The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Sixty-Seven

As a third missile strikes, Chris and Charlie launch out of the house and into the night.

The dark swallows them whole, like a yawning mouth filled with sharp teeth. I stand near the front entrance, a Glock clutched in each hand. A few extra clips weigh down my pockets and I stowed a pair of knives in the insides of my combat boots.

Michael and I watch them until they disappear, keeping weathered eyes on the horizon. Blue flickers alive in my gaze, carving the harsh lines of the rocks, bushes and trees, separating them from the living humans attacking us. When the third missile finally hits, it breaks apart like glass shattering in a million directions.

It bounces off of the house, lodging itself into the grass and shredding the flourishing landscaping surrounding my home. Rage scorches through me. It's a boiling furnace of fury, burning its way through my veins. The blue, a sure sign of wonder, bleeds to a haunting crimson.

I want blood for this.

Whoever they are—they die slowly.

Chris and Charlie move along the trees with calm and efficiency. They kill everyone they encounter. Though I'd feel better if they carried guns, they chose blades.

Unlike guns, knives never run out of ammo. And even if you use a silencer with subsonic ammunition, there's still a slight pop from the gun firing. If anyone is too close, they'll catch it and come running.

We're unsure of who is coming for us or what they're capable of, but I know one thing for sure: they had no idea where we were until Jason Kokoa and his partner showed their faces. I want to scream to the heavens, but it'll solve nothing. For now, our best option is to neutralize the threat and make the difficult decision to make a stand or run.

I, for one, don't want to run.

If they want to come after me, so be it. We'll reduce them to ashes as many times as we need to prove a point. Charlie, Chris and Michael might not feel the same, but I can't change how they feel or how they'll react when I refuse to leave this place behind.

With Michael at my back, I move into the front garden with my guns raised. And like hungry wolves, the intruders descend. They carry automatic weapons slung across their backs, aiming primarily for Michael.

Their orders are to bring me in alive and unharmed. Too bad for them, I won't avoid harming them nor will I go quietly. Instead, I raise my guns and count the number of headshots I can get before I run out of ammo.

When the bullets run out and the knives are lodged into some men, I'm forced to return to the house and grab a pair of katanas I keep on display. The next hour falls under the stain of red and a haze of bloodlust I can't shake.

There are eight dead men strewn across my yards in various degrees of destruction. And while I should be upset about their deaths and the blood seeping through my clothing, I'm more upset about the missiles they sent to my house that bounced off like a bat to a pinata. Eventually, the stupid thing exploded and singed my tulips.

My fucking tulips!

Blood steadily drips from the ends of my katanas. I wait in the center of the front garden, glaring toward the towering turrets of the surrounding walls. Chris' broad frame kneels along the edge, glaring over the side at me.

He's pissed. The well of emotion washes over me like a fiery wave of torment. Slowly, as I glare back, his head tilts.

He told me to stay inside, but I didn't. He told Michael to remain at my side, but he couldn't. The redhead grunts far to my left, finishing the remaining dozen idiots audacious enough to flood my land.