I've never felt more panicked in my life. Being on the run from the most dangerous man alive for nearly two years just—it just worries me. What if he eventually catches up? I'll tell you what will happen. He'll kill me and Whiskey both! I don't want that to happen, and with this burden of panic bearing down on my shoulders, it might just make it easier for Balor to catch up.
And quite frankly, that scares me.
It scares me that someone so dangerous and so cruel is hunting me and Whiskey down with a vengeance. I know what Balor is capable of, and I know that if either Whiskey or myself slips up just once, then the world—as we know it—will be over. Balor will gladly swoop in and take over, destroying absolutely everything in his path, all because Whiskey and I wouldn't be able to stop him.
That's what scares me...and it'll continue to scare me until Balor is dead. And I'll gladly make sure that he's dead when I personally escort him to the gates of the darkest Hell known to man.
As these thoughts circled in my mind, Whiskey and I zoomed away from the lodge and went deeper into the heart of downtown Denver. Sure, Balor may find us here, but if we run him and his goons out of here for now, then Whiskey and I would be in a better place.
"Do you think it'd be better to hide in the downtown area?" Whiskey asked.
I shrugged. "It seems like our only option."
"Sugar, that isn't our only option," he said. "There's more out there. And personally, I think that we should make a mad dash out of here."
"For what reason? So Balor and his goons could win again?" I asked, my voice slightly rising in an angry tone. "If we run out of here, then Balor's gonna think that we don't have a backbone, and that we're too scared to fight back. That's only gonna give him an advantage in this war."
I could tell that Whiskey was getting more frustrated by the minute, as he and I are having a conflict of interests again. "But if we scurry out of this town while we can, sugar, then we can buy ourselves more time to fight back!"
"But Balor will also have more time to prepare!" I shouted. "The more we keep runnin' from him, the stronger he gets. And quite frankly, I'd like to knock him down while we still can."
"But, Rocky, we're depleted right now. We're weaker than what Balor is," he said, "and considering that fact, running from him is our best option right now. If we don't run, then Balor will snatch us up and leave us for dead!"
"Why do you always fight me on this?" I asked. "Balor thinks we don't have a backbone, so our best option is to stand up and fight ba—"
"No, it's not, Rocky!" he shouted. "We fight back while we're knocked down, then we might as well step out of Balor's way because he's gonna stomp all over us."
I exhaled angrily. "You don't understand, Whiskey!"
"Oh, I perfectly understand," he screamed. "We fight back, and Balor's gonna romp all over us."
"It's not like we're weak," I said angrily. "We can fight back! But I just—I just don't understand. What are so fucking afraid of!?"
"Losing you!" Whiskey exploded.
He definitely struck a nerve while saying that. Well, he struck one of my nerves saying that. I didn't know what to say next. I mean, what could I say next? I don't want to make Whiskey angrier than he is now, and it seems like anything I'll say will make him even more frustrated with me. This is the time in which I have to tread lightly and think closely about what I want to say next.
"I'm afraid of fucking losing you!" Whiskey shouted again. "I already lost one love of my life to some dangerous scoundrel...And I'm not gonna let that happen again. Ever!"
Not knowing what to say next, I chose to just stay silent. It seemed much better than just speaking my mind because it won't frustrate Whiskey.
"Besides, sugar," he said in a calmer tone of voice. "I'd do just about anything to protect you, even if you walk head-first into a pit of fire. I'm gonna protect you no matter what. You know why? Because I love you! I love you more than anythin', sugar. And if that means holding your hand as you dive deep into hellfire, then I'm comin' with ya."
"You love me even though I give you a hard time?" I asked mournfully.
He used his index finger to raise my chin gently, so I could look directly into his eyes. "I love you no matter what, sugar," he responded. "I ain't gonna stop loving you. Not now. Not ever."
"Really?" I asked.
He brought my face toward him, placing a soft kiss on my lips. It was enough for me to know that he was entirely serious and that he still loved me despite the arguments we have.
"Really," he said quietly and simply.
Damn, Whiskey! You sure know how to make a girl blush. Sure, we may have arguments here and there, but deep down, I love him very, very much. And I'm sure he loves me very much in return. If I could spend the rest of my life with him, I would, but who knows? That conversation would probably have to wait until the right time. Who knows when that will be...
