Page 86 of Wicked Mafia Beast
"Sorry," I whisper to the pan and then I deadpan, "But not sorry."
I keep moving.
The hallway where the typewriters sit is empty, the narrow tables overturned, one of the machines smashed on the floor, keys scattered across the concrete like broken teeth.
My bare foot lands on a loose typewriter key and the sharp metal edge digs into my arch hard enough to make me hiss. The sight of the destroyed typewriter sends a spike of rage through my chest that burns hotter than the fear or the glass in my heel or the cold concrete numbing the soles of my feet.
These fuckers are destroying his home.
Heavy footfalls drag my attention over my shoulder.
A fourth man catches me in the hallway leading to the elevator. He's bigger than the others, his hands closing around my arm with a grip that grinds my bones together. I drop the skillet but I still have the gun and I shove the barrel against his thigh and pull the trigger. The shot tears through his leg and he releases me with a howl that bounces off the brick walls.
The gun clicks empty on my next squeeze.
“Oh, shit!”
Panic hits my bloodstream like ice water. My mouth goes bone dry and for one full second my brain whites out, no plan, no strategy, just the hollow click of an empty magazine and two of Brennan's men still moving through the building.
“Now what?” Then the journalist in me snaps back online and my eyes sweep the hallway, fast, cataloging everything within reach. A fire extinguisher mounted on the wall to my left. I lunge for it, rip it off the bracket, and grip the heavy metal cylinder in both hands. It’s not a gun, but fifteen pounds of pressurized steel swung hard enough will put a man on the floor and right now that's all I need.
I just have to be close enough.
If I survive this, I'm asking Kon for better weapons training. And maybe a bigger gun.
From above, through the ceiling, the crash of the rooftop access door being slammed open. The fight between Kon and Brennan has moved upward, their combined weight shaking the metal staircase, and then a sound reaches me that stops my heart.
The shattering of ceramic. The heavy thud of planters tipping over. The wet, fibrous snap of rose stems being crushed underfoot.
The garden. They're in the garden.
My body moves before my brain registers my legs moving. I grab a kitchen knife from the magnetic strip and I take the metal stairs two at a time, the cold metal grating biting into my already-cut feet, blood smearing on the steps behind me. The industrial elevator groans as I pass it.
Bullet casings ping off the metal stairs and chunks of brick and cement fly through the air. I keep my head down and my body tucked low.
The rooftop door hangs open and I fly through it, narrowly missing the bullet meant for my head.
“Shit, that was too fucking close.”
I take in my surroundings.
The dome is cracked, panels of heavy plastic hanging loose, and the October evening air rushes through the gaps and hits my sweat-soaked skin hard enough to raise goosebumps up both arms.
The amber light of sunset pours across a scene of devastation that makes my eyes burn. The smell reaches me before the full picture does, crushed roses and fresh soil and the copper tang of blood mixing into a scent that turns my stomach. Gravel digs into my bleeding feet as I push deeper into the garden and away from the doorway.
The rose trellis is toppled, the wooden frame splintered, climbing roses torn from their supports and trampled into the gravel.
Ceramic planters lie in shards, soil and roots and petals scattered across the rooftop in a dark, wet mess. The rosebushes I butchered during my pruning lesson, the ones Kon laughed about, the ones he called my "artistic interpretation," are crushed flat under boot prints.
Motherfuckers will pay for this.
The one beautiful thing he allowed himself, torn apart by greed and violence.
I stop cold and turn on my heel when I hear gravel crunch.
My eyes swing to where Kon and Brennan circle each other between the wreckage on the far side of the roof.
Both men are bleeding. Kon has a cut above his right eye that streams blood down the side of his face, his knuckles are split to the bone, and his henley is torn across the chest, exposing bloody skin beneath.
