Page 160 of Himbo Hitman
“Luther!” I roar, sending a chair into the wall. “Get the fuck out here!”
He doesn’t get the fuck out here, and that only makes me madder.
How dare he? How dare he cower away in his office, hiding behind bodies and aliases and his friendly barman persona.
How dare he make me like him and then treat me as disposable as everyone else has.
And how very fucking dare he take away that one symbol of strength I had left.
I make it to the hall, but before I can start down there, his office door cracks open, and a shot is sent my way. I throw myself into the wall, but it’s wide anyway, not that it makes a difference. I feel super-fucking-nova, and a bullet could go right through me, and I doubt I’d feel it.
I send a shot back, then—fuck it.
I throw myself into the hallway and run as fast as I can.
Another shot.
This time close enough I think for a second it hit me, but the pain doesn’t come.
The only sounds to break up my heavy breathing are the thump of my sneakers and my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
The hand with the gun reappears, and before they can get a shot away, I take aim and give Judy a loving squeeze.
A scream—not mine—quickly follows my shot, and the gundrops to the floor. I snatch it up, kick the door open, then send a hard kick to Danvers’s face for good measure.
“You motherfucker!” Danvers screams, holding his hand, but my attention has already left him, and I throw both guns up Luther’s way. His arm is bandaged; there’s a man with a med kit cowering at his side and Arlie—the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen—unharmed and free, standing at Luther’s side.
“You’re okay!” I yelp.
Arlie and Luther exchange a look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you … he …” I use the guns to gesture toward Luther. “He’s the bad guy. He’s Carson Alexander.”
Arlie lifts her gun.
And points it atme. “I really wish you didn’t say that, Perry.”
My jaw drops. “W-what? Are you … working with him?”
“Did you really think he’d give me his business card if I wasn’t? You were never supposed to see it.”
My heart is hammering even madder than it was before. None of this is adding up in a way that I like.
“Who else knows?” Luther asks.
Well, that question sounds like a fast way to throw the others under the bus. “No one. Just me. I worked it out, and I came straight here.” I tighten my grip on the gun, trying not to let my hand tremble.
“You’re lying.” Luther tilts his head toward Arlie. “Don’t you think?”
“One hundred percent.” Arlie steps closer. “We both know you won’t shoot either of us, so why don’t you put that gun down before you hurt yourself?”
I’m tempted to aim for her instead, but I hold steady, equal parts not wanting to startle her and give her a reason to shoot me and wanting to keep my aim on Luther in case shedoesshoot me and I can take him down with me.
“Why don’t we all put our weapons down,” I suggest, taking a step back. “Talk it out like grown-ups. I’m sure we can make some kind of deal.”
“Or you can tell us who else knows my identity, and there’s aslight chance we won’t kill you.” Luther sounds totally reasonable, except for the fact we both know he’ll definitely kill me.
Stress sweat slips down between my shoulder blades and rolls along my spine. My body has reached fight or flight, and I want to say fight is winning out, but it’s a mission to keep every roaring cell in place.
