“You can shoot me, but it won’t matter. You’re going to jail this time. I sent the police everything you’d thought you’d hidden.” The air was heavy, and it burned through her nose and deep into her lungs. She ducked and ran, and she heard the gun go off. So, so loud. And then she felt a white-hot pain in her upper arm, the impact almost throwing her off-balance. The pain in her arm was fire—a burning hot stone.
She turned to look at him; he was chasing her, but he slipped in her vomit. A piercing noise suddenly split the air: the fire alarm. She could still see him, and he was standing up now. Lungs straining, she ran for Braithe, who was still cuffed to the table leg. She yanked at the cuffs, swearing. The key had to still be on Ginger.
Braithe was limp, and Rainy felt for her pulse as Taured got to his feet. She didn’t have the keys for the door to the hotel, and without it she was trapped here with him. She could head toward the range and around to the server’s area where the bathroom was, lock them in until the fire department came, but depending on how many bullets he had…
Braithe groaned, opening her eyes. She saw the smoke, saw Taured and seemed to pull on the last of her strength. “Get the key,” she said, shoving weakly at Rainy.
“Take shallow breaths and stay low,” she said in Braithe’s ear. She stood up as he lumbered toward her. He was holding his arm, his clothes checkered with her vomit. He was hurt and his eyes looked strange. Coupled with the drugs, it was enough to slow him down. Maybe.
She charged for him, yelling, and he lifted the gun. Rainy dove right. The bullet hit the wall with the windows, four feet above Braithe’s head. His aim was way off. She needed him to follow her, to get him away from Braithe. When help came, it would come through those doors, and they’d see Braithe first. She picked up a bottle of water Ginger left on the table and threw it at Taured’s head. He didn’t lift the gun this time, but he followed her instead. The smoke was bad, her lungs exhausted, struggling with the lack of air. She ran for the source of the smoke, back toward her steaks.
She passed through it, choking. She could hear him behind her, ducking through the kitchen and into the dining room; her hip banged against the corner of something hard and she cried out. Taured lunged for her—he was closer than she thought. There was less smoke here. None of the tables had arrived for the new restaurant, and the dining room stood bare, exposing her to Taured.
She ran, so many parts of her throbbing she couldn’t pinpoint the pain. The lobby…the host stand. The door that led to the hotel was bolted.
She turned, expecting to hear more shots.
Taured was in the dining room, but he wasn’t holding the gun. He had one of Ginger’s hammers in his hand.
“No more bullets?” Rainy asked. “Come on, then,” she said.
He came for her, eyes bloodshot, lips slack. She sidestepped him and then turned around to watch as he swayed on his feet. She’d mushed both of the pills and held them on her tongue, not daring to swallow until she spat them into her wine. But even now, she felt dizzy from the smoke and from whatever drugs had made it into her system. She was not, however, as dizzy as Taured. Running past him, back through the server’s area, back to the grill, she waited.
He came. He was disoriented enough to stumble as he made his way around the corner. Instinctively, he reached his hand out to steady himself, grabbing the red-hot grill. His scream made her leap backward. Holding his hand in front of his face, he tried to study the wound, but there was too much smoke.
If they weren’t going to die from each other they’d die from this.
While he was still preoccupied with his hand, she launched her weight into him, knocking him sideways. He twisted, landing stomach-down on the grill. It didn’t take much—that’s what she’d think later. Maybe it was the drug she’d given him or maybe it was the smoke, but he went down and stayed down. Using the wall as leverage behind her, she pushed her boots on his ass and held him there as he screamed. As he tried to lift himself off the grill, he burned his hand, too, and he flailed helplessly. There was a different smell this time—burning flesh.
“Summer! Help me!”
“I’m not your fucking Summer.”
His body spasmed. She could hear the sizzling of his flesh between the whooshes of the fire alarm. He was screaming, so high in pitch it matched the rest of the chaos. He was roasting, this was his hell. She didn’t want help to come yet—this wasn’t finished—but the sound of shouting filled her ears somewhere beyond the door. She closed her eyes. She heard her name being called. By whom? Braithe? It wasn’t being called, it was being screamed—everyone was screaming. It was Rainy they were calling—Rainy, not Summer. Rainy… Rainy… The name she’d chosen to outsmart her trauma. Taured had stopped moving. He’d just…stopped. When? She was so tired. She dropped to the floor.