Page 119 of Darcy
I glance down at my shoulder, and the dark stain growing rapidly across the sunshine yellow of my hoodie.
Damn. This was one of my favourites.
As it is, the writing, which once saidNot a hot mess, just a spicy disasteris getting hard to read. Shoulder isn’t too bad. He likely only missed major arteries by sheer luck because I was fumbling with my phone. It’s my left arm, which means I can still shoot. I’ve got until I lose fifteen percent of my blood volume before I become impaired. Forty percent until death.
Shit, I have to staunch the bleeding, then I have to move.
Squeeeal.Dodger’s name flashes up on my phone, and I tap open the message before I can stop myself.
[HzD]D0dgeVip3r
What’s happening? Talk to us.
D4rk4ngel
Get everyone out.
This complication means I’m not going to make it to that yacht in time. Which means Miguel has to die here.
Ripping my hoodie off hurts like a bitch. The second it’s out of the way, I press my hand to my woundhard. With the other, I rummage in my rucksack, grimacing as pain shoots down my arm. I have basic first aid stuff, but not much, so I pack the wound as best I can and wrap it with a bandage. It’s not perfect, and it won’t last, but it’s what I’ve got.
While I work, I set my phone to show footage of the band on stage. Dodger has stopped the show, and I watch as he directs the fans to leave as quickly as possible.
Good. If they block the exits, the chaos will make it harder for Miguel to get away.
Bandage done, I strap as many weapons to my body as I can and gingerly edge my way out into the corridor. Miguel should be just around the corner.
Another hail of gunfire stops me, and I duck back into the room, returning fire blindly.
“Kill her!” Miguel cries.He’s right there. “She murdered my brothers!”
I fire again, cursing my shoulder as it burns. Fuck. I don’t have time for this.
Grabbing a grenade from my belt, I chuck it down the corridor. I get a brief moment of satisfaction from the cries of shocked men who didn’t expect me to bring explosives to a gunfight before it detonates with a deafening boom that shakes the walls.
The second the immediate danger is over, I sprint away. Another hail of gunfire follows me, but their aim is off, thanks to the smoke.
I need to regroup. I have the tracer on Miguel, but I work best with a plan, and right now, all of my ideas have fallen through. This isn’t the place for a showdown with a crazed drug lord. I don’t have my fireproof clothes, I’m injured, and I have no exit strategy.
But I have no choice.
I swipe between apps, bringing up Miguel’s location… Looks like he’s headed for…
Wardrobe?
Thirty-Nine
Dodger
She’s not answering her phone.
Slate and Arlo are still on stage, directing what’s left of the crowd away from the building using their mics. After the blast which rocked the arena from below, the audience didn’t need much convincing of the bomb scare we made up. Even the road crew is emptying out, and security… is fucking absent.
Probably because they were all hired by Miguel, which means they’re busy hunting for Darcy.
“I think they’re all gone,” Prophet announces, bouncing his drumsticks against his thigh, restlessly.
“Time to go after our girl,” Slate growls, and I couldn’t agree more.
