There’s a moment, right after the shot is fired and before the pain sets in, where you actually don’t know whether or not you’re hit.

But then the moment passes and the pain doesn’t come. I feel the ground vibrate as two bodies collapse.

I cast a glance over my shoulder.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, gun still raised, is the king.

King Montes Lazuli killed for me. The evilest man on earth killed for me and probably saved my life by doing so.

And, God, the look on his face. The vein in his temple throbs, and his eyes are cold and resolute. There’s no shell-shocked expression, and he doesn’t double over and vomit. He’s remorseless.

I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the king we’re talking about. If anything, I should be worried that he’ll get a taste for it.

I nod to him. “Thank you.”

He takes his eyes off of his victims to nod back to me, finally dropping his aim.

I stand and head to the bodies. Most of the dead are missing appendages. Grenades are a messy way to go. Ignoring the gore, I begin to take what weapons I can. Montes joins me, and together we strap on guns, grenades, and ammunition.

When I begin to drape weaponry across my chest, he stops me.

“Kevlar first,” he says. “To protect the baby.”

My stomach drops at his words. It’s real, this is real. We’re in the middle of a shootout and I’m pregnant.

This is some sick parody of real life, and Montes is some twisted version of my knight in shining armor as he removes the bulletproof vest from one of the dead men and slips it on me. The thing’s heavy, and the top left breast is soaked with blood.

I don’t focus on that. Instead I string ammunition and guns across my chest while Montes dons a vest of his own. I check the men for keys, but come up empty-handed. They must’ve left them in the car.

Meanwhile the sound of engines is getting closer.

“We need to go, now,” he says, and his order actually makes me smile. I hadn’t imagined him to be an equal on the field, but it seems that’s just what he is.

Together we sprint for the only car out in the driveway. In the early morning light, I make out several unmoving bodies sprawled across the yard. The jeep our attackers drove in is outfitted with a crate of explosives, semi-automatic assault rifles, and ammunition. The keys sit in the glove compartment.

“You drive; I’ll shoot,” I say.

Montes doesn’t argue, which I appreciate.

While he cranks on the engine, I familiarize myself with my new weaponry. In addition to assault rifles, Montes and I lifted machine guns off of our attackers, the kind you can hold and fire continuously. They have a mean kickback, which means that if you’re not stationary or bracing yourself well, your accuracy will take a hit. I’m neither of those things at the moment, but the sheer quantity of ammunition we’ve acquired makes up for it.

Montes floors the gas and the car screeches around the circular drive before cutting down the dirt road off the property. Mud and pebbles shoot out from under the wheels as I make my way to the back of the jeep.

Back here I can brace myself along the vehicle’s exposed metal frame as the jeep jumps and dips over the uneven terrain. I peer at the crate filled with explosives. It’s a dangerous thing to have in an automobile, especially when there’s going to be a shootout in the near future, but I can’t bear to dump them. Not when Montes and I are overwhelmed by the sheer volume of enemies.

I flip the lid off another crate, one I haven’t yet looked into. Several grenades are nestled amongst wood shavings. I suck in a breath at the sight. This car is a moving bomb. One nicely placed gunshot and we’re all going up in flames.

Ahead of us, two more military vehicles barrel down the dirt road towards the estate.

I don’t wait for them to recognize us. Bracing myself against the top metal bar of the jeep, I begin to unload my round of ammunition, holding down the trigger as the bullets spray across the vehicles.

The shots tear through metal and glass, but none of the cars slow. If the soldiers were confused about why one of their own vehicles was leaving the estate, they are no longer.

The enemy begins to return fire, and bullets ping against the jeep’s metal frame.

“Montes,” I call out, crouching down to grab a grenade. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Slow down when we pass them.”

“What are you planning?” he says, his voice rising to be heard over the engine and the gunfire

“You’ll see.”

He doesn’t show any signs that he’ll do as I ask, but I have to trust that he will.

I return to gunning down the vehicles. One enemy bullet whizzes to the left of my head. Another pings against the metal bar I’m holding onto.

“Serenity!” Montes clearly sees who our enemies are trying to eliminate first.

“I’m fine!” I yell, keeping my eyes fixed on my targets. “Worry about yourself!”

I manage to take out the front tire of the first car, along with its driver. The second slams into it.

We’re almost upon them. Out of habit, I kiss the grenade I clutch for good luck. It’s a macabre custom of mine, but after you live through enough battles, you become superstitious.

Like I asked, the moment we begin to pass the row of cars, Montes slows. I pull the grenade’s pin and throw the explosive into the second enemy jeep, which is now entangled with the first.

“Gun it.”

I have time to see the passengers widen their eyes, and then we leave the car in the dust.

The explosion rocks our vehicle forward, and I cover my head as the scorching heat rolls over me.

Once the initial wave of the explosion dissipates, I glance over my shoulder. Both cars are smoldering, and no one inside the vehicles is moving.

I move back to the front of the car and take a seat next to Montes.

He looks at me like he’s never see me before. There’s a healthy dose of shock on his face, and no little amount of awe.

I work my jaw. I don’t want his respect. Not for killing.

At this point, we have two options: to attack our opponents head on, or flee. The problem with the latter is, even if we managed to get to the hangar undetected, Estes has likely paid off the staff that mans the aircrafts. We’d never make it out.

The problem with the former is that Estes has potentially thousands of men backing him. Montes and I, deadly though we can be, are no match to the sheer quantity of our opponents.