Page 112 of In Death, Love Survives
I hop off and look her in the eyes.
“That’s what I need. I’ll be right through there. I know we haven’t had time to talk about this, but if anyone comes, use this.”
I pull out the small gun from my waistband. Her eyes bug out in shock.
“I don’t know how to use this,” she admits.
“Look here.”
I flash her the side of it.
“This gun doesn’t have a safety. Just point and squeeze.”
“Point and squeeze,” she answers, stunned.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes flash up to mine with her mouth parted.
“Only if someone bad comes.”
“How will I know who is bad and who is part of the club?”
“Point and squeeze,” I repeat.
It’s a fair question, one that I simply don’t have time to answer. I take off into the small building that’s lit up like it’s about to go up in flames.
I jog around the perimeter, trying to see if anyone is still around. As paranoid as I might be, this feels personal.
It suddenly happens while I’m in jail and unable to actually do anything about it. This was tactical, and I need to get to the bottom of it.
On the back side of the building, I see a door opened wide, clearly where the person went in and out of.
Thank fucking God, this building is empty.
The flames are rising all around me, and I only have a few minutes left. I go in through the door and scan the first floor.
No one’s here.
Fuck.
I don’t have time to go upstairs. It’s worse than where I am. I don’t want to lose an exit either. It’s all too fucking dangerous, and I’m so pissed off about this mess.
As I jog back out the same door, I spot it—a wet paint symbol.
It’s a circle with a V in the middle of it.
The paint looks wet, like it was just done not long ago.
Who the fuck is this? I have to see if anyone knows which club uses this symbol around these parts. We need to find these fuckers once and for all.
Stepping out the door, a loud bang rings.
It happens so quickly that I’m not sure what the fuck it was until I see someone in the distance near a tree line with a gun pointed in my direction.
It’s hard to make the person out, given the late hour, but I’m so used to this that my eyes have locked in on him.
Looking over my shoulder, I see a gunshot hole right through the wall. It’s inches away from my head.
