Chapter 50: I’m here

Ray surged to his feet, snatching the Barrett from the table. "What the hell was that?"

"Alarm’s tripped." Theo glanced at the modified digital watch on his wrist and adjusted his glasses. "Someone’s forcing the ground-floor security door. The circuit just fired."

They charged into the street-facing command room.

Through the cracked floor-to-ceiling windows, the scene on the abandoned street below was enough to make blood boil.

Three heavily modified pickup trucks sat at the building’s main entrance. Sharpened rebar and barbed wire had been welded across them; thick steel plates mounted on the fronts rammed against the doors. More than twenty men surrounded the entrance, firing homemade shotguns and AK-47s in a wild, continuous barrage.

Most sickening of all was the bed of the second truck: three half-naked women chained in place. In the freezing cold, they wore only scraps of cloth, huddled and trembling. A thick-faced, heavyset man stood nearby, pants pulled down, urinating on one of them while roaring with laughter.

"Fuck."

Mitch braced his sniper rifle on the windowsill and worked the bolt with a sharp click. "Scavenger trash. These bastards keep people like livestock."

Jack shoved up his sleeves, smoothed the ammunition belt of the heavy machine gun, and growled, "Worse than animals."

Ray’s face went black, every trace of last night’s softness burned away as he snapped into full mercenary-commander mode.

"Mitch—take the high ground. Disable anyone on the trucks with heavy weapons first. Jack—hold the main entrance. Not even a fly gets through. Alex—blow the second-floor stairwell. Leave only the third-floor route open."

His orders came rapid and precise.

"Theo—take her to the ventilation shaft on the top floor."

He turned, chin jerking toward May. "Watch her. One hair out of place and I’ll take it out of you."

Theo adjusted his glasses, a faintly unhinged smile touching his lips. "With pleasure."

He seized May’s wrist and pulled her into a quick climb up to the equipment room on the fifth floor. It faced the rooftop; the ventilation ducts roared steadily. Gunfire from below had already become a continuous roar.

Mitch’s sniper rifle dropped one headshot after another. Screams of the attackers rose and fell.

May clung tightly to Theo’s arm, fingers locked around the sleeve of his white shirt. Her palms were slick with cold sweat; her heart hammered like a drum.

Theo looked down at the hand gripping him. He closed his own over it, enveloping her slender fingers completely. Then his long arm reached out and drew her straight against his chest.

His body heat seeped through the shirt, carrying a faint mix of disinfectant and blood.

"Scared?"

He bent close, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice soft as if coaxing a child.

May nodded, then shook her head. "A little."

Theo smiled.

With his free hand, he brushed the stray strands from her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. The rough calluses on his fingertips grazed her soft skin, sending a faint shiver through her.

He leaned closer still. Hot breath spilled against her ear, thick with obsessive intensity that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

"Don’t be afraid. Theo’s here."

He locked eyes with her. Behind the lenses, his pupils contracted, gleaming with cold light.

A soft ding sounded in her mind.

[Protective physical contact detected between host and target Theo. Crisis-affinity reward triggered. Dropped item: Ultra-strength silent handcuffs (one pair). Note: Maximum anti-escape rating. Best used at night~]

May’s eyelid twitched.

This damn system had perfect timing with its drops.

Before she could finish the mental complaint, a deafening explosion erupted from below. Gunfire thickened into a continuous crackle like firecrackers.

May pressed against the vent opening in the equipment room, listening hard.

The thick security door on the first floor blew open in a gaping hole. Smoke and dust billowed up the stairwell; the sharp stench of gunpowder raced through the ventilation ducts straight into her nose.

"Charge! Everything in this supermarket is free for whoever grabs it!"

The attackers’ howls rose from below, arrogant and dehumanizing.

Theo stood beside her and rolled his white shirt sleeves up twice, baring pale forearms. He pushed the gold-rimmed glasses higher on his nose.

"Time to work."

His tone was casual, as if commenting on the weather.

May leaned forward to look. A dozen men with homemade shotguns and AKs poured into the lobby, screaming as they charged the stairwell.

Then she saw Mitch.

The same short-tempered, buzz-cut man who usually flared at the slightest touch—who flushed to the roots of his neck when she ruffled his hair—now crouched behind cover at the corner. The rifle stock sat firm against his shoulder; his right eye was pressed to the scope. His breathing was steady and slow. The instant his finger squeezed the trigger, the lead attacker’s head burst like a watermelon.

"Four."

Mitch worked the bolt. A brass casing pinged across the floor. "Mitch’s marksmanship never slipped."

A cold smile twisted his mouth as he fired again.

"Five."

Blood and flesh sprayed through the stairwell. The attackers scrambled in panic, screaming.

A rapid series of short explosions followed from the stairwell.

Ace.

May rose on her toes and looked that way—the man whose smile was always as gentle as a spring breeze now lobbed one small object after another down the stairs. The candy-like spheres detonated on impact with surgical precision.

The three men in front were blown apart; dark-red arcs of blood painted the walls.

Ace stood in the smoke, the corner of his white shirt lifted by the blast wave. Those affectionate peach-blossom eyes curved as if he were admiring a masterpiece. He glanced toward May’s position, lifted his chin slightly, and mouthed the words—

"Don’t be afraid. I’m here."

May’s heart pounded—not from fear, but from a sharp rush of excitement.

Ray needed no introduction.

The same pure-hearted tyrant whose ears had burned red under her wandering hands the night before now slipped out a window, slid down exterior pipes to a side entrance on the ground floor, and came up behind the attackers. A combat knife flipped in his grip; the wet sound of blades opening throats was clean and final—one cut, one kill.

Pinned between two fronts, most of the attackers fell. The remaining seven or eight huddled in the corridor, homemade guns shaking so hard they could barely aim.