BooksBarbecue
Back We Were Killers Once
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

It only took a few seconds for things to get interesting as the natural moisture in his palm interacted with the surface of the plastic. While he didn’t yet drop the gun, Beaufort reacted with a “shit,” and put the palm of his hand instinctively to his mouth, licking it. That was when the shit turned into a shout as the substance hit his tongue and, while he wasn’t yet letting go of the gun, the muzzle dropped down and just to the right of Carlo.

It was either save Carlo and get killed or get Beaufort and save Carlo.

I dove to the floor where he had tossed the nasal spray container, grabbed it, and kept rolling away from Carlo, toward Beaufort, to both get closer and draw fire. The one second it would have taken to unscrew the top could have been my last. Beaufort was bent at the waist, close enough. At the last second I wrenched my head away to avoid hurting myself and pressed as hard as I could to spray the mixture at his face.

At the shock of the cold liquid Beaufort spun blindly and got two shots off before the cold turned to little fire bombs that exploded across his face. He dropped the gun and rubbed, no, grabbed handfuls of skin that came away as the fluid ate through his closed eyelids and burned through his corneas. If he had been in less agony, he would have seen that his hands came away bloody after he had clawed at his eyes.

As it was, he dashed without purpose around the room, caroming off furniture, a pinball in a game that couldn’t be won.

I swear I could feel the rushing air before hearing the sound of one of the shots Beaufort fired. It passed just over my back, and would have killed me or at least severed my spinal cord and crippled me for life. The other shot went high, hitting a chrome and glass bookcase against the far wall so that the bang was followed closely by a shattering sound and then by a slower tinkle as the larger shards drifted to the floor.

Momentarily stunned, I watched Beaufort drop to the floor and writhe while the skin on his face bubbled and dissolved. My own index finger started to burn and I dropped the spray container and the rug under it melted.

This wasn’t like any pepper spray I’d ever seen. I should have known Gemma-Kate was using acid. I probably did know.