Page 89 of Himbo Hitman
Margot.
I choke on my next breath, brain short-circuiting.
All I can focus on isno, no, no, no this isn’t happening, and wild theories jump out at me like maybe they have her voice recorded or some shit.
“Yeah, listen to your sister,” the man says. “Get out of here. Her and her girlfriend would make pretty corpses.”
The thought of that rolls my stomach. “What do you want?”
“Where’s your mark? He’s here, isn’t he?”
“Definehere,” I try weakly. “Exactly.”
“Don’t fucking test me.”
My eyes shutter closed for a second. I thought I was scared in Luther’s office, but it’s nothing on this. My vision is fucking all over the place, and when the elevator doors try to close again, I only just stop them in time.
“Oh,” I say, like I’ve caught on, but I’m not at all selling it. “St. Clare? That guy. By my guess, he’s probably a long, long way away by now.”
“That’s not good news for you.”
I risk my fucking life by leaning out a little to see what’s going on.
My eyes immediately find Margot and Elle. Elle’s face is bleeding, Margot is snarling like a wild animal, and both of them have their hands pulled tight behind them. I know that feeling. One man has his gun pointed at the two of them, while the other stands behind the desk, gun on Walter.
“We’re not going to shoot you,” the guy behind the desk says. It takes me a second to recognize him.
“Danvers?” My voice breaks with betrayal. “I thought we were friends.”
“We’refriendly. Which is why I don’t want to kill you or your sister. I just need to know where he is.”
Maybe I’m too trusting, but I swallow thickly, grip my gun tight, and step into clear view. The doors try to closea-fucking-gain, but I wave my leg between them until they reopen.
The guy I don’t recognize lifts his gun my way. But he doesn’t shoot, so that’s a positive.
“Let them both go and I’ll help you,” I say.
“Yeah, it doesn’t work like that.” Danvers leaves Walter and moves closer. His gun isn’t pointing at anyone, but he’s holding it in a way that makes it clear he’s ready if he needs it.
These guys know what they’re doing.
But I’ve always found knowing what you’re doing to be overrated.
I don’t think, just shoot. I’m not aiming for anyone or anything—just want to give them a bit of a scare—and while my first bullet skims Danvers’s leg, the second hits the unknown guy’s foot.
I’d be sorry about that if it wasn’t the very thing that sends his bullet intended for me wide. The guy cries out and goes to shoot me again, but my third bullet makes them both duck.
Another one sent my way has me diving back behind theelevator doors, and I’m freaking out about how to get to Margot and Elle when Danvers shouts, “Go after them!”
“I’ve been shot in the fucking foot!”
I send another shot back through the lobby and chance a glimpse at what’s going on. Walter, Margot, and Elle have thankfully disappeared, the rando guy is sitting on the ground, and?—
Fuck.
Danvers is running my way.
I jab at the close-doors button over and over and over. I’m gripping my gun tight, hoping I don’t have to use it because I already feel bad enough about getting the other guy, but as Danvers draws closer and the stupid elevator refuses to listen, the awareness is setting in. I’m going to have to shoot him. Hopefully just enough to get him to stop chasing me and not enough to kill him, but how do I guarantee that? How do I?—
