I locked onto Charlie’s head. A beam of white light trained at my chest. I glanced to the side for a split second.
The reinforcements had me in their sights. I turned and fired, keeping them at bay.
Charlie opened fire down the long stretch of aisle, pushing me back to the cover of the shelves. I waited a moment, leaned out from the aisle, then returned fire. I grazed the outside of the Charlie’s arm that wielded the gun. He lowered the piece and palmed the wound.
The militant group retreated out of the store, taking Jackal with them. Charlie nodded at the end of the aisle, then pointed a stern finger at me as his men shielded his body with theirs.
He left the confines of the store, leaving me alone with the remainder of his goons.
The gun-mounted lights swept the battered shop. I killed the light on the rifle, and faded into the darkness of the store as I waited for the armed men to come get me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SCARFACE
I lost sight of Jackal and Charlie within the chaos and meld of men that took him from the store. The truck pulled away, but the other vehicle remained.
The armed men funneled down the aisles, searching for me. I glanced toward the rear of the shop. My eyes adjusted to the low light, allowing me to see a bit better. I spotted what looked to be an opening in the back of the store. A door, maybe.
A flashlight dangled from a hook attached to the pegboard of the shelf next to me. I ripped it from the hook, then dropped back behind a rack of clothing. I flung the flashlight across the store. It hit with a dense thud.
The armed militants paused, turned, then changed course, heading for the diversion.
I drifted back and worked my way through the dimness to the dark opening. My body weaved through the maze of displays and other items that cluttered the floor. My arm nudged a stack of boxes, knocking them over. They smashed and clattered down on top of each other.
“He’s heading toward the rear of the store,” a muffled voice said aloud.
The lights trained in my direction like lasers, cutting through the blackness with ease. I ran hard and fast, plowing through any items that stood in my way.
My feet tangled. I lost my balance and fell to the floor.
Their feet pounded the tile floor. I hurried to my feet and slipped through a narrow opening between two display cases that ran along the back wall. My hip caught the sharp corner of one of the cases. I stumbled behind the glass display and fell to the ground.
The inbound militants opened fire, hammering the back wall and glass case. Drywall tore apart. Glass shattered. Tiny shards of glass rained down on me. I covered my head.
The gunfire ebbed. I sat up, got to my feet, and returned fire. The militants scattered like roaches. My back hit the side of the doorframe.
I felt to the side with my free hand and pushed. The door moved, swinging inward. I slid through the doorway, emptying the magazine.
Shadowy silhouettes emerged through the darkness–lights trained in my direction. I pushed through the swinging door into the stock room of the shop. They opened fire once more.
I fumbled my way through the blinding darkness. Round after round punched through the door. The heavy footfalls stalking me through the shop closed in.
The light from the rifle washed over the emergency exit. I ran past empty boxes and other merchandise stocked in the backroom, heading for the only way out of the building.
The swinging door flung open, slamming against the wall. I stayed the course, running hard. Beams of light shone over both of my shoulders. The loud hammering of gunfire resumed.
I closed in on the door and pushed my way through it. I stumbled outside, bullets slipping past my head and shoulders. I slammed the door shut, then ran the length of the building in the direction of the jeep.
My feet dragged through the gathering ash on the ground. I fought to keep my balance as pain stabbed through my hip from hitting the corner of the display case.
The door to the shop opened. I took cover on the far side of a dumpster that sat against the back of the building. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
I slung the sling attached to the rifle over my shoulder and toed the edge of the dumpster. The shifting wind caught the top of my hood, pulling it back from my head. Ash pelted my face.
I squinted, then pulled the goggles down over my eyes. My hand slipped inside the pocket of the coat and retrieved the dagger. The discomfort in my hip grew, causing me to shift my weight between my legs.
I peered around the waste container and spotted one of the armed gunmen walking toward me. He swept the back of the building and continued on past the dumpster. I leaned back and stooped down, staying out of sight.
The fronts of his black boots came into view. He slowed, nearing the corner of the dumpster. The dagger rested between my fingers, the business end pointed in his direction.
He crept closer.
My heart punched my chest, and a spike of adrenaline surged through my veins.
He paused a few feet from me, turned around, then faced the direction he’d come from with his rifle trained ahead. I stood, stepped out from the side of the dumpster, then grabbed him from behind.
The dagger pressed to the side of his neck. He thrashed in my arms for a split second, then stopped.
“Where’d they take my friend?” I demanded. “Tell me now or you’re going to die right here.”
He
