Haunting-Adeline

Right as I ready up again, one guy comes barreling around the corner.
He’s dead before he even spots me, a nice li le hole right between his
brows.
He was an ugly motherfucker anyway. World will do just fine without
him.
Before his body can topple over, I grip him by the collar of his shirt and
bring him in close. Wincing at the bad breath emana ng from the ro ng
hole in his face, I step out of the hallway, using the dead man as a shield
against the flying bullets s ll hurdling my way.
The dead body takes a few hits while I fire off two single shots. Two
more bodies go down, and I step back inside the hallway, pushing away the
bloodied man who’s now riddled with bullets.
His head smacks off the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
I used his body as a shield for five seconds, but I s ll got lucky. It’s not
like the movies. Bullets can easily fly through bodies. Entry and exit point.
Just to enter right back into my body.
I don’t use other people for shields unless I have to, and it’s only for a
few seconds at a me.
A chorus of noises arise in the warehouse in the form of terrified
screams from the girls, shouts of panic from the men, orders to “kill the
puta,” and yells of outrage for the girls to stop crying.
There are s ll six men le , and I can feel the panic crawling off them.
“Come out, with your hands raised and gun on the floor, or I’ll start
killing these bitches!” one of them shouts, his voice echoing.
I sigh, roll my shoulders, and do as he says. I drop my gun on the floor
and step out with my hands raised. The six men stand before the group of
girls, keeping them safe from stray bullets. The knowledge that they’re only
doing so to ensure the product isn’t damaged rather than giving a shit
about hur ng them burns hot in my chest.
“Come on, the fun was just star ng,” I croon, a smirk pulling my lips up.
“Shut up!” the man spits. He’s a Mexican man with a shaved head,
ta oos covering him from head to toe, and wearing clothes that look like
they haven’t been washed in weeks.
And look at that—quite the gnarly scar on his forehead.
Goddamn. It looks like someone took a bread knife and just sawed at his
head.