Page 97 of The Chemist

Zero’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean ‘when he leaves’?”

Mr. Yellow looked up at him with sad, concerned eyes.

“He’s gone. He took his selection and left for the night.”

Time stood still as the gravity of his words suddenly sunk in.

Diesel had been selected.

Diesel had been taken.

Diesel was going to become one of those victims.

Sound rushed back into Zero’s ears as his brain and body came back online.

He charged toward the door of the club and began banging on it with the fury of a thousand suns. When the door finally slid open, Zero shoved his gun into the face of the poor unsuspecting doorman.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me in,” Zero snarled. The man raised his hands in surrender and stepped out of his way.

Blood surging through his veins, Zero charged into the dimly lit room, past the host, who was hollering for him to stop. He dared anyone to try and stop him.

Standing in the middle of the room, Zero held up his gun and fired off a warning shot.

Those sober enough to realize what was happening let out a scream and ducked beneath their tables. That shot triggered a chain reaction.

Men with assault rifles stepped out of the shadows. They glared at Zero, apparently assessing the crazy man who had charged into their club armed with only a single handgun.

Okay, perhaps he didn’t think this one totally through before charging in like a dramatic lunatic with a death wish.

But Diesel’s life could be on the line.

Fuck this shit!

“D! Where are you?” Zero shouted, desperately scanning the room. His fingers shook as he moved the gun, pointing it at anyone or anything that moved.

“Where is he?” Zero shouted.

A lamp next to him exploded.

Startled, Zero’s head whipped around in the direction of the bullet.

Four tables over, a gangster dressed in a black suit that barely contained his steroid-fueled arms held a gun pointed in his direction.

Next, a glass of wine exploded, followed by a pillow and a light overhead.

Man, these guys have bad aim, Zero thought to himself, not registering that perhaps he should fire back or duck behind something to keep from getting unalived.

Just as his mind raced to catch up with his need to survive, blood burst from the side of the steroid man’s head. Zero watched as the man fell forward, mouth open as if ready to complain about the hole in his head.

What the?

Stepping into view, Chase gave Zero a friendly nod.

Good, at least someone had his back.

“Kill them!” a deep voice with a thick Russian accent shouted from across the room.

Glass shattered everywhere as the club became a war zone.

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