Despite what people believed, spaghetti really was a delicacy. I twirled my fork in a plate full of it and stuffed my face.

"I called my coyote," Kat said and I looked up at her. "He'll come in four days."

"Four?" I asked, hope lacing my tone.

"Don't go all rainbow happiness and shit. We have to contact him everyday at midday for the next three days such that he actually makes an appearance. If he doesn't hear from us, he won't come but you have to be the one to talk to him. Got that?"

I nodded. "Thank you Kat."

She watched me like she was surprised by my gratitude but I honestly was so glad I'd met her. "No problem kid. Your papers will be ready tomorrow."

I smiled and my spirits rose at the good news. I opened my mouth to ask Kat a few more questions about my papers when the house went dark. Kat and I sat silent for a few seconds.

"Does that happen a lot?" I whispered.

"No. It never does," Kat answered me and I wanted to bang my head.

Hope was deadly. Happiness was an illusion. Paranoia led to anxiety and I was surely going to fucking die all because of _m.a.r.k.v.i.k_

I heard Kat's chair scrape the floor as she stood. There was the sound of a cupboard opening and then the click of a shotgun. This was not going to end well. I thought of the gun in the guest room. I had to get there one way or another.

"I'm going to check the power. Stay here, hide if you must and in case shit goes South, burn this house down. There's fuel in the cupboard under the sink."

"What?!" I hissed at Kat's words, standing and trying to find the wall in the dark. "Your words are not helping me right now."

"They aren't supposed to. This is the time when I have to know who the fuck is after you kid."

I was quiet.

"Peach!" Kat hissed.

"Viktor Makarovich, Don of the Russian Bratva."

"Fuck!" Kat cursed, the word dragged out and full of anger. "This is why I don't help fucking strays anymore. If you ever see Kay again, tell her she owes me double."

"Will do," I whispered and then Kat passed by me and I heard her footsteps disappear down the hall.

I hadn't got a full layout of the house but using the little I knew, I slowly made my way to the guest room. I kept on the walls, walking slow and sure. I kept my breaths as quiet as I could and I managed to make it to my destination. I felt around the room for my bag and pulled out my gun and then slid the backpack under the bed. I made my way back to the door and tried to find the kitchen again. I tucked the gun in the waistband of my cargo pants. For future use.

In the middle of finding my way through the living room, power came back. I blinked, my eyes trying to adjust to the light. Kat walked into the room and she looked confused.

"What?" I asked her.

"Something isn't rig—"

The window next to the door shattered as a bullet came through and hit Kat on the shoulder. She fell with a scream, holding the fresh wound. I dropped to the ground just as a bullet hit the wall above me and crawled to Kat.

"Come on," I said panicked. I put my hands under her arms and tried to pull her to the kitchen. Bullets flew over our heads and into the wall above us I did my best to take her to the safest place in the house. The shooting stopped and the place was quiet. Kat's breathing was laboured as she bit down on her lower lip, her face red from pain.

I grabbed a cloth that hung on the sink and wrapped her shoulder as best as I could. "This should keep pressure on the wound."

My voice was shaky, panicked. The sound of a shifting door knob echoed in the house. The front door was locked but someone tried to come in. When the knob failed, there was shouting between two men in a language I didn't understand. I couldn't tell whether it was Russian, Italian or whatever hitmen speak because I was too busy panicking the fuck out.

The hitmen resorted to brutal force, using something to bang against the door. With a painful grunt, Kat got up from the floor. "That thing is not going to hold."

"We can barricade it," I suggested and she shook her head. "It's too late for that. They'll shoot if they see you. We have to fight back."

"What?" I exclaimed. "I have only basic fighting skills and you have a fucking bullet hole in your shoulder!"

I wasn't a fan of cursing. I only did it when things were going South, which they were.

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?" Kat asked.

"Of course," I said and shook my head. "That still isn't going to change the outcome of this. Those are probably hitmen!"

"You can shoot a gun. That's enough. It's two on two. We can still survive this."

"You're mad!" I concluded.

"You have to be to survive. Help me up," Kat insisted. I helped her to her feet and pulled Viktor's gun out. "Nice one. Where'd you get it?"

"I stole it from the Don of the Bratva," I said casually and Kat snorted.

"You're going to survive kid. I believe in you."

"Thanks Kat. That means a lot coming from you."

"Let's get to my room. I have more guns," she said and I helped her walk to the master bedroom. The constant banging on the door haunted me as we moved. It was getting weaker. I could hear in in the way the wood groaned and tried to give in.

In Kat's room, she instructed me to pull out a shelf in her wardrobe and I was met with more shotguns and bullets.

"Load up," she instructed me and I did. I was more of a handgun user. I found shotguns and rifles too big and inconveniencing.

Despite her injured and bleeding shoulder, Kat held two shotguns in her hand. I was still putting bullets in my shotgun when the door gave in. Silence followed as footsteps sounded loud in the house. Through the open door, a torch flashed as one of the hitmen came our way. There weren't many places to run in this house. It was small, unfavorably so.

As the hitman came close, Kat held up her guns and once he was in view, she fired. He went down but his friend was right there. A bullet came out of nowhere, through the thin walls of the house and hit Kat, right through the chest. I saw it all. The way her body jerked and crumbled to the ground like her strings had been pulled. She didn't move.

