Page 79 of Killaney Blood
"Hey boss," one of my men says and I turn around.
There, laying against the wall, is Jay, my lead trainer, the one who called me. His throat's been cut ear to ear, eyes fixed in permanent shock. His phone lies beside his outstretched hand.
"What the fuck is?—"
Before I can finish a flash from the rooftop catches my eye.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Gunfire erupts from above. The man beside me jerks, blood spraying on me as he falls against me.
"GET DOWN!" I shout, dragging the bleeding man behind a dumpster.
Glass shatters around us as flaming bottles crash down on both sides of the alley. Molotov cocktails ignite instantly. Flamessnake up the brick walls, trash bins ignite, creating a wall of fire, smoke, and chaos.
From the shadows, screaming masked men run in from both ends of the alley, carrying guns, knives, and bats.
"IT'S A FUCKING TRAP! TAKE COVER!" I yell, squeezing off three rounds toward the closest attacker. One hit finds him in the chest, tumbling him to the ground mid-stride.
Shane dives left, crouching behind a car. He's returning fire until I watch a bullet rip through his shoulder. He curses but keeps his gun up, switching to his left hand.
"We're fucking surrounded!" he shouts over the gunfire.
I scan for an exit from this hell, but both ends are blocked, and they're on the rooftop. There's no way around it; we're pinned down.
One of my younger guys, Mikey, has frozen completely, his gun shaking in his hands. I get up and run to him, grabbing him by his jacket and shoving him behind a burning trash can.
"Get your shit together or you're dead!" I yell in his face. "And so are we!"
He nods, terror in his eyes, but finally raises his weapon.
I pivot around and all I hear are screams. Gunfire. The sound of flesh hitting pavement. My men firing back, but we're outnumbered.
A Molotov hits the wall above me, glass raining down in burning shards. I duck, rolling out just as another attacker swings at me with a crowbar.
I shoot him once in the leg and he falls to his knee, and fire two more times in his chest. He shakes and falls backwards.
I scramble to my feet and more shots rain down and I jump behind the trash can next to Mikey again.
I look up and see another man running at us. I fire once, and I feel a sudden huge blow to my back. I try to turn, but I'm too late. A figure jumped from the fire escape, slamming into me full-force.
We crash to the ground, my gun sliding out of reach across the pavement. The attacker is huge, at least two-fifty, and knows how to fight. He lands a solid punch to my ribs that knocks the wind from my lungs.
I counter with an elbow to his throat, creating space to land a right hook to his jaw.
We roll around, fists flying. His fist connects with my jaw. I headbutt him. Blood spurts from his nose.
He pulls a pistol from his jacket and I grab his wrist and slam it against the pavement trying to get him to let go.
He doesn't.
So I seize his wrist with both hands, twisting violently until I hear the satisfying crack of bones. He howls; the gun drops.
In one fluid motion, he pulls a knife with his good hand. The blade shines off the fire as we grapple. I get my hand around his wrist, but sweat and blood make my grip slip.
