Page 80 of Agency
More shots, then, but not from him–impossible to be from him–and blood blossoms spread on his sweater. His grip weakened, and he collapsed down towards me as he lost his hold on the stair’s railing.
Both of us tumbled with bone-jarring force down the steps. Slamming into the hard edges, bouncing, and sliding, we fought as we rolled to the base of the stairs, my skeletal structure seemingly rearranging with every blow as Joergensen and I made our way to the bottom, shouts sounding from all around.
Finally, we came to a skidding stop at the base of the stairs, and I was jumping up in an adrenaline-fueled rage, teeth bared as I went to pounce. More shouts poured in from all sides, indiscernible but loud as I began kicking Joergensen, his neck already bent at an impossible angle and blood pooling beneath him.
“Hey, hey, hey! Jericho!”
Petite, but still surprisingly strong, hands grabbed hold of my shirt and tried to tear me away, but I kept kicking.
“Jericho!”
A man’s voice, and heavy feet coming down the stairs towards me.
“Knock it off, man!” Andrew, I thought.
“He’s dead! Stop, dude!” Morgan, I realized, even as Andrew slammed into me and tried to wrestle me back.
“Jericho, please! Enough!” Ambyr’s voice came, then, her smaller hands pulling at my shirt. “Jericho, he’s dead, okay? Okay?”
Gasping for breath, I tried to force myself back to normal. But there was a fire in my brain that wouldn’t go out. A hand tried to grab mine, and I yanked myself free of their grasp.
“Jericho,” Ambyr whispered, again trying to grab me, and this time managing to hold on. “Jericho, it’s okay. Fight’s over. We won.”
And then, I was looking down to her, to that angelic face, with its red halo. And to Andrew, who had me pinned against the wall.
“You okay?” Morgan asked, halfway down the stairs, and standing there seemingly unaware and unaffected by the fact that he was only in his birthday suit.
“Yeah,” I said, still breathing deep, still calming down. “Yeah. I think I’m okay, now.”
“Good,” Andrew said, still pressed against me, close enough that I could feel something digging into me.
“Andrew?” I asked, calm now, but still catching my breath.
“Yeah?”
“Is that your gun pressing into me, or are you just really happy I’m alive?”
Andrew stumbled back and away from me, a sheepish look on his face to go with his own complete nudity. He looked down to his full, raging hard-on. “Sorry,” he said, face red as the fall leaves outside as he waved to himself. “You know how I get when there’s a fight going on.”
“Uh-huh.” I looked back and forth between my two naked subordinates, then to Ambyr–who was uncuffed, completely dressed, and armed with Morgan’s weapon.
“So,” I began, “the guest room at the top of the stairs was completely empty. But Ambyr’s room had you two.”
“We’re just ignoring the dead mercenary on the floor, I take it?” Morgan asked.
“Considering I just got dry humped by Andrew?” I replied in a low growl. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re fucking ignoring Joergensen for right now.”
“What about the fact that I came back?” Ambyr asked. “Are we ignoring that, too?”
“We’ll discuss that in a moment. First, I need these two to put clothes on while I find my pants.”
“Right,” Morgan said with a nod, and a glance down his naked form. “Then what?”
“Then, you get to dig a six-foot hole out in the woods while I chew your ass off.”
“What about me?” Ambyr asked as I went to head back to my room.
I glanced back at her, and to the still-open front door beyond. I looked to Morgan’s pistol still clutched tightly in her hand, then back to her face.
