15
Mercy
My head bangedagainst the car window. I slapped my hand to my temple at the sudden ache, but there was no chance to do more than that. Doors were flying open on the three cars that’d surrounded us, armed men spilling out.
They had to be the Storm’s people. It was only a matter of seconds before they started shooting. There was no way for us to drive away from them when they’d boxed us in like this.
My gaze darted to Rowan, confirming he was okay other than the fear paling his face, and then to the buildings beyond the sidewalk. A scruffy brick structure stood on the other side of a paved parking area patchy with weeds. It was our closest option for shelter.
The second I spotted it, I shoved the car door open. Rowan unsnapped his seatbelt and clambered after me. We bolted for the building without a word, both understanding the situation, keeping our heads low.
Someone yelled, and footsteps stomped behind us. We veered left and right as bullets whizzed through the air around us. Bits of gravel dug into my bare feet, and I almost missed the heels I’d kicked off. But all that mattered was reaching the shelter of the building in time.
As Rowan kicked the rickety door open, another bang pierced the night, and he flinched. The bullet had sliced across his upper arm, carving a channel in the fabric of his suit and the skin beneath. Gritting his teeth, he pushed me onward into the dark, dusty space.
It was one of the Bend’s many abandoned warehouses, mostly one huge room smelling of old plywood and grease. The hulking outlines of various pieces of mechanical equipment showed in the faint streams of city light that drifted in through the high, grimy windows amid scattered wooden shipping crates, some stacked on top of each other, most of them yawning open. Whatever they’d delivered was long gone.
Rowan heaved the nearest crate in front of the door, ducking to avoid another barrage of bullets. The door’s wood was already splintering—blocking it wasn’t going to keep our attackers out for long. I groped around for anything to defend myself with and realized I’d left my purse with my shoes on the floor of the car. The pretty little gun Anthea had given me was way too far out of reach.
Rowan wasn’t armed either, but he was creative. He snatched up a metal rod that was lying on the ground and wielded it like a sword, testing its weight. His expression had gone taut with tension. Blood was soaking down the sleeve of his suit from where the bullet had grazed his arm.
I grabbed his hand, ignoring the stinging in the soles of my feet. “Come on. Maybe there’s a back door.” The windows were too high to easily reach, and who knew what the drop on the other side would be like. My parkour skills might be up to it, but Rowan didn’t have the same training.
As we darted farther into the building, the door exploded with a hail of bullets, bits of wood flying everywhere. We dove behind a couple of the crates. I spun around and noticed a vicious-looking steel hook dangling from a chain overhead.
If I could get that swinging, I could smash a whole bunch of skulls. I just needed to get to it.
Rowan was tapping out a message on his phone. He shoved it back into his pocket, his grip tight on the metal bar. Our enemies were fanning out through the building, shouting to each other as they searched for us.
“We’re too far from the mansion,” Rowan said under his breath. “I don’t think anyone will be able to get to us in time.”
“Then we’ll just have to deal with these assholes ourselves,” I said, my heart thumping. I could do this. The machine looming next to the crate should mostly block me from view—and bullets.
I dashed over to the machine and scrambled onto a crate partly wedged behind it. The hook was just within reach of my grasping fingers. I spotted a lever I could use to adjust its height on the wall just a few feet away.
But I also spotted a few of the men coming up on Rowan’s hiding spot. If only I’d had my fucking gun. Grimacing at myself, I leapt up to grab the hook, meaning to whip myself right into them and kick them all square in the face.
At the same moment, Rowan charged out from behind the crate. He must have seen the guys coming and figured he’d do better with the element of surprise.
And maybe he was right. He caught one guy in the side of the head with a smack of the bar that must have shattered the man’s skull from the crunching sound that followed. Rowan whirled and clocked another guy in the gut. I launched myself at them, bracing myself for a flying kick—
And several more men hurtled toward us, bullets exploding from their guns.
Rowan tried to jerk himself out of range, but he didn’t have enough time. His body spasmed as if he’d been hit. His legs buckled. He fell to the floor, blood blooming around a wound on his upper chest.
No!The silent protest echoed up my throat. I flung myself onto the edge of the crate just above him, meaning to jump down and grab a gun from one of the fallen men, to try to stop the bleeding while I shot at the pricks who’d ambushed us. But the Storm’s force was too overwhelming. I was only just starting my spring when a bullet tore into my flesh this time, ripping through the muscle of my thigh.
My leg shuddered, and the impact threw me backward. I tumbled onto my back in the bottom of the crate with a thud that sent pain spiking up my spine. Pain streaked through my body from the bullet wound like a bolt of lightning.
As I flailed to try to right myself, packing straw rustling around me, someone slammed the lid of the crate down, shutting out the thin light overhead.
I was alone. I was alone in the dark with the walls pressing in around me and blood smearing the floor beneath me.
A cry caught in my throat. My pulse rattled past my ears, and my lungs seized, my breath coming in ragged spurts. Panic rolled over me and sucked me under.
Not this. Not this again. I tried to focus on the reality around me, but too much of my brain was trapped in the pit in the Katz basement again, listening to my father walk away while I sobbed and scratched in vain.
Some distant part of my brain was aware of voices outside—a brief, hollered discussion about what to do with us, someone making a comment about “won’t even be bodies to find.” I had no idea what they were talking about. I groped in the darkness, my fingers scraping over the splintery boards so frantically the skin split. My breaths were becoming more choked by the second. My head spun with the lack of oxygen.