Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [245]
How do you get that close to a well-armed man? Answer—take off some clothes. I took off the T-shirt and the vest. It wouldn’t stop a knife, and the idea was that he wouldn’t get a shot off, right? Besides, I was trying for romance or at least lust. Kevlar just lacks that certain something.
I kept the bra. My nerves weren’t that good. Besides, if he demanded I take some clothes off, it left me something besides my pants. It was like playing strip poker. More clothes give you more to work with.
The shower went off. Shit. My time had just run out. My heart was suddenly in my throat. But I had to get in there, before he came out here. If he saw the body, it wasn’t rape I had to worry about.
I tucked the gun down the front of my pants, towels clutched to my chest and stomach, and opened the door. I closed the door with me leaning against it. Blade looked up. His dark skin was beaded with water, and Deuce had been right. Blade stripped real pretty. Under other circumstances, it would have been a pleasure to see him. Now, I was so scared I was having trouble breathing.
He reached for the gun that had been propped against the tub. His knife sheaths were draped across the back towel rack like you’d hang a wash rag, to keep them dry but handy. He stopped in mid-motion, fingers trailing on the gun.
“What do you want?”
“Deuce said to bring you towels.” I let the fear slide into my voice, making it breathy.
“How’d he get you to strip down?”
I looked down, an embarrassed head bob. “He gave me a choice of him or you.”
Blade laughed, and it was a purely masculine sound. “He show his deuce?”
I nodded. I didn’t have to pretend to be embarrassed. I just didn’t try and hide it.
“Take off the bra.” He straightened up, hand going farther away from the big gun, but still too close to the knives and his handgun on the towel rack.
I slid out of the straps, and pressed the towels to my chest, reached back and undid the snaps. I lifted the towels away from my body just enough to pull the bra out and let it fall to the floor. I kept the towels tight against me, for modesty’s sake, and to hide the gun in my waistband.
He stepped out of the tub and started to take those three steps that would close the distance. I turned my body, sort of sideways, getting the gun out, still held behind the towels.
He was right in front of me, three steps away from all his weapons. He curled his fingers over the top of the towel and pushed them lower, exposing my breasts an inch at a time. He was less than ten inches away from me. His hand stroked the upper mound of my breast, and I fired. His body jerked, and I think he said, “Fuck.” I kept pulling the trigger until he collapsed to his knees, eyes rolled back. His stomach and lower chest were a red ruin. The towels were shredded, and covered in black powder stains. The shots had been muffled, but not silenced. I waited there in the small room, the shots seeming to echo in the walls. I waited for cries of alarm. Nothing.
I picked up my bra, but didn’t take time to put it on, before I opened the connecting door and listened. Silence. Great. I got dressed and took all the weapons. Blade’s handgun was a Heckler and Koch. Nice gun. I tucked it in the front of my pants where the Firestar would have normally gone. I put both the big guns over the same shoulder, and the knife sheaths I draped over the other shoulder. I brought the sub-gun around, clicked the safety off, and I was as ready as I was going to be.
The last time I’d seen Edward, he’d been on his knees. His two guards had been standing. If I was careful and the gun didn’t kick too much, I could take them out over Edward’s head. My plan was to spray the room.