Broken Hands

134. Bleeding to death

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence.

Mandor jerked violently, his body convulsing before crumbling to the floor, a single hole smoking in the back of his skull. His ringed fingers twitched once, then stilled.

Grayson blinked, dazed. The weight of the gun was gone from his hands. The pressure against his temple, the suffocating presence of the man—gone.

Footsteps filled his ears, leisurely unhurried.

Perez strolled into view, lowering his gun with a lopsided grin. He let out a low whistle as he nudged Mandor's lifeless body with his boot.

"Damn. And here I was hoping for a longer monologue."

Grayson just stared. He felt lightheaded, detached, like he wasn't fully inside his body.

Perez crouched down, undoing the ropes around Grayson's wrists with quick efficiency. When the bindings fell away, Grayson swayed slightly, his balance slipping.

Perez caught him easily, steadying him with a firm grip. "Whoa there, kid. You look like hell."

Grayson swallowed, his throat dry. He barely registered the sting of fresh wounds, the dull throb in his ribs. His mind was still stuck on one thing.

"You killed Mandor?" His voice came out hoarse, almost disbelieving.

Perez laughed. A short, amused chuckle as he pulled Grayson upright obtaining a hiss. "One of them."

Grayson frowned.

Perez smirked. "Mandor's not one guy. He's three. Three different men, all using the same name. The real Mandor?" He gestured vaguely. "No one knows, but one thing for sure he doesn't get his hands dirty. Rarely seen. But some say all three look alike and act the same, they know what others know so it's hard to tell. How did anyone find out? Well it was a whole study and from an inside man."

Grayson exhaled sharply. His head was still spinning, his body still aching, but now there was nothing left, just an emptiness.

A new round of gunfire exploded in the hall outside.

Perez just smiled. Not even flinching. "Well, there goes our element of surprise." He turned to Grayson, pulling a second gun from his holster and flipping it in his hand before offering it. "Time to face the beat, you'll have fun trust me."

Grayson stared at the weapon.

Perez raised a brow. "You gonna take it, or do I have to carry you outta here too? I don't wanna get blood on my suit, it cost me a fortune."

Grayson let out a breath. Then, slowly, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around the grip.

Perez's grin widened.

He pulled out his own gun, cocking it with an easy flick of his wrist. "Let's go make some noise."

And with that, they stepped out. Gunfire roared through the hallway like a violent symphony of chaos.

Perez moved like a man who had done this too many times to count, his gun firing off sharp, precise shots. Bodies fell around him, his men fighting by his side, but the enemies kept coming, swarming like cockroaches. Then a wave of other men joined the fight, men even Perez was stunned to see, but they were on their side.

Grayson trailed behind, the gun in his grip feeling heavier than it should. His chest burned with every breath, his ribs screaming in protest. The world around him felt distant, like he was moving through a haze.

Then it happened.

A shadow moved too fast. A man lunged from the side, and before Perez could react, a knife buried itself deep into his side.