Page 11 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

As the world around him exploded in a barrage of bullets, Noah threw himself over Annabelle, praying the barrier would protect them. She coughed, but the noise was lost in the sound of battle and carnage. Dust filled the air. Debris flew. Noah jerked as a searing pain registered in his left calf muscle. He glanced back to see a rip in his jeans and blood on the denim, but there was no time to do anything about it. A stray bullet struck the toaster oven, propelling it off the counter and into his back. He grunted in pain, his ears ringing as shots boomed and echoed in the small room.

Then suddenly, silence.

With a grimace, Noah clambered to his heels and took aim at the entrance. Bullet holes peppered the wall and the door. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the dust from his mouth. The stench of gunpowder and destruction heavy in the air. Behind him, Annabelle coughed and gasped to breathe.

“Bitch is still alive.”

There was a thud.

No point in checking the monitors. They were in pieces, along with everything else in the room. His attention shot to where one of the men was attempting to kick his way through the compromised wall. Noah took aim and fired. A squeal came from inside the apartment.

“She shot me. The bitch shot me!”

“Shut the fuck up. She only got your foot.”

A figure passed in front of one of the larger holes but was gone before Noah could shoot.

“Hard to see through the dust, but looks like she’s holed up in the corner. Loco, kick the wall in. We’ll cover you.”

Noah ducked behind the barrier as more gunshots rang out. In the midst of the gunfire, a heavy thud hit the wall close to the corner where they hid. With his eyes scrunched against the dust-thickened air, he aimed at the spot directly above where someone was kicking a hole.

His bullet passed straight through the flimsy plaster.

A grunt. A thud. And the shooting stopped.

“Fucking bitch shot Loco!”

There was a scuffle on the other side of the door. “He’s dead! She fucking killed him.”

“What the hell’s going on up here?” a new voice shouted.

Great, the rest of the group had arrived.

Now there’d be seven men shooting at the panic room.

Noah reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, and his hand came away bloody.

Damn.

He glanced back at Annabelle, who was now wide awake and huddled in the corner, staring at him in terror and confusion. Tears traced through the dust on her cheeks.

“She’s in there,” the leader shouted. “Get something to break through the wall. We’ll cover you.”

Noah took a breath and steadied his gun. A few more shots, and he was out of ammo.

Where the hell were the cops?

Violet was running on fury by the time the shooting stopped. From her position in the alley, she’d seen flashes of gunfire through the windows on the top floor of the building. Noah was in there. Trapped. With eight guys firing at him.

And she was stuck outside, her hands tied by their new boss. Her previous boss, Callum, would never have told her not to shoot the bad guys. He’d have told hernotto get caught.

It wasn’t like there was anyone to see her shoot anyway. The streets were empty, and the cops were nowhere in sight. For all she knew, any help she could offer her partner was useless now. He might already be dead.

The world was painted in a wash of red.

She was a doer, not a waiter.

Her eyes bore holes into the cars in front of her.