Page 35 of Outlaw
I bolt across the open doorway, staying as low as I can squat.
“You okay?” I swallow, clutching my gun until my knuckles ache.
“Nothing I can’t walk off,” he answers with a groan.
“You sure?”
“I’m peachy. They got the wrong arm. I think it’s a flesh wound.”
“No more fucking around,” I grumble, and give my reinforcements the all clear to enter the compound. To get in on the action, I drop my sawed-off and revolver, and crack my neck. “Time to level the playing field, you twisted sons of bitches!”
I have four stun grenades in my pocket. One by one, I pull the pins, throw them various distances from the doorway where they disappeared somewhere inside the house, and give it a minute for the devices to do their jobs. Soon, the confusion and panic start inside. I take out the sawed off again and run inside kamikaze style. I make it blindly past a couple of hallways and grab hold of one of the cocksuckers. He tries to tackle me. Big fucking mistake. I’m so revved up it’s like he’s fighting me in slow motion. His punch is forced, causing him to stumble forward. Twisting to the side and using his own sloppy forward-motion, I avoid his punch, push his arm away and elbow the fool in the back of his head. That’s pretty much it for him. I instinctively grab him in a headlock, dragging him outside to a safer spot behind a metal water storage tank beside the building.
Tightening my hold on him, I get to the point.
“Where the fuck is Vasquez?”
