Page 198 of Dirty Pleasures

The first bullet buried itself in my man’s right arm.

He shot my way, almost getting me in the neck.

Kaz’s back left me.

Scared, I screamed, “Kaz?!”

He shot at someone. “I am fine.”

Thank God.

Satisfied, I was shooting again and so were they.

Bullets whizzed past us, embedding themselves into the cracked tile wall.

Chips of porcelain flew like deadly confetti.

I fired again and again, each shot bringing down another opponent.

Behind me, Kaz was performing his own violent ballet. I could feel every powerful recoil of his weapon and hear the grunts that escaped with each exertion.

With my men down, I glanced over my shoulder.

Kaz’s once crisp black suit was now splattered in a grotesque palette of red and grey matter.

Rage bubbled up inside me, a hot poison that ignited my nerves.

No fucking more men!

I turned back, baring my teeth like a cornered animal. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I shook it off.

Six men entered with these green ghoulish masks leering as if they were assured victory.

MOTHERFUCKER!

I fired at the one in front.

It was a swift shot to the gut. He fell, doubling over in pain.

I tried to shoot at the second.

Both guns clicked.

Not this again!

The bathroom became a blur of motion as I engaged the attackers.

Kaz must have had the same situation.

He passed me like a force of nature, his movements a brutal ballet of violence. He slammed one attacker’s head into a mirror, shattering it into a spider web of cracks, then used the jagged edge to fend off another.

I need something.

I frantically looked around as a man aimed at me.

Come on.

I grabbed a heavy, broken piece of pipe from the floor, swinging it with all my might.