Page 98 of Auctioned Innocence
“Nice shot,” Sofia calls out, taking down another figure moving through the kitchenette. “Though I think you just ruined your grandfather’s mirror.”
“My grandfather’s probably rolling in his grave watching his cabin get shot to pieces.” I duck as return fire chips stone from the fireplace. “He spent forty years hiding this place from the feds, and we’re about to burn it down in ten minutes.”
“Sorry about that,” Sofia says, not sounding sorry at all as she puts two more bullets into an attacker’s center mass. “I’ll buy him a nice wreath.”
We work together like we’ve been doing this for years instead of minutes.
When I’m reloading, she covers me, her shots keeping enemies pinned.
When she needs to move position, I provide suppressing fire, forcing them to keep their heads down.
We’re outnumbered and outgunned, but we have the advantage of knowing every corner of this cabin—and the desperation of people who refuse to die.
The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the scent of splintered wood and blood.
Brass casings litter the floor around us, evidence of just how much ammunition we’re burning through.
“Reloading!” Sofia calls.
I step up, spraying covering fire as she slams a fresh magazine home.
A figure appears in the doorway—I put him down with three shots to the chest.
He crumples backward, taking out a cabinet as he falls.
“That was my grandfather’s good China,” I mutter.
“Was it expensive?” Sofia asks, taking aim at movement through the shattered window.
“Priceless family heirloom.”
“Well, now it’s priceless family confetti,” she quips, her shot dropping another attacker before he can get a clear angle on us. “At least it’s still in the family.”
Another attacker comes through the bedroom, then two more through the destroyed west wall.
They’re coordinating, timing their advances to stretch our defensive capabilities.
“We need to move!” I shout to Sofia. “They’re going to overrun us!”
“Where exactly do you suggest we go?” she calls back, reloading with practiced efficiency. “The spa? The wine cellar? Oh wait—your grandfather was a bootlegger, not a Bond villain!”
Despite everything, I almost smile. Even in a firefight, she can’t help but let the real Sofia shine through.
“Smart mouth is going to get you killed,” I tell her, taking down two more attackers.
“My smart mouth has gotten me out of worse situations than this,” she retorts. “Have I ever told you about that time in Rome when I talked my way out of?—”
“Focus!” I shout as more muzzle flashes light up the darkness outside.
But there’s nowhere to go.
They’ve got the exits covered, and we’re trapped in an ever-shrinking defensive circle.
Sofia spots something I miss—movement through the back window.
Her shot shatters glass and drops another attacker before he can get a clear angle on us.
“That’s their sniper!” she calls out. “He was covering their advance!”
