Page 73 of Twisted Gift

A door opens halfway down the hall, and three men step out, blocking our path to freedom. I slide to a stop, and Max pulls me back a few strides.

“Son of a bitch,” he growls under his breath as the door we came through opens, and several more guards fill the hallway.

We’re surrounded.

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“Shit,” I hiss as the guards get closer. They aren’t moving particularly fast, but then again, we have nowhere to go. They’ve got us sandwiched between them. “What now?”

“We need to get through those three before the assholes behind us catch up.”

“Right, and how do you suggest we do that? Do you have the strength to take them all out?”

His eyes narrow. “I’m tempted to leave you behind for that comment alone.”

I scowl. “Not the time, Max.”

“Fine. Whatever. Yes, I can get through them, but you need to be right behind me so we can get out that door and hit the button to lock this place down before it crumbles.”

“I can do that. Let’s move.”

“On three. One—”

“Now!” I push him forward and follow behind as he charges toward the guards. They pull out guns the moment we move, and I scream, fear latching deep claws in me.

“Keep moving!” Max yells.

“They have guns!” I yell back.

One of the guards snickers and shouts, “Guns with pretty iron bullets that explode into tiny pieces once they’ve hit their target.”

My eyes go wide. “Max—”

“They won’t shoot at you. You’re their success story—they want you!”

Max is wrong.

We’re about ten feet away when the first shot rings out. I howl, squeezing my eyes shut at the loud sound. But it’s more than a sound. It’s pain. And it explodes in my arm, and my hand flies up to grab it. My eyes widen at the sight of red seeping through my fingers and dripping onto the white floor.

Max growls deep in his throat and lunges for the first guy, the one who just shot me, and tackles him to the ground, taking the second guy out in the process.

The one remaining advances on me and swings his fist toward my face. I manage to duck, but I’m not fast enough to avoid the foot he then sends at my stomach. I reel back, clutching my gut as blood still flows out of the wound on my arm.

He grabs my injured arm and tugs hard, making me cry out. Black spots dance across my eyes, and then he throws me into the wall. I sink to the floor, my vision fading in and out.

“Get up, blondie!” Max shouts, coming up behind the guy. He makes quick work of breaking his windpipe and stealing the gun out of the holster at his hip before launching him at the mob of guards coming from the other direction.

The maneuver gives him enough time to pull me up and get us to the door. Max hands me the gun, which I pretend to know how to hold, and he throws the side of his body into the door. It doesn’t budge.

“Don’t move!” A loud, commanding voice demands.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I chant to myself as I raise the gun and start firing.

Max kicks the door over and over, but I’m out of bullets too fast, and there are still guards standing. The moment they know I’m out of ammunition, they charge.

With one last, hard hoof, the door flies open. Sunlight bleeds into the room, and before I can turn to look, Max grabs me and throws me outside onto the pavement.

Landing on my bad arm, I bite back a scream and snap my head toward the doorway where one of the guards grabs Max from behind.

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