Page 121 of Darcy
Miguel brings the glock down hard at Emma’s temple, and I take a step forward before I can stop myself.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch.”
Emma tumbles forward, cradling her skull, and Miguel follows after her. I’m so concerned for her that I don’t even notice that the move has put the two of them squarely over the top of the gerb until Darcy mutters in my ear.
“Finally. Get ready to grab her and run.”
The slight whoosh of ignition is all the warning we get before every single gerb on the stage lights up at once.
Miguel rears back as he gets a face full of flames, and his goons panic as the stage starts to rapidly fill with fire and dry ice.
A drone drops from the ceiling, dropping a small canister to our left, followed by another, and another before it disappears back into the rafters. The resulting whine, followed by a loud flash and an ear-splitting bang, sends what remains of Miguel’s forces cursing and yelling. There are six in all, and they explode one by one, sending cartel members ducking and diving to try to avoid the effects.
We’re far enough away that we’re not blinded, and we have our earpieces to thank for not being deafened, but security has no such protection.
Unlike me, Slate isn’t frozen in place in awe at Darcy’s handiwork. He rushes forward, snatching Emma up and carrying her back to our group as Arlo frantically tries to extinguish the flames crawling up her skirt.
“This way,” Prophet shouts, already jumping down into the arena where a path has opened up.
Arlo gives up on battling the fire and rips the skirt from Emma’s body as Slate carries her past the two of us. I hesitate as Miguel staggers up, pressing his hand to the charred mess that is his face. The pain has distracted him, and he’s dropped his gun.
Without pause, I stride up to him, kick the gun away and put all my strength into a second kick to his face.
“Rot in hell,” I spit at him, before turning.
“Dodger, get your pretty ass out of my hot zone!”Darcy yells in my ear.
“You better be waiting for me outside, baby girl,” I mutter back—knowing she can’t hear me as I flee into the thick white smoke after the others.
I barely make it to the emergency exit before the huge boom rocks the building. The lights flicker, the walls tremble. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was an earthquake.
Shit. “DARCY!” I yell, turning, only for an arm around my abdomen to pull me back.
I turn, half expecting it to be Prophet, but the rest of the band is in the same position as I am. The police are here, and they’re currently trying to get us clear of the trembling building.
The officer holding me—a kid with wide fearful eyes—looks completely out of his depth as he tries to talk sense at me. “Sir, the building is unstable! You have to get clear.”
“My girlfriend’s inside!” I yell back, still struggling.
Another boom, louder and more terrifying than the first.
“Get him out of there!”
Things start to blur as multiple hands reach out and yank me clear. I can’t take my eyes off the door, even as I’m pulled out into the carpark. Darcy. We’ve got to find Darcy.
“Someone’s got to go in there,” Prophet argues from behind me. “There are still people inside.”
“Sir, right now, we need to—”
But whatever the officer is going to say is cut off as, with a cloud of smoke and a deafening thunderclap of noise, the arena explodes.
The blast is so powerful that all of us are blown off our feet. Heat singes my skin and every hair on my body stands on end as adrenaline courses through my nervous system.
The rush of air that passes over my head is so powerful that it sets off car alarms and shatters windows. Someone grabs my collar and yanks me away, but I keep struggling.
Darcy.
No.
