Free The Darkness of God: Book Three of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy by Chris Bunch Page A

“The bitch got him. She killed him.” He exploded onto his feet, shouting. “Goddammit, she killed him! She killed Kur … all of them!”
    Kristin, naked, was in the bedroom door. Her face was blank in shock and horror.
    “Come on,” Wolfe shouted. “She hit first! We’re next!” He ran back into the bedroom, scooping up Lucian’s gun on the way. Lucian was crouched on the floor, head in his hands, sobbing, repeating over and over: “It’s ended … The dream is gone … It’s ended …”
    “Come on, man! Or die with your frigging dream!”
    Lucian didn’t move.
    Wolfe hurried into the gun-guards’ quarters and found them as shattered as Lucian. He found the team’s cash-box, smashed it open, and shoved wads of credits into his pockets.
    “What are you doing?” Max demanded. His gun was wavering, but still aimed at Wolfe.
    “We’re getting out of here,” Wolfe said. “Or else we’ll be as dead as Athelstan.”
    “No,” Max decided. “No, we can’t leave. No, we can’t — ”
    Wolfe was on him, gun crossblocked out of the way as it went off, blasting a three-inch-wide hole in a painting of a shepherd and his flock and the wall behind it. Joshua struck Max once on the forehead with the heel of his hand and let him fall.
    One of the gun-guards had his pistol half drawn, and Wolfe kicked him back against the wall. He had Lucian’s gun in his hand, and the other guards froze.
    “Get your things and get out,” he ordered. “Move! We’ll try for our ship at the yard!” He didn’t wait for a reply, but darted into the main room.
    Kristin had found a pair of blue pants and a red pullover; she sat on the floor of the bedroom, sorting through boots very methodically and slowly.
    Wolfe yanked her to her feet. “Out! Now!”
    Kristin started to protest, nodded dumbly.
    “Come on, Lucian!”
    “Lost … All lost …”
    Wolfe could spare no more time. He grabbed Kristin’s hand and pulled her out of the suite toward the private lift.
    The glass-fronted lift’s door slid closed, and Wolfe punched 2.
    “Where’s your gun?”
    Kristin’s hand felt her waistband, then she shook her head.
    “Good,” Wolfe said sarcastically. “One gun against — Jesus God!”
    Two tactical strike ships with the insignia of the Planetary Guard broke through the cloud cover and dropped down toward the hotel. They banked, then hovered about one hundred feet above the hotel’s roof. Flame spat from one, then the second. Wolfe slammed the lift’s emergency buttons. It obediently stopped, and the door slid open.
    Wolfe pitched Kristin out onto thick pile carpet as the missiles smashed into the hotel, and exploded.
    The tower rocked under the impact, and alarms howled.
    Kristin was crying, whimpering. Wolfe lifted her face, slapped her hard, twice. “Come on, soldier! Or die right here!”
    Kristin shook her head violently, then her eyes came back to normal. “Where … What …”
    “Find the emergency exit. There’s got to be one somewhere.”
    There was, at the end of the long corridor. Doors were opening, and bewildered men and women were stumbling out. Wolfe pushed through them, found the stairs, clattered down their long, cement-gray steps, hearing siren screams clamoring everywhere.
    A man with a gun stood at the door leading into the lobby. Wolfe shot him without asking questions, took his gun, and they went on down, into the underground parking structure.
    There was no one in the attendant’s booth, and Wolfe went to a wooden cabinet, yanked it open, and found a rack with ignition keys dangling from it.
    “Good. Organized,” he muttered. He scanned the gravlifters parked nearby. “A-27 — here it is.” He pulled a set of keys from a numbered hook, pulled Kristin toward a nearly new sleek luxury lifter. He pointed the ignition sensor at the vehicle, and the door slid up.
    “Inside,” he ordered, and Kristin managed to fumble her way into a seat.
    Wolfe slid in, pushed the sensor into the ignition