LEONARDO ANNISON
Heat. Pressure. Deafening noise.
Then—silence.
My ears rang. Smoke choked the air. Debris rained down around us.
Oliver groaned beneath me. I rolled off him, scanning for injuries. "Are you hit?"
He coughed, shaking his head. "Just pissed off."
Charles was already back on his feet, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. "We need to move. Now."
I hauled Oliver up.
The attackers were advancing, using the smoke as cover.
We had one shot.
"West side," I ordered.
Charles didn't argue.
We ran.
Oliver stayed close, his shoulder brushing mine as we descended. Every creak of the steps set my teeth on edge. Every shadow could be an ambush.
Then—voices below.
I signaled for a halt.
Two men stood at the bottom, blocking the exit.
Oliver's breath hitched.
I raised my gun—
A hand gripped my wrist.
Oliver shook his head. Then, before I could stop him, he whistled.
The men turned.
Charles and I fired in unison.
Both dropped.
