of the hits, and none went through.

Yet another reason to thank the mad Brit when we got out of this.

I heard him mention falling back, and that must have meant the big gun was out of bullets, which was bad fucking news. They were coming closer to the door, there was almost no shelter across the north stretch of lawn so the Escadrille men were running. I raised the rifle and emptied the mag, sending some to their maker, most to the ground, and a few running in a zig zag. These guys, they were better than most we’d run into.

Most would have given up already, taken their losses and fled.

The AR clicked empty, and I was out of ammo. I emptied the first pistol falling back, looking for the first concealed weapon I could reach. I tried a pressure plate; the wall panel should pop open on a hidden hinge and reveal a rack of guns. It opened, but inside there were three claymore mines. I about shit, but none of them went off, they weren’t armed yet.

I slammed the panel shut and backed six feet up the corridor and found the next concealed panel. Behind it there was a gun rack. I could feel my adrenaline surging, and it was messing with my perception and focus. I grabbed two more pistols from the rack, and a tactical shotgun, two tubes under the barrel, and a short bullpup build.

The first black clad person who came through the door took a twelve-gauge solid slug just below the collarbone. Their shoulder opened like a watermelon, and flaps of flesh came away all the way up into the neck. She made a horrid sound, hit the wall and fell.

There were women in the Escadrille?What the fuck was this?

My momentary pause was long enough for two of her companions to breach into the room, and one put a round into my chest, and shoulder. The vest stopped both, but they hurt like something else. I racked the shotgun for the other tube and fired a round of buckshot at close range. There was a thunderous roar and one went backwards to the ground while the other recoiled back against the wall.

I fell back, racked the gun again and fired half blind through the smoke. It seemed like a reprieve, so I gave further. It was a short distance from the hallway to the living room, then a straight shot back to where the Bat Cave and its armored door was. That was the objective now, slowing the assholes so that Roan had a chance to get the last-ditch defenses armed, and then we would escape.

I looked at the large window overlooking the bay, and there were three ships out in the water, close in. Certainly closer than they should have been. The window suddenly vibrated hard, and a dozen white circles, opaque, appeared. Someone on the boat was shooting at the house, and big rounds considering what it had done to the bulletproof glass.

Well fuck.

Boats were a goddamn problem.

“Roan, are you still there?” I keyed the mic.

“Yeah, we’re here. The door is shut but not locked.” He sounded slightly out of breath.

“We’ve got boats in the water, one shot up the living room, getting out on the Rum Runner is going to be a challenge if they chase us,” I said. “And they’re in the house.”

“Are you clear yet?”

“Almost, can you activate the north, and central sections and leave the kitchen and bedroom sections off?”

“Of course, and it’s done,” he said.

A trio broke into my line of sight, with more Uzies and MP5 submachine guns. I put a slug into the first person, and then another round of buckshot at eye level toward the other two. There was more screaming, more stench of blood and spent ammo. The ammo was going quick. There was commotion in the hallway, and I saw a good dozen or more coming down the hallway, stepping over the bodies of their companions.

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