Shotgun

13. Line of Fire

"Crap, crap, crap. I'll be damned if I die in this musty club." I cursed, trying to keep my heartbeat from shooting through my chest.

In spite of how much fear ran through me, in spite of the voice in my head telling me to run, run, run, I knew I had to keep my emotions at bay and remain strategic. This wasn't the first shoot out I've encountered, not with the neighborhood I grew up in.

I couldn't use my sight in the now pitch black club, so I dropped to the ground and began crawling.

"Dario." I yelled. "Dario, are you here?" As I frantically searched for any sign of him, I couldn't stop my voice from croaking.

The last thing I saw were the men aiming their guns at us. I knew for a fact they didn't hit me, but I had no idea of Dario's predicament.

The thought of the bullets hitting him, the thought of Dario laying right besides me injured or dead– god, it made my body shake, it made me want to—

"Bella! For god's sake, where the hell are you?" His deep annoyingly rigid voice rang clearly to the left of me. Near the same area he stood when the lights shut off.

I crawled further in that direction, still hearing moving feet and screams all around me.

"I'm right here, can you hear me?" I asked.

I felt a hand touch my head. It fell down to my shoulder, and firmly grabbed my hand, lifting me off of the floor. I knew this hand very well by now. Its rough ridges, its warmth and its softness.

"Let's get out of here. Keep your hand in mine, don't you dare let go," he said.

He didn't need to say it, I was going to hold on for dear life no matter what. Where else would I go?

We knocked into quite a few people, front first, so I knew we were going the opposite direction of everyone else. The lack of lighting didn't affect Dario's ability to navigate his club. He moved like he always did, swiftly with a determined urgency.

We got to the door in the back, and the flickering overhead lights were actually a welcome this time. Finally I was able to see.

The door to the room we first went into opened wide and the guy with the shaggy blonde hair rushed out with a large duffle bag clutched to his chest.

He took one look at us and his face went white. He looked at us quickly approaching and looked back into the room, then bolted straight for the exit doors.

I wish I had opted for some sneakers instead of these heels.

Dario must've thought the same, because with a fuming red face he said, "I suggest you quickly slip off those heels because I'm running after that jackass."

I let the shoes fly out of my feet, leaving them long behind in the dingy hall, as we began to bolt for the same exit.

The cool dawn air whiffed against my face as we got outside and the world continued to spin all around.

I caught sight of the two men who shot up the club, rushing into their blue SUV. less smoothly behind them, was blondie, a duffle bag still held to his chest as if it were a pot of gold he'd just discovered. He got into the back of their car and the tires screeched as they attempted to quickly steer out of the parking lot.

Dario still had his gun in his other hand. He lifted it up and shot a few rounds, aiming for the tires. He was fast and his shots looked precise, but the men were faster with their wheel and before long, they were onto the main street.

"Let's go." Dario ran towards his car and I followed behind him as fast as I could.

I felt everything on my bare feet. The dirt on the ground, the puddles of water, the tiny rocks– but I didn't let it stop me. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and it shot through me with an unwavering power.