The big guy then rolled out of his cover, exposing himself completely. He tricked one of them into dodging out of his own cover, then shot the man in the knee and throat as he screamed in pain. Olivia had to cover her mouth with her hand as she screamed, her hazel eyes widening as the man slouched to the side. As the life from his eyes faded, the last thing he saw was her staring back at him.
There was a flash of recognition in his gaze before it became completely dull.
The big guy was right by her side, gritting his teeth loudly enough for her to hear. He leaned to the right, and the odor of blood and gunpowder residue on him burned her nostrils.
"Stay down," he barked again, and Olivia had no intention of moving.
She did, however, feel strangely better with him right next to her. It wouldn't help them if they both died on the roof like the man in front of her.
"You have a chance," he said into his earset, his voice straining. "Fuck," he said, and then rolled out without another word.
Bullets whizzed around him, and Olivia saw one fly by so close to him that the fabric of his shirt ripped on his arm, revealing a thick red streak of blood on his bicep. He didn't stop moving, as if it were just a mosquito bite.
One of the attackers leaned out an inch too far and was hit between the eyes with a bullet, leaving a gaping wound that smoked as he collapsed onto the ground. It wasn't from the big guy, who was halfway up the outcropping, scaling it like a mountain climber trying to set a demented record. Olivia watched in awe as he descended from above on the last foe, bringing his heavy fist down like Thor's hammer on the guy's head.
They both fell to the ground, and the man with the angular features wasn't even twitching after a few well-aimed, unrelenting punches. He couldn't possibly pull it off. His face had been bloodied to a pulp. Olivia could only see a steady pool of blood forming around his skull.
"Come on," the big guy grumbled as he stood up.
He didn't even bother looking at his swollen arm. The only colors she saw that day seemed to be crimson and black.
Olivia shook her head, her gaze darting from one mangled body to the next before returning to the big guy. Her legs felt as if they were filled with lead, and she couldn't move a single step no matter how hard she tried. If the situation had been different, he would have run to her after giving her a stern look that would have had her melting like snow in the summer heat. His iron-like grip gripped her hand and drew her along, past that dreadful door that seemed to only let death in, and to the miscellaneous gear in the corner.
"We must act quickly. There will be more."
While he was talking, he was already putting her in a harness and checking the connections on the ropes that were tied down on the roof. His hands were moving at breakneck speed, and a tiny part of her brain couldn't help but notice how his cheeks strained as he concentrated, and the little dip that formed between his brows when he double-checked his work.
"I'm on my way down," he said quietly into his ears.
Olivia could hear a response on the other end of the line, but she couldn't figure out what it was. His wry grin told her that it was probably not meant for her ears in the first place.
"Get up on that ledge, honey," he said, smiling. "We're going to fly."
He hooked himself into his own harness as she wobbled up on the ledge, holding on with her hands and remaining on the balls of her feet. At the very least, she was wearing flats rather than pumps-small mercies.He hopped up next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be hanging out on the ledge of a building, ready to rappel down into possible danger. He gave her a cocky but delicious smile.
He hooked himself into his own harness as she wobbled up on the ledge, holding on with her hands and staying on the balls of her feet. At the very least, she was wearing flats rather than pumps, which was a small blessing. He hopped up next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be hanging out on the ledge of a building, ready to rappel down into potential danger. He smiled at her with a cocky grin that was as delicious as it was cocky.
"Who are you?" she wondered, struggling to find the right words.
"I'm the man who's about to turn you into a bird," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and hurling her off the ledge and into the darkness below as the stairwell door swung open again.
Her breath was right where it had been when she'd been running toward her home-the one place where she was supposed to be safe-right in her throat. Every manner of adrenaline and heat was pounding through her, blinding and deafening her while at the same time making her all the more keenly aware of her surroundings.
Libby's legs ached. Her hands shook like she was a drug addict going without a dose for too long. Her throat was dry and her lungs were screaming at her from the way she'd flown up the stairs. And now she was crouching behind an air vent, the constant, loud hum of the air rushing through it muffling everything else.
Why are you doing anything he tells you to? Maybe he's the fucking psycho who killed Jonah? Maybe those other guys are here to help...
At that instant, the door was blown open with a hail of gunfire.
She yelped and ducked lower, holding onto her head with both hands. Her fingers dug into the loose curls of her hair and she tasted that bitter taste of dread again in her mouth that she'd experienced when that big guy grabbed hold of her. He dragged her right off her doorstep, but from the corner of her eye she'd seen guys start piling out of there and none of them looked too happy to see her leave.
She was confused as hell, but that primal desire to live kicked in full force. The gunfire was so loud she had to imagine every cop car in the city would be heading there. Or would they? The South Side, late at night, shots heard... yeah, she'd be lucky if there was a patrol car coming to survey the apartment. And even then, what could they do against the arsenal that these guys were obviously packing?
