She closed one eye.
The scene locked into place, still, able to be aimed at.
She tried again to lift the left arm, wishing she could have its support. But it refused to budge.
One-handed then.
She put the first man in her sights. Took a deep breath…
Bam!He fell forward, dead before he hit the ground, unable to break his fall. His face hit the pavement with a sick sound.
Bam!The second staggered, clutched at his arm, twisted toward her, lifting his own gun.Bam!
Then it was just Larsen, his hair a pale halo in the sunlight, as he turned to stare at her, uncomprehending. He was screaming.
Ava had been walking forward as she shot; a handful of feet separated them.
She emptied the rest of the clip in his face.
All of it over, all three of them dead, in less than five seconds.
Her daddy would have been so proud of her aim.
She realized it hadn’t been Larsen screaming, but her, a high, thin, animal screeching. It was what had baffled Larsen, given her that element of surprise.
She closed her mouth and the sound shut off like a valve had been closed. She couldn’t catch a deep breath, and she needed one badly. Her chest ached.
“Mercy,” she whispered.
She went to him, hitting her knees on the asphalt beside him. “Baby.” She pressed her hand to his chest, his throat. “Mercy. Merc.Felix.”
Blood was soaking through his white shirt in two places. His skin, already pale from the fever, was a shocking white, his lips and eyelids drained of all color. He lay on his back, arms flung wide, his left leg pinned beneath the bike.
She found a pulse, but not much of one, and the rise and fall of his chest was shallow.
“Felix,” she said again, helplessly.
Then she heard the approach of an engine.
**
Aidan was clambering out of the van before it came to a full stop, his gun drawn. The white van, parked at a slant in the middle of the road, had stopped his heart from a hundred feet back. He jogged around the front of it now, Tango scrambling to follow, afraid of what he’d find on the other side of it.
He came to a halt when he saw the muzzle of the Glock aimed at his heart. And then he saw who was on the other side of it.
His sister was on her knees beside the van, Mercy sprawled lifeless before her. She leaned over him, her posture protective, the light in her eyes wild and feral. She was snarling at him, her teeth bared. And her finger was inside the trigger guard.
Three dead men lay scattered. Mercy may have been dead too, for all he knew.
“Shit,” Tango breathed.
Aidan lowered his gun, lifting his free hand palm-up in a nonthreatening gesture. “Ava.” He forced his voice to be calm. “Hey, it’s me. It’s me, hon. Put the gun down.”
She blinked. She sat back. Her left arm hung at an unnatural angle, the shoulder seeming too high. Her jacket was scuffed and torn, helmet lopsided and cracked. “Aidan,” she said, without any recognition.
He eased a step closer. “Yeah. Ava, it’s me. It’s Aidan. And Tango.” He gestured to his best friend. “We’re here. Put the gun down, okay?”
She swallowed. “I had to put the other clip in,” she said, woodenly. “It was hard, with one hand, but I did it when I heard you coming. I used all the other ammo.”
