Chapter 174: Left behind
I shoved past someone as I ran and didn’t even bother looking back to see if they fell.
Lila kept pace beside me.
Naomi didn’t.
The sounds behind us swelled louder with every second—boots hammering concrete, people shouting over each other, radios screeching with static and half-finished orders.
I didn’t need to turn around to know they were gaining.
I shoved past another figure—
A soldier this time.
"MOVE IT!!" I screamed.
My shoulder slammed into his chest hard enough to spin him sideways.
—
The man hit the ground awkwardly, elbow scraping across concrete before he rolled onto his back with a grunt.
For a second, all he could do was stare.
Three figures disappearing into the crowd.
Fast.
Panicked.
Dangerous.
"What the fuck...?"
Before he could even stand properly, more people rushed past him from behind—armed men, soldiers, civilians yelling over each other.
One nearly stepped on his hand.
"Watch it—!"
Nobody listened.
The soldier scrambled for the radio clipped to his vest.
"We got a situation down at Mercer Block," he barked into it, breathing hard. "Requesting all available units in the area."
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"Uh...be careful. Some of them got guns."
—
By the time we hit the rooftop access, my lungs burned.
Cold air slammed into my face as I shoved the metal door open hard enough for it to bang against the wall.
The city stretched around us in uneven rooftops and dim floodlights.
Too many places to hide.
Too many places to get cornered.
I ran anyway.
Lila moved beside me smoothly despite the chaos, blonde hair snapping behind her as she kept pace.
Naomi’s footsteps sounded worse.
Sloppier.
She was falling behind.
I risked one glance over my shoulder.
Bad idea.
Figures were already pouring onto the rooftop behind us.
Some of Bill’s men. Looks of sheer determination on their faces.
One almost slipped trying to level his rifle while running.
"Ssshit," I hissed.
Gunshots cracked across the rooftops.
They were too high, though.
Too rushed.
Bullets sparked off concrete nowhere near us.
These people had numbers.
That was the dangerous part.
Not skill.
Not discipline.
Just bodies.
Too many to count on 10 fingers.
I knew Bill could shoot. Nobody would have the kind of respect they had for him if he didn’t.
...Probably Harry too. Maybe.
But neither of them were up here.
Not yet, at least.
One of the men chasing us clicked his gun once.
Then again.
Empty.
The idiot tried reloading while sprinting.
The magazine slipped from his hand immediately and skidded across the rooftop.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Maybe I really didn’t have much to worry about.
I jumped first.
The next rooftop came up fast beneath me as my shoes slammed against gravel and loose concrete.
I slid a little on landing but caught myself.
Lila landed cleaner beside me.
Naomi—
"FUCK!!"
Of fucking course.
I spun around fast enough to wrench something in my side.
Her body hung halfway off the ledge, fingers barely clinging to the concrete edge while her legs kicked over open air.
Thirty feet down minimum.
Maybe more.
"Shit! Naomi!!"
I sprinted back toward her.
Lila stopped too, but slower.
Reluctant.
Like every second spent helping Naomi physically hurt her.
Back on the first roof, the man finally grabbed his magazine and fumbled it toward the gun with shaking hands.
"Lila!" I shouted.
She looked at me.
Didn’t move.
Naomi’s fingers slipped slightly over the concrete, genuine panick contorting over her face as she looked to us frantically.
"Shit—...shit shit! IM FUCKING SLIPPING!!"
"LILA, HELP HER!!"
I screamed it this time.
Something dark flashed across her face.
Not anger.
Worse.
Jealousy.
Like to her, helping Naomi for even a split second was somehow equivalent to jumping in a fire.
The guy behind us was still struggling with the reload, muttering curses under his breath while trying to jam the magazine in properly.
I rushed past Lila and dropped beside Naomi myself, grabbing her wrist hard.
"Hold on!"
"Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—" Naomi kept muttering, breath frantic as her grip slipped slightly.
I hauled hard.
My shoulder screamed.
Lila finally grabbed Naomi’s other arm after a second of hesitation.
Together we dragged her back onto the roof.
Naomi collapsed flat against the concrete, breathing like she’d just outrun death itself.
Which she had.
Behind us—
"C’mon...c’mon..."
The guy finally got the magazine in.
I heard the click.
He raised the gun.
"MOVE!" I snapped.
We ran again just as another shot cracked behind us.
—
"Come on...stay still..."
