When one of the bouncers starts leading Lily to the elevator, I nudge my knee into the table, spilling the round of drinks.
“Dude!” The frat boy darts to his feet, liquid coating the table and dripping over the edge into his lap. Keeping my eyes glued to the elevator doors, my chest begins to pound. It’s not stopping.
They’re taking her to Bare Flesh.
I slip my lighter from my pocket, ignoring the angry guys telling me I have to buy another round, I ignite the flame, and set the table on fire.
“Shit! Fire!” a woman dancing on the stage yells. Screams fill the air as I flip the table over and march toward the stairs.
Catching a bouncer approaching me from the left in my peripheral, I swipe two beer bottles from a table and crack them together, shattering the bases, leaving me with two jagged edges. Ronaldo and a big motherfucker look down through the window. Ronaldo starts hollering, waving his arms around. A second later, the big cunt comes out the door toward the stairs.
Swerving around toppled-over chairs, I launch myself at the bouncer coming from the left. With quick movements, I avoid a blow he swings at me and jab one of the bottles into his armpit.
Stab, stab.
When he falls forward, confused, I jam the second bottle into his neck and maneuver under the staircase, grabbing the ankles of the beast coming down them through the gap. His heavy momentum causes him to fall hard. A gun clatters down with him, sliding beneath a table. Shouting and screaming drown out the soft music as people scatter like rats.
Jumping over the bouncer bleeding out with the bottle in his jugular, I duck beneath the table to get the gun, but someone pulls on my foot, dragging me from beneath the table. Rearing my other leg back, I ram it forward into his face. Blood pours from a cut on his brow. He staggers backwards, giving me time to grab a chair and get to my feet. I smash him with it once, twice. The wood splinters, coming away in my hands—three, four—until I’m pelting him with just a leg. The bastard is strong. Cracking the leg against his temple dazes him, and he wobbles on his feet.
I hit him again.
Five, six.
His skull is an odd shape. Blood gushes from his nose, lips, and ears. Wheezing and mumbling, he falls, cracking his face on the raised dancefloor.
I launch for the gun as two more bouncers rush through the club, pulling their own weapons and shooting. A bullet embeds in the table, making me flinch.
Close one.
A shrill alarm blares through the room, and water bursts from the ceiling like rain.
Wrapping my palm around the gun handle, I wait for footsteps to stall then pop out and shoot, hitting one right in the forehead and the other in the shoulder. “Shit,” he barks, trying to lift his arm to aim at me, but the bullet prevents his movement.
Walking toward him, water soaking me to the core, I blast two to his chest, dropping him instantly. Sprinklers begin to tame the flames from getting higher. Smoke fills the room. A rush of people try to flee. Glancing up at the office, I see Ronaldo banging his fist against the elevator door. The elevator has a trigger to stop working when the alarm goes off. Too dangerous. Unlucky for Ronaldo.
Taking the steps up two at a time, I barge into his office. The runt races around his desk, almost slipping in the water puddling on the floor. He holds his hands up in surrender. The arrogant little shit doesn’t even have a weapon. He thought he would be safe up here with his little army of giants. Pathetic.
“Kelly isn’t here,” he grumbles.
“Where is Lily?” I growl, stalking him.
“She’s safe as long as I am.” Banging comes from the elevator, and I shift around the desk, grabbing Ronaldo by the lapel of his jacket with my free hand.
“Sit the fuck down.” I shove him into his seat and aim the gun at the elevator doors.
“Do you know who I am?” the weasel cries out.
“A piece of shit?” I sneer. “Is there no other way out of here?” I ask, scanning the room for an exit.
“No. The elevator and stairs are the only way in and out.”
The water suddenly shuts off, and I shake my head to clear my eyes.
“You’re both going to pay for this. My family will butcher you.”
“Shut up.” More banging and metal groaning.
The doors crack open a slither, then fingers poke through, pushing it wider. My heart soars.