Page 39 of Wild Temple
I crept forward, stepping deeper into the living room.
A bullet snapped past me, rocketing across the room. It blasted into the concrete wall, scattering chips of debris.
A 9mm with a suppressor threaded to the barrel had emerged from the shadows of the kitchen.
I took aim and returned fire, blasting off several shots. The pistol hammered against my palm, and muzzleflash flickered. Smoke wafted from the barrel. My bullets drilled through the thin wall around the doorframe, pelting the shooter in the kitchen.
The assailant crumpled, and the pistol fell away.
I advanced into the kitchen, keeping my weapon aimed at the scumbag.
Rafi took the opportunity to spring to his feet and dart out the front door.
Unfortunately for him, he was met with more gunfire.
Bullets pelted his chest and his abdomen. He twitched and convulsed with each hit, then fell back andflopped onto the daybed, blood oozing from gaping wounds.
With the assailant in the kitchen dead or dying, I spun around and took aim at the front door as I shuffled toward the kitchen, then took cover behind the arm of a couch in the living room.
The air was still and silent. The scent of gunpowder and fresh blood drifted about.
A footstep on the veranda creaked the wooden planks.
My heart thumped, and adrenaline coursed through my veins.
I waited with my gun aimed at the window near the door, hoping the scumbag would be stupid enough to move in front of it.
A long moment of silence filled the night.
Crickets chirped.
After a moment, I crept back into the kitchen, moved around the fallen thug, taking his pistol, then slipped out a side door.
I made my way around the side of the house, trying to flank the dirtbag on the veranda. By the time I got there, he was either gone or inside the house.
I glanced down the steps that led to the road but didn't see anyone. I held up at the corner of the house, keeping an eye on both the front porch and the kitchen door I’d just stepped out of.
Dogs barked in the distance.
The gunshots had certainly woken the neighborhood. But this wasn't the kind of place where you investigated gunshots in the middle of the night. Neighbors would leave well enough alone, I suspected.
I crept onto the veranda and tried to avoid the creaky wooden planks. I crouched below the front window and moved to the doorframe. I held up, my back flat against the concrete. I took a deep breath. In a flash, I angled my pistol back into the house.
My barrel swept across the living room.
It was clear.
A twig snapped underfoot, just around the corner. The scumbag had circled around through the house and followed my footsteps.
I swung the barrel of my pistol at the corner, stepped into the house, and took cover behind the door frame. I felt the presence of the scumbag hovering just around the side of the house.
I dug into my pocket for a coin, then crouched low. I flicked the coin across the veranda. It bounced, making a racket against the planks.
The scumbag angled his pistol around the corner, aiming for the sound.
My finger pulled the trigger, blasting off two shots in his direction.
The bullets shredded his hand, and the pistol fell away.
