They weren’t the only ones moving.
Lila had crouched as soon as the Italian’s head exploded, and not because she was frightened. She grasped at an empty sheath before she remembered they’d taken her boot knife. The drop had been lucky, though, for she’d dodged a merc’s arms.
They closed around air.
She escaped purely by accident.
Lila pretended a weapon and swung, slashing toward his throat. It was a feint, just enough of a threat to make him wary, just enough for her to get close and snatch his gun.
A gun he had not drawn so that he would not destroy another prize.
Predictably, the merc dodged.
His burly arms closed around her.
Lila elbowed him in the neck, wiggled in his grasp, and grabbed his revolver. She fired at the man’s kneecap through his holster.
He shifted at the last instant, right before the crack of the pistol erupted at his waist.
The recoil shot up her arm, shaking her bones.
The man’s screams tore through the air as he fell, clutching at the space between his legs.
Now armed, Lila turned to the next merc, who rushed at her with outstretched arms. She knew she couldn’t aim in time. She knew she didn’t have the skills for hand-to-hand.
She knew she had to move.
Before she could do so, his body jerked, and half his skull erupted. He fell to the side, collapsing into a bloody mess on the gritty cement.
Maria didn’t bother watching him fall. She merely aimed at another scrambling merc, too greedy to go for a gun.
But these men were professionals. They quickly abandoned the idea of rushing Maria and Lila. All swarmed the table, having the same thought. Too much money breathed in the room, and they couldn’t risk destroying any of it.
They needed tranqs.
The others had also moved. Tristan, Dixon, Frank, Fry, and Dice had all lunged at the nearest mercs, fists punching, boots kicking, all scramblin
g to get to a weapon.
Lila left them to it, unwilling to risk a shot so close to her friends. Instead, she aimed her gun at the neck of the closest merc, just as she’d done in practice so many times before.
The blast kicked her arm, and she nearly lost hold of the gun.
Her target collapsed, gasping for air, clasping his hands around his neck to stem the tide. He paled and twisted, from both pain and the realization of his approaching death.
Did his regrets march before his eyes?
Lila watched the pool of crimson underneath him grow, wondering what a merc regretted about his life.
She knew what she regretted.
She’d killed him. She’d actually killed someone this time.
A hand gripped her leg. Her first target yanked at her ankle, attempting to topple her.
No second thoughts passed through her head. Turning her aim, she shot his neck, just as she’d been trained to do.
He fell, back-pedaling futilely in a second pool of crimson.