Libby bit down on her lower lip to keep from sobbing. It was all too much. Finding Jonah dying and having him tell her that she needed to get out, that someone would come for her. How he pulled her face closer to his to whisper into her ear, pressing down hard on the back of her neck, so hard that it hurt. He wouldn't even tell her why she would have to run, all the while choking on his own blood from the deep puncture wound to his chest. Just that it was important that she did. He wouldn't let go of her until he drew his last breath and the last bit of life left him.
Then, coming to her apartment and finding a veritable army waiting to do to her what she could only assume was the same thing they'd done to Jonah. And now there was a firefight going on over her head.
There were too many open questions to even try and make sense of anything, and her mind raced to keep up. Her cream coat was spotted with blood, and she'd crouched her five-foot-eight form into as small of a ball as she could, peeking out from the side of the air vent. She could mostly see feet, ducking to the sides and finding a better vantage point to shoot at her nameless savior. As they backed up a bit more to put themselves out of the immediate line of fire, she could see that they were all in black, with harsh expressions and angular lines on their faces.
Like the kind of guys you could buy as a set to do your bidding. All almost interchangeable. The big guy, as she was referring to him in her head, wouldn't have a chance. One of the guys was carrying a damn assault rifle for heaven's sake.
I'm a God damn assistant! How'd I get involved in this?!
Panic frayed at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it down. She'd have time to lose her mind later.
Peeking out a bit more, she could see the occasional shot fired from the other side of the little outcrop, muzzle flashes blinding her in the otherwise solid darkness of the night. The shots echoed and reverberated through her, choking her with numb fear.
I hope he kills every last one of them.
It was then that the big guy rolled out of his cover, completely exposed. He tricked one of them into dodging out of his own cover and shot the man in the knee and then in the throat as he toppled forward, screaming in agony. Libby had to muffle her scream by clamping a hand over her mouth, her hazel eyes going wide as the man slouched to the side. The last thing he saw was her, staring back at him as the life went out of his eyes.
There was a spark of recognition in his gaze before it went completely dull.
The next thing she knew, the big guy was right by her side, gritting his teeth so loud she could hear it. He was favoring his right side and the smell of blood and gunpowder residue on him burned her nostrils.
"Stay down," he barked again, and Libby had no intention of moving.
She felt oddly better though, with him right there with her. Not that it would do them any good when they both ended up bleeding out on the roof like the guy in front of Libby.
"You got a shot," he said into his earset, strain obvious in his voice. "Fuck," he concluded, and then rolled out again without so much as a warning.
Bullets blazed around him and Libby could see one of them nipping by so close to him that the fabric of his shirt tore on his arm and a thick red streak of blood appeared on his bicep. He didn't lose a beat, but kept moving like it had been nothing more than a mosquito bite.
One of the assailants leaned out an inch too far and was awarded for it with a bullet right between the eyes, leaving a gaping wound that smoked as he collapsed onto the ground. It hadn't come from the big guy though, as he was halfway up the outcropping, scaling it like he was a mountain climber trying to break some sort of a demented record. In astonishment, Libby watched as he descended on the last enemy from above, bringing his heavy fist down on the guy's head like Thor's hammer.
They fell to the ground and within a few aimed, unrelenting punches, the man with the angular features wasn't even twitching anymore. How could he? His face was nothing more than a bloody pulp. All Libby could see was a steady pool of blood forming around what used to be his skull.
"Come on," the big guy called, getting up with a grunt.
He didn't spare a look at his arm, which was seeping blood. It seemed like all the colors she saw that day were crimson and black.
Liby stood up on shaky legs, looking from one mangled body to the next and then back at the big guy. Her legs suddenly felt like they were filled with lead and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to move a step. He gave her a stern look that would have had her melting like snow in the summer heat had the situation been any different, and then ran to her. His iron-like grip latched onto her hand and pulled her along, past that horrible door that seemed to only let death in, and to the assorted gear in the corner.
"We need to move fast. There will be more."
While he was talking, he was already putting her in a harness and checking the connections on the ropes that were tied down on the roof. His hands worked lightning fast and a tiny bit of her brain couldn't help but notice the way his cheeks strained as he concentrated and that little dip formed between his eyebrows when he checked over his handiwork.
"Coming down," he spoke into his earset.
Libby could hear a response on the other end of the line, but she had no idea what it was. The wry grin on his face told her that it was probably not meant for her ears to begin with.
"Get on the ledge, honey," he said with a grin, "we're going to fly."
He was hot as hell. And the fact that her mind had decided to focus on that irritated her to no end. Not the imminent danger, nor the fact that she'd seen four people die that day. No, she couldn't help but notice the hunky psycho commando and wonder what he looked like beneath all those black layers. Her croak of laughter was about as appropriate at a wedding reception as funeral music.
As she wobbled up on the ledge, holding onto it with her hands and staying on the balls of her feet, he hooked himself into his own harness. At the very least, she was wearing flats rather than pumps-small mercies. He hopped up next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be hanging out on a building's ledge, ready to rappel down into possible danger. He gave her a cocky smile that was as delicious as it was cocky.
"Who are you?" she asked, struggling to find the words to say.
"I'm the man who's about to make you grow wings," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and hurling both of them off the ledge and into the darkness below as the stairwell door swung open again.