The man slowed to one knee, trying to steady his aim despite how badly his chest heaved.
The rooftops ahead were empty now.
Just shadows.
The three figures had already disappeared behind another building.
He lowered the gun slowly.
"Fuck..."
The figures behind him had caught up after a moment of silence.
One of them looked at the man, before scoffing, scratching his eyebrow.
—
Cherie sat perfectly still.
That was the worst part.
Not the crying.
Not the blood.
The stillness.
People kept flooding into the quarters around her while she sat there on the edge of the couch with dried tears tight against her skin.
Voices overlapped endlessly.
"They couldn’t have gone far—"
"Check the roofs!"
"Lock the lower streets down!"
"Somebody get more ammo!"
In the middle of all of it—
Jackson kept coughing.
Wet.
Painful.
Every sound made her stomach twist harder.
Men crowded around him trying to stop the bleeding while Saul hovered nearby looking half insane.
Cherie couldn’t stop staring.
Her chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
She felt torn open right down the middle.
Adrian running.
Jackson bleeding.
Saul crying.
Naomi leaving.
Lila stabbing someone like it meant nothing.
Was staying behind the right choice?
Did she even have a right choice anymore?
Why did it feel like no matter what she picked, somebody ended up bleeding on the floor?
"And who the fuck might you be?"
The voice snapped through her thoughts violently.
A gun clicked.
Cherie looked up slowly.
A man stood over her with a pistol pointed straight at her face.
His expression was smug. His eyes seemed dead.
"Jeeeeesus Christ," he muttered. "You look like a fucking mess."
Her lips trembled.
"Wipe the fucking snot from your nose when I’m talking to you, yeah?"
She obeyed automatically.
That scared her more than the gun did.
Something twisted painfully in her chest afterward.
The man stared at her.
Long enough to make her skin crawl.
Like he was trying to decide what kind of insult suited her best.
"You’re unfamiliar," he said finally. "I don’t know you."
He glanced around.
"Does anybody know this chick?"
Nobody answered.
Not one person.
The room had gone strangely quiet around him.
Authority.
That was what this was.
The kind that made people shut up automatically.
"Look," he sighed, "we’re kinda in the middle of something here."
His eyes dragged down her body openly.
"You got nice tits and all, but right now you’re kinda pissing me the fuck off with that look on your face."
The gun pressed against her forehead.
Cold.
Her breath hitched instantly.
"I’m gonna ask you again," he said softly.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Cherie opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then—
"Get your gun away from her, Bill."
The room shifted immediately.
Bill turned around slowly.
So did Cherie.
Saul stood there clutching his injured hand against his chest, face pale from blood loss and grief.
"Oh, Saul. That’s you?" Bill said casually. "Didn’t even notice."
Saul grimaced.
"Is this supposed to be your bitch or something?"
Bill asked.
The barrel slid slowly down Cherie’s cheek.
Mocking.
Almost affectionate.
"My, she’s sexy," Bill murmured. "Dare I say fuckable without all that gunk on her face."
"Don’t push it, Bill," Saul snapped, taking a step forward.
Every gun in the room turned toward him instantly.
Including Bill’s.
Saul froze.
Confusion flickered across his face.
Then anger.
Real anger.
"What the fuck are you people doing?"
Bill studied him for a second.
"You see, Saul..." he said slowly, "I don’t know if it’s because I ain’t seen you in a long time, but I’m having a real hard time trusting you right now."
Saul’s face darkened immediately.
"I mean..." Bill continued, shrugging slightly, "you were in the room with the people we’re hunting."
His eyes flicked toward Jackson briefly.
"Your brother too."
Then back to Cherie.
"So was her."
Cherie’s breathing started shaking again.
Bill smiled faintly.
"So I’m gonna ask one more time."
He pressed the gun harder against her head.
"But this time?"
His eyes shifted toward Saul.
"The question’s for you."
Silence swallowed the room whole.
"Who the fuck is she?"
Saul didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Bill’s smile widened slightly.
"Because to me..." he murmured, "it kinda looks like she was one of his friends who just got left behind."
Cherie shut her eyes.
"And if that’s the case..."
The gun clicked.
"...I may just have to start my revenge with her first."
Saul jerked forward instantly—
Hands grabbed him from behind before he could move.
"LET GO OF ME—!"
Cherie’s breathing broke apart.
Slowly—
Painfully—
She closed her eyes.