Page 177 of His Hell Girl

She owns me—every fucking atom of my body is hers.

A sudden noise snaps me back to reality, my eyes narrowed, my attention focused on whatever's coming from the other end of the tunnel.

"Down!" I yell, just as the others tune in to the noise.

I bring Sisi down with me, pleased that everyone's listened to me and is currently on the floor.

One more second and a projectile flies from the other end of the tunnel, hitting the back, a small explosion ensuing.

"Damn," I curse out. "He brought out the big guns."

"Won't the structure collapse?" Marcello asks.

I shake my head.

"The main walls are steel dressed in concrete and that was a small range projectile. Unlikely to cause any damage to the structure. Us, however…" I trail off just as another projectile flies at us.

"We won't be able to continue forward if they keep on hitting us. I can't even see the other end," Bianca complains.

My lips stretch in a thin line as I analyze our options.

There's some sort of smoke or mist at the end of the tunnel, likely on purpose so we can't detect whoever is shooting at us. And the moment we get up to walk, we'll be hit.

"B, give me your gun," I tell her, an idea forming in my head.

"My gun?" she asks, scandalized.

"You can't see, so you can't shoot," I point out.

"Well, you can't see either."

Fucking B and her obsession with her guns. She's never let anyone handle her precious babies, and while I can respect that, in this particular case, it's just dumb.

"Yes, but I can hear."

She knows me well enough to realize that it's the only advantage we have in this particular scenario.

"Fineee," she groans, pushing her gun to me on the floor.

"What are you going to do?" Sisi whispers in my ear, her body close to mine.

"I'm going to listen for his location."

She frowns. "You can do that?"

"I hope so," I answer grimly.

The truth is that this, too, had been part of Miles' training. I'd had extensive sessions of fighting blindfolded and relying on my other senses to gauge an attack and to make sense of my adversary. And after, I'd just continued to foster those skills, my profession benefiting greatly from them.

"Everyone quiet," I say as I assume my position.

On my belly, I place one elbow on the ground for support, my other hand on the gun as I wrap one finger around the trigger.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in once before stopping my breathing all together and slowing the beats of my heart, so I can have no interference.

As soon as silence greets me, I turn my attention forward to the foreign presence. My ears open up and that's when I hear it. The sound of boots balancing on the ground, of clammy hands moving around the weapon and of anxious breaths as he's undoubtedly trying to scout us.

More than anything, I hear the small moves he makes, the cold ground almost crackling under his steps.

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