"No," I whispered and crawled over to her. Her eyes were wide open and blank. "Kat."

I had no time to cry or figure out what was happening. Instead, I dropped the shot gun and pulled out my Springfield XD and aimed at the door. I walked forward and turned the corner. Empty. I walked silently down the hall and saw a flash of movement beside me and I swung and shot. There was silence. I'd missed.

I moved into the living room. My eyes went to every corner and I turned on my heel. No one was here. I held my gun tighter and before I could move a step forward, something fell into me from above. I was crushed on the ground, the air leaving my lungs. My gun skidded away somewhere leaving me defenseless as I was spun on my back and straddled.

"Where is Viktor Makarovich?" The man above me asked as I struggled. He lifted one hand and punched me so hard I saw stars. The left side of my face felt numb as my ears rung. He hit harder than most.

"Where is Viktor?" The hitman asked again and I got a clear look of him. His face was hidden by a ski mask but his eyes were hazel. He was large but not so. He had muscle. I could feel it on me.

"Who?" I asked which earned me another punch on the same side. This time, the taste of iron on my tongue was strong. I spat, blood dripping down my cut lip. Jesus.

"Do you want a slow death?" the man asked and I was finally able to place his accent over the ringing in my ears. Russian. If he was Russian and probably part of the Bratva, why was he asking for his own leader?

"Depends. How much time do you have?" Another punch and the hitman got off me to deliver a downward kick to my gut. My body spasmed and folded. I lay in a fetal position and couldn't hold back the food that came up and out of my mouth. I vomited what was left of the spaghetti I had eaten and the taste of bile and blood were awful. Tears stung my eyes and my breathing was too laboured to be healthy.

"Where is Viktor?"

"Not here," I answered and got two sharp kicks on my back. I arched and whimpered, tears escaping against my will.

"I will ask you one more time. Where is the Don?" Smarty pants had just confirmed that he was part of the Bravta. Double agent? Possible.

"I don't know," I told him.

"That's not enough."

"It's all I've got," I groaned.

"You're a hacker yes? You can find him, can't you?" he pressed. When I didn't answer, he kicked me again. "Answer me!"

In pain and not having his shit, I did the worst thing I could. I spat my blood on his boot. "Go to hell."

He cursed in Russian and then pulled out his gun. Oh oh. He flipped me so I lay face up and pointed the gun to my head. "Don't test me."

I kept my lips sealed but my left eye had already begun to swell. I could barely see.

"Have you had contact with Viktor?" he asked me.

"No," I lied.

"Can you find him?"

"No," I lied again.

"Do you value your life?" he asked me.

"Yes," I finally told the truth.

"Then why fucking lie!" he snapped and a shot rung out. A scream tore from my lungs as I turned and tried to bring my leg closer to me. He'd shot a bullet in my right thigh. I was in so much pain I couldn't breathe. Tears just dropped from my eyes like and endless waterfall.

I passed out I think. From the pain and when I opened my eyes, Peirce was lying on the floor in front of me.

"Hey you little urchin," he greeted. "Get up."

"Peirce?"

"Get. Up. Come on Peach, no one is coming to save you," he told me.

"I'm practically half dead," I said to him.

"So? Kat was the same. Get up. There's only one way to survive this," he smiled.

"Do the unexpected," I finished.

"Exactly little sis. Now, let's get a move on."

When I blinked, my brother was gone but there, right in front of me was the gun. I reached for it. The hitman chuckled and rounded my body. He stepped down on my stretched hand and I cried out, pulling it back.

"Pathetic," he commented squatting so he was on my level. "I'd expected more from you."

A burst of adrenaline hit my body and I forgot all my pain and wounds. Death was real, he would stare me in the face if I didn't do a fucking thing. That's why I punched my hit man in the face. He fell back, surprised and I grabbed the gun, clicking off the safety. When he raised his head again, I raised my hand and shot him in the head.

I stared at his wide eyes in the ski mask as he fell back, body limp and lifeless. I collapsed on the floor again, everything aching. I couldn't die here. I wasn't dying.

I pulled myself up as much as I could and crawled down the hall. I used my arms to drag my body to the closest bathroom. My right leg felt numb and any movement caused it to ache. When I reached the bathroom later leaving a river of blood in my wake, I settled myself under the sink, opening the cupboard next to it. Kat had a First Aid kit in here. I saw it as I showered.

The bullet had not gone through my leg. It was wedged in there but I didn't have the guts to pull it out or go all macho and pour alcohol on the wound. That was movie shit. This was real life. I'd pass out again. The first thing I did was use the scissors to cut myself out of the cargo pants. They had to go and pulling them off was off the table. When I sat in a pile of blood and cloth in just my panties, looking at the bullet wound in my leg made me want to throw up but my stomach was empty.

"Oh Lord," I panted. This was not good.

I hardened my heart and placed some cotton on the wound and sealed it down with plasters and then a tight bandage. There wasn't a lot in the kit to work with. The bullet hadn't hit any major blood vessels thank God. My amateur manner of patching things up would have to work for now. For a greater measure I took some painkillers, enough to make me feel numb in a few minutes.

After all this hectic exercise, I first lay limp against the wall.

Ok. Plan B.