“Hey!” Dixon shouted, his features turning petulant and sullen. “I’ll have you know that this was a spray tan. The best spray tan money can buy.”
Opal rolled her eyes. So did Clementine.
“And my point is made. If you want something done right . . .” I let my voice trail off.
“Oh, don’t you worry, Ms. Blanco,” Clementine said, flexing her free hand into a fist and taking a menacing step forward. “I plan to give you my personal attention this time around—”
A sharp, high-pitched squawk sounded through the walkie-talkie on Clementine’s belt, followed by several more distinctive sounds.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Gunshots burped through the device. Looked like Bria and Xavier had finally pulled their triggers on the giants in the rotunda, so to speak.
“Clementine! Clementine!” a voice screamed through the walkie-talkie. “We’re taking fire! We’re taking—”
The voice abruptly cut off with a loud gurgle, although other screams and more crack-crack-cracks of gunfire continued to sound through the walkie-talkie. Clementine stared down at the device, then her head snapped up to me.
“What the hell did you do, you meddlesome bitch?” she demanded.
“You have your crew, and I have mine,” I said. “Right now, they’re killing your giants in the rotunda. And when they’re done up there, they’ll come down here and help me finish off you and the rest of your sick, twisted family—”
Clementine didn’t bother responding to my taunts.
Instead, she raised her gun and fired at me.
24
The second Clementine started to raise her gun, I ran to my right, ducking behind the fisherman statue.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The three bullets she’d just shot at me slammed into the statue. One of them punched through the brim of the old man’s hat, causing the marble to wail.
Dixon also raised his gun to fire at me—just as Owen stepped out from the shadows.
“Eva!” Owen screamed. “Get down!”
Eva twisted out of Dixon’s grasp and immediately dropped to the ground. Dixon whipped around, searching for this new danger even as he brought his weapon up. Owen didn’t give him a chance to react. He raised his gun and shot the bastard in the face.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
With each shot, Owen stepped forward. He knew as well as I did that it took a lot of bullets to put down most giants, so he emptied the whole clip into Dixon, catching him in the face, throat, and chest. Owen might not have been as good a shot as Bria and Xavier, but Dixon was a big target and hard to miss, especially with Owen closing the distance between them.
The giant screamed and jerked as the bullets tore through his tan flesh. Shock and surprise filled his face—what was left of it, anyway. Owen had blown off a chunk of Dixon’s chin and peppered his throat with bullets. Good. It was time the giant got a taste of his own medicine.
Click.
The gun was empty, so Owen tossed it aside and grabbed another one from against the small of his back. He didn’t have to use it, though.
Dixon opened his mouth and tried to mumble something, but apparently, it’s hard to talk when the bottom half of your face is missing. He staggered back, tripped over Eva, who was huddled into a tight ball on the stone behind him, and did a header into the water.
“Dixon!” Clementine screamed. “Dixon!”
But it was too late for her nephew, and we all knew it. Owen raced forward and helped Eva to her feet. He shoved his sister behind him and started backing up, moving his gun back and forth between Opal and Clementine, ready to shoot them if they made a move toward him and Eva.
Across the distance, Owen’s eyes met mine. He hesitated, and I saw the worry and concern in his gaze as he debated whether to step away from Eva and try to help me. But I made the choice for him.
“Go!” I screamed at him. “Go! Go! Go!”
Owen hesitated a moment more before nodding, grabbing Eva’s hand, and heading toward the front of the boathouse, keeping to the outer circular path and darting from column to column and statue to statue for cover. I sprinted from the statue over to a column on the far right side of the boathouse so the giants couldn’t shoot all of us at once.
Clementine didn’t hesitate. She leveled her gun at me once more and squeezed off several rounds. Like Owen, she wasn’t going to stop with just a couple. But I kept behind the columns and statues as I moved, and all of her bullets just bounced off the marble and rattled every which way through the boathouse, ricocheting into other columns, the statues, even the ceiling high overhead.
Click.
This time, Clementine’s gun was the one that was empty. She screamed and tossed the weapon at me in frustration, but it landed in one of the pools of water with a loud plop. She whirled around to face Opal, who was staring at Dixon’s body, which was bobbing up and down in the river right next to a couple of white water lilies.
“Opal!” Clementine bellowed. “What are you just standing there for? Shoot her! Now!”
Opal shook off her shock and did as her mother asked.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
More bullets whistled through the air, but I grabbed a second knife from my thigh holsters and kept moving deeper into the boathouse, hiding behind the columns and statues again and letting Opal empty her whole clip at me.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The rest of Opal’s shots went wide, although I heard the marble scream as more and more bullets slammed into the columns, causing stone chips to zip through the air like shrapnel.
Click.
As soon as I heard that Opal was out of ammo, I rushed out from behind the columns, stepped onto the path that ran left to right through the boathouse, forming the top part of the T, and headed toward her.
Clementine finally realized what I was up to and why I was running toward Opal instead of away from her.
“Opal!” she screamed, waving her hand at her daughter. “Move! Get away from her! Now!”
But it was too late. Opal started backpedaling, trying to get back to regroup with her mother, but she didn’t look where she was going, and her foot caught in a rope that secured one of the paddleboats to its slip. She grunted and yanked her foot free, but those few precious seconds of delay were all I needed to catch her.
My knives arched up, the blades flashing underneath the lights as I slammed them into Opal’s chest. She threw back her head and shrieked with pain. Her gun flew out of her fingers, and her hands flapped around as though I were a bothersome mosquito she was trying to shoo away. I was hungry for blood, all right, and I yanked my knives out and stabbed her again. This time, I managed to slide one of the blades between her ribs and into the soft, sweet spot of her heart.
Opal’s shrieks abruptly faded into hoarse, rapid, pain-filled rasps. I pulled my knives out of her a second time. She lashed out with her fist, catching me in the jaw. The force of the blow spun me around and made me stagger back five feet, but the damage to her was already done.
Opal stared down in disbelief at her chest and all of the blood pumping out of her wounds. She put first one hand and then the other over her heart, then held them out, as if she couldn’t believe that there was so much blood on them. Finally, she looked over at Clementine, her light eyes already starting to dim with death.