Then just before Persephone steps on the dock, I hear something.
It could be nothing. After all, we are outside now and all I heard was a very gentle rustle that came from the same general direction of the silent boat shed.
But something in me, some lizard-brained instinct, makes me freeze. I hiss at Persephone.
“Stop— “
But it’s too late. She turns to look back at me, stepping onto the dock, her face a question mark. At the same time, two hulking men in matching black hoodies and pants run out of the boathouse.
Fuck.
I drop the bags, pulling out my gun. The weight of the weapon feels heavy and cool and oh so right in my hand.
Persephone swings her gaze to the two men and lets out a fearful, excited yip. She tries to backpedal, her slight weight on the docks enough to make the old, slatted wood groan.
The two men seem a little surprised to see Persephone and I, but in two seconds flat, they lunge for her.
“No!” Persephone whispers, trying to dodge around them.
One of the men calls out. “Down here!”
I aim at him and my gun fires, neatly dropping him where he stands. He falls into the water with a messy splash, but I have already forgotten him.
Because the other man has his hands on Persephone, yanking her closer. I fire a haphazard round which misses him completely and he turns, pulling her up as a human shield.
“I got them!” he yells. “I got?— “
Persephone lashes out, struggling and biting his hand. The man falls silent, trying to keep her under control. He pulls out his gun and brings her to heel with it, but she doesn’t stop squirming.
Good lass.
I raise my weapon and run a few feet to the side, drawing a bead on him.
I fire again but the gun jams.
“Fuck!” I grit out, tossing the weapon aside. I pull a pair of brass knuckles and a switchblade from my pocket, picturing the backup guns in one of the duffel bags. I hear men come crashing down the ridge behind me, pinning me in from two sides.
It only takes me a split second to calculate that I can’t reach them in time. Instead, I lurch toward the dock, where the man is currently dragging Persephone backward toward the shadowed door.
“Get in here,” he growls.
Her only answer is to struggle against him more violently. I make it to the dock just as he backs her into the doorway.
If they disappear inside, what should I do? I need a gun, I realize.
Turning away from them, I swing my gaze wildly toward the men on shore. One black-clad man is much closer to me than the rest, his facial expression pure determination.
When I turn around and careen towards him, surprise flickers across his face. It only takes him a few seconds to raise his gun and fire at me.
Once.
Twice.
He’s a bad shot. But I lunge for his body, closing the gap between us in another fifteen seconds. I grab the gun with my left hand and force it up, then sling my arm around his body, stabbing him viciously and repeatedly in the lower back.
His breath seizes and I use that momentum to overpower him, pulling the gun away from him. He blinks, stunned, and starts to fall. I pull my knife blade free in a gory, blood drenched mess. Then I drop my knife in the sand and grab the extra ammo from his belt.
That’s the point at which the men in black uniforms clamber closer.
