There was no time to ponder his failure and instead, Boar scooted into the bushes and reached for his gun, ready to take out the enemy from afar, one by one.
His hand met leathery fingers and when he turned, frozen, his gaze locked with two brown eyes deeply set in the chimp’s face. The thing made an ungodly screech and pulled the gun out of Boar’s grip.
Out of breath, he tried to chase the animal, but it was already climbing up the enclosure, swinging the firearm in one hand, as if to mock him. More shots were his call to action. His gaze settled on a long tool resembling a pitchfork. He grabbed it and burst out of his hideout with a roar. He didn’t choose his target and just shoved the makeshift weapon at the first back in sight. Sharp prongs went straight in, without him having to apply that much force.
The goon looked back, his lips dripping blood, but Boar was already beyond rationality, and he kicked the guy’s thighs to slide him off before diving into the chaotic mess of a fight. His adversaries moved in slow motion. He didn’t know how many of them remained, but bodies were already piling, and he needed to add his contribution to the next boat ride across the river Styx.
So instead of stabbing at the men, he swung the long tool so it clashed with the watermelons those bastards had for heads.
Drake was down, the whites of his eyes so very bright against the blood sticking to his face in streaks. It was hard to say if any of it was his, but Boar wasn’t taking any chances.
“To the car. Go to the fucking car, you moron!”
When Drake struggled to get up, Boar grabbed him under the arms and pulled back. The whole fucking trip had been insanity from the start, and he should have known it instead of following Drake. He’d assumed Drake’s instinct had told him the assassination was possible, but now Boar could see plainly that the only light Drake had seen at the end of the tunnel was revenge.
“No! I’m not going until he’s dead!” Drake screamed, clutching at Boar’s arm as if Boar was the enemy.
Something swished in the air, right next to Boar’s face, and seconds later, Drake went limp. It took Boar far too long to spot the dart in Drake’s leg.
His brain felt as if it had evaporated, and for the blink of an eye, he was lost.
“We’ll leave,” he said, turning to face Apollo with his hands tight around the wooden handle. It was only then that he saw how many goons were still standing. The only reason their bullets hadn’t turned him into a sieve yet was because their boss ordered them not to.
Apollo’s face was pleasant, and somehow there wasn’t even a drop of blood on his white shirt. He looked like the perfect gentleman. “I don’t think so,” he said softly.
“Drop your guns if you don’t want your boss dead!” Clover yelled in a steady voice, appearing out of nowhere with his small hands trembling on a gun.
Boar wanted to howl. He’d tried to get at least one of them to safety, for Clover to flee and tell the others what happened. “Listen, I’m sure—”
Apollo gestured with his hand, and a dart hit Clover’s neck. The boy shot, but Apollo was already ducking, ready for the bullet. Clover hit the ground with a dull thud, and tears welled up in Boar’s eyes as panic settled in.
“Please! I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement!” he said in a choked up voice.
Apollo rose and brushed some dirt off his suit. “You gave my sister no such chance, and you will pay for that.”
Sister?
Boar stared back at him with a frown, but the next dart was meant for him, and as the world began to go dark, he hit the ground. With the last of his consciousness, he reached for Clover’s fingers. So pale and pretty, so beloved.
A few inches too far.
Chapter 12 – Clover
Clover dropped into icy water.
No. He was on the floor, in a puddle, and just as he arched off the laminate, another bucketful splashed down his stiff body, soaking into his clothes and hair. It was as if a fist was rapidly squeezing his lungs and throwing his body into shock.
He whimpered when someone kicked his ass. “Strip.”
He looked up at the two towers of muscle dressed in black. The men were bald and clean shaven. If it wasn’t for their noses—one large, the other small and crooked—they could have been twins.
“W-where am I?” he uttered, but only got more water poured on him in answer.
“Not gonna repeat myself, fresh meat.”
Where was he? Was this still the zoo?
As the freezing water took hold of his body, making it shudder, Clover took in the two dividers keeping him contained, and a showerhead above. There were similar stalls behind the two men, but how had he gotten there, and how long had he been asleep? It was impossible to tell, since there was no window, no clock in sight.