"Can anyone tell me, the three stages of money laundering?"
Around half the room raised their hands, including John. She wondered what the odds were when the man up front selected John to answer the question.
"The three stages of money laundering, are placement, layering, and integration."
"Good, good. Placement, layering, and integration. Can anyone tell me what these things all mean?"
Kristen looked at the back of the heads of the men in front of her. They had barely spoken, yet she hated to think of anything bad happening to them. To think that they worked with John yet had no idea what was going on in his head. As the man went into detail about fraud, she considered whether she would be strong enough to tackle John to the floor. If she could just hold him down long enough for Piper to grab the gun, then this entire room of people would leave with their lives.
Piper was also trying to make eye contact with her, but John shot them both a glare. He was on guard now, and his hand hovered over his hip, where he stashed the gun. Now he was sat down, she noticed what she suspected was ammunition bulging in his pocket and she wondered how much he had on him. Worst-case scenario, how many people could he actually kill?
"Any questions anyone?"
"Yeah, I have a question." John stood up.
"Go on."
"Where do you get off?"
"Excuse me?" The man boomed over the microphone. The audience were all looking their way, and her face burned with awkward embarrassment and fear.
This was it. They both knew that gun was coming out. Kristen hurled her full weight at him, knocking him sideways off his chair. She leaped from her seat and jumped on top of him, holding his hands down to the ground. Piper rushed from her seat, feeling around for his gun. One of his hands slipped from Kristen's grasp and his elbow hit Piper right in the eye and she covered her face with her hands.
"What is going on here?" the man in front shouted, getting ready to walk off stage to intervene.
Scott pulled Kristen off of him. "What are you doing?" he yelled, holding her arms back. You Ohio lot are crazy.
"Let me go," she screamed. "He's got a gun." As soon as she said the word gun, screams came from the audience and the sound of panicked movement filled her ears. Scott had let her go, and she tried to stop John from getting the gun, but it was too late, and in one second flat, he had it pointed in their direction, eliciting more screams. People pushed at the fire exit door, but it would not budge.
"The fire exit is out-of-order people. Come on, I'm not an idiot," he shouted over the crowd, barely audible above the commotion. Despite the distance, John managed to take out the presenter in one clean shot, and as blood exploded from his head, he dropped to the floor. The panic escalated, and everyone hit the deck.
Chapter Forty One
The familiar sound of ringing was louder than ever, and Martin wondered if he was still alive. How could he be? He felt disorientated, but no more in pain than he was earlier. He knew he was alive when bile rose up in his throat and he vomited on the floor. Convinced he couldn't breathe, he started coughing and spluttering. A hand came down on his shoulder. "We're here. It's okay."
In his mind, it was Piper talking to him through the ringing. "I'm dizzy."
Isabella let out a high-pitched banshee wail. Her call of death cut through him as if she was screaming for both of them. The horror of everything was encapsulated in that one sound. Maybe she had seen him and that was why she was screaming. Maybe he was torn to shreds. Maybe he was a pile of body parts scattered on the floor.
"Martin. Get up!" she yelled. "You have to get up." She pulled him up by his shirt and he leaned against her. He looked down at his arms. Sure, there were bits of metal sticking out of him like porcupine spikes, but they were still attached. He wriggled his legs and leaned his neck to one side.
"I'm okay?"
"Yes. You're going to be okay." She was laughing now whilst tears still streamed down. "I'm free. We're free. We're alive." The laughing grew hysterical as she looked over to the door. Martin swiveled around on the floor to face the exit and retched. Connor lay slumped against the door. Never in his life had Martin seen that much blood. He couldn't make out any of Connor's features. It looked like his right arm was hanging by a thread and there was a huge gaping wound in his gut. Martin looked away when he realized part of Connor's intestines were poking out. He couldn't be here.
They needed to get out. Isabella stepped over Connor's body and into the hallway, and as Martin followed suit, a hand grabbed his leg. "Fuck," he yelled, as Connor grasped at his calf muscle. How could he still be alive? He looked like a zombie rising from the grave. Martin got down on his knees in the pool of blood that spread out around Connor's body. It was slick on his hands and soaking into his jeans. Connor clutched his stomach, crying out in agony, trying to keep everything in place, and Martin pulled his hand away and watched the blood gush out.
"Help. Please," he whispered hoarsely. Martin could see his life fading right before his eyes, and he liked it.
"Go to hell," Martin said as he got up and went back to see Aadesh. He had no doubt that he was gone, but he didn't want to leave him there alone. Isabella must have run off, so it was
