Free Broken Promises (The Brianna Lane Series) by Belinda Boring Page B

the scene had over me. Sweat moistened my palms as I realized with one wrong move, that gun could swivel around and point at me next.
    The victor paused for a moment and then walked over to the lifeless body. He began firing again, shooting an endless stream of bullets until all I could hear was the clicking from an empty chamber. Quietly, I started retreating, but almost gave myself away when I watched the guy pull back his foot and strike the now dead man—kick after sickening kick. Now the only sound was his shoes pounding on flesh.
    My focus never left the stranger as I continued creeping away. There was no doubt I would be next, and I had too much to live for. If something happened to me, Quinn would be lost and that was unacceptable.
     When he finally finished, he violently spat on the victim before shoving the empty gun into the back of his jeans. He turned to look around, no doubt checking to see if someone had come investigating the gunshots. Other than me, he was alone.
    I was almost out of sight, reaching the corner, but at the last moment he saw me. He wore an excited expression that bordered feral possession and gave him a maniacal edge. The cruel grimace on his face said it all—he was converted and from the looks of it, completely turned on by the brutal murder he’d just committed. Terror struck me, causing my senses to explode inside my chest—all numbness completely gone. I was feeling again and for the second time tonight I knew I was going to die.
    I weighed my options. I had no weapons, nothing but my fists to give me a chance at defending myself. I could flee again, but something told me if I ran, he would easily overtake me, and the thought made me shudder.
    He approached and I began praying for somewhere to hide. Taking quick looks over my shoulder, I saw an alleyway and estimated the entrance was about ten steps away. I didn’t know if I could reach it in time. The fact he hadn’t spoken a word heightened my fear and my legs trembled in anticipation. Everything felt sinister—as if even the street itself held its breath, waiting to see what would happen.
    He was almost to the corner when the sound of brakes screeched further up the street, breaking the silent tension. Whoever controlled the vehicle was driving too fast and the car almost spun out of control. Correcting the mistake, the driver slammed on the gas and gunned down the street toward us.
    Hoping the guy was momentarily distracted, I sprinted and entered the alleyway, rapidly searching every nook and cranny to find an adequate hiding spot. Everything seemed too exposed, but going back into the street wasn’t an option—especially if an additional threat was entering the scene.
    Tires squealed to a stop and seconds later, car doors slammed shut. Throwing caution to the wind, I bolted down the alley and found an empty store entrance cluttered with refuse. With no time to clear the trash, I pushed myself into the corner—making myself as small as possible.
    My legs were pulled tightly to my chest, my head resting on my knees. I tried to still myself so I could hear what was happening out in the street, but between the heartbeat pounding in my ears and my rapid breathing, I could only catch murmurs and the odd comment.
    It sounded like even more people were fighting—muffled grunts as bodies absorbed heavy blows, followed shortly by the noise of someone yelling obscenities. I heard faint footsteps as someone fled the scene and then everything went quiet.
    I leaned forward, hoping the next sound would be car doors reopening. I waited for the loud roar of an engine revving to life, but I heard nothing. It crossed my mind maybe the vehicle’s owner was dead, sparking the internal debate whether I should check if the street was clear. Uncertainty warred within. A chill was starting to settle in and I didn’t want to be caught outside any longer than I had to. Sooner or later, I’d need shelter.
    Inch by careful inch, I slowly began