It brings on a fresh round of shooting, and bullets fly hard and heavy. I duck and cringe against Daniel, my fingers going to his waistband for comfort. It’s like if I’m holding on to him, I’m safer.
“Little more to the left, sweetheart. Though I have to say, your timing is terrible when it comes to foreplay.”
Oh, come on. Like I’d blow him in a gunfight. “My timing’s the only thing that’s saving you from getting a fist in the dick right now. Exactly what purpose did throwing your shoe serve?”
“It tells me we’ve still got shooters at the back of the building. Though I don’t think they’re sniping anymore.” He grunts. “Means they’re moving up. So what about you?”
I release his belt and fumble for my gun. “What about me?”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
Oh, are we still on that? I’d forgotten. Absently, I raise my gun and scan the room. I want to help if bad guys surge us. “The Thing, John Carpenter version, 1982.”
“That’s a weird-ass favorite.”
“It’s brilliant. Or would you have rather I’d said The Princess Diaries because I’m a girl?” I want to roll my eyes at him. “You’re such a cliché, you know that? Your favorite color is camo, and you have a dozen sniper berets to match all the black turtlenecks in your closet.”
He snorts and glances over at my trembling gun. I’m aiming it at the walls, waiting for a shadow to pass through the sunbeams. “Trying to remember your shooting lessons?”
“Now’s a great time, don’t you think?”
“Jesus Hermione Christ. Just don’t shoot me in my goddamn balls, okay? I need those for the ladies.”
A dozen irritated retorts spring from my lips, but I cut them off. Instead, I raise the gun, aim it, pull the trigger, and nothing happens.
“Safety,” he warns me, peering around the refrigerator.
Right. I fumble with the gun, my fingers weirdly shaky. I figure out the safety, unlock it, and raise the gun again. This time, it goes off when I pull on the trigger, and my entire hand vibrates from the recoil.
There’s no answering shot.
Daniel cocks his head and waits. He pulls off his other shoe and points at the far end of the room. “Shoot in that direction. I’m going to throw my other shoe in a moment and see if we get a response from either side.”
I look at the far end of the room. There’s a high window, and in the distance, I can see slums. What if I shoot and hit a passerby? “Can’t I shoot at the ceiling?”
“Yeah, because it looks so sturdy,” Daniel says sarcastically. “The perfect thing to end a gunfight is the ceiling collapsing on top of you.”
“All right, all right,” I mutter. When he waves a hand for me to hurry it up, I shoot at the far wall. Daniel listens and a moment later tosses his other shoe at the door.
There’s nothing but silence. It’s so quiet I can practically hear the dead girl bleeding on the ground a short distance away.
“Sounds like they’re gone,” he tells me, but he doesn’t move a muscle, so I don’t, either. We listen to the eerie silence and hear nothing. Daniel looks over at me then nods at the open warehouse floor. “Either that, or they’re trying to flank us. You stay here, and I’ll check things out.”
“No!”
“It’s not a debate.”
“I’m coming with you—”
“No, you’re not,” Daniel says, glaring at me. “It’s not safe. Now stay here or I’m going to tear you a new fucking asshole when I get back, understand?”
I return his glare, equally furious. I watch as he slides around the side of the refrigerator and then slinks his way to the side of the building. He’s entirely hidden in shadow, and if I blinked, I’d lose him entirely.
A low tremble starts through my body. I wonder if it’s a trick. If he’s going to turn and walk away and leave me behind for good. If he’s ditching me, like everyone else has. A knot of anxiety locks my throat.
Fuck this. I’m going with him. I come out of cover and run after him.
The sigh of irritation he sends in my direction goes right over my head. I’m not being left behind ever again.
I watch him flatten his body and move along the wall, gun cocked and ready to shoot. Then, I follow his lead, moving to the other side of the door so we’re both on a side, ready to shoot if anyone shoots back.
“So what’s The Thing about?” he asks me casually. His gaze isn’t on me, though. He’s constantly scanning our surroundings, and I wonder if he’s asking me to distract me.
“It’s about Kurt Russell being a badass.” I keep my answer short. I’m nervous, and my voice sounds too loud in the silence. It’s making me anxious. “Doing what badasses do.”