* * * * * *
Eventually, Whiskey and I arrived in downtown Denver, with most of the drive being completely silent. I was afraid of striking another one of Whiskey's nerves, while Whiskey might be convinced that I was very much pissed off. Pissed off at him. In truth, I wasn't even pissed off. Rather, I was pissed off at Balor. I have been for a long time now. He killed all these innocent people in an effort to achieve his frivolous goal of global genocide and achieving power.
He thinks he's completely in the right. But...he isn't.
That sick son-of-a-bitch thinks he's doing right in the world, but he really isn't. He's killing innocent people in order to fight for his goal. His dark, morbid goal that I believe is complete bullshit. It's bullshit to think that killing innocent people to achieve a goal of gaining power over the world is right. Balor is definitely long off his rocker, considering he let his mind become clouded with such dark thoughts that even the most ruthless of people can't even stomach.
You see, the villains—all the villains in the world—seem to have a heart. A heart of gold that's mostly tainted with the blackest shadows known to man. But sometimes, those villains are so evil that their hearts are nothing but black. They're so evil that anything good they try to do won't redeem them. They won't be able to drag themselves out of the darkest depths of Hell because they've done so many dark deeds that they dug themselves into a deep, deep hole.
That's what Balor has done to himself.
He clearly established himself as a cold, ruthless monster who cares about nothing and nobody. He only cares about himself and his personal yet dark gains. He doesn't care how he goes about it, even resorting to murder and genocide to achieve his personal goals. I've said it before, and I'll say it again:
Balor is the evilest, cruelest person I have ever met.
And there is nothing in this world that can convince me otherwise. Balor Devlin is the most ruthless, coldest, most inhumanely disgusting monster I've ever had to fight, and all hopes of trying to convince that he isn't are completely dashed. They're bullshit, if you ask me. Those who are trying to redeem Balor as determined to achieve his goals are full of bullshit. They don't know the full story.
Well, I do. I know the full story of Balor, and it ain't a pretty one.
I thought that Whiskey would eventually resort to his own methods and make a mad dash out of Denver, which I eventually accepted. But I was shocked when he reversed the truck into a concealed hiding spot where Balor and his men wouldn't be able to spot it. I didn't think he'd do such a thing, which is why I accepted his way of combating Balor, well...more like fleeing from Balor.
"What the—what the hell are you doin', Whiskey?" I asked.
"Taking up your idea," he answered, putting the truck into park and hopping out.
I stuttered as soon as I heard this change in plans. "But—but wh—why the—why the change in plans? I thought you wanted to make a mad dash out of Denver."
He shrugged. "We were. But I'm in the mood to pick a fight today."
"You wanna pick a fight against Balor?" I asked.
Whiskey smiled gleefully. "Yep. If you're gonna fight that asshole, I'm going to as well. That way, Balor gets a good ass-whippin'."
"I'm up for a little ass-whippin'. When can I start?" I asked, cracking my knuckles and smiling devilishly.
"Hold up now, sugar," he said, chuckling a bit. "Balor ain't even here yet. Can't exactly do an ass-whippin' if the person we're beating up ain't here."
"Well, he needs to get here now because I need to whoop his ass," I said.
A light chuckle fell off his tongue and rolled off his lips. I don't know what was going through his head at this point, nor did I consider it important enough at this point. All I wanted right now was to beat Balor's ass. To knock some good enough sense to him so that he'd finally get the message that Whiskey and I are willing to fight back. And the sooner I can get my hands on Balor, the better.
I finally got the opportunity to beat Balor's ass when both Whiskey and I heard several car doors slamming shut and a bunch of chatter following that. When we peeked out from one of the shop's outside entrance landings, Whiskey and I found out that our suspicions were right. Those people who were exiting the car and chattering in a collective low tone—it was Balor and his goons.
"How pissed are they, do ya think?" I asked in a hushed tone.
Whiskey gave me a quick, obvious glance. "Oh, they're beyond pissed," he answered. "Nothing's goin' their way, all because we ain't backing off of them."
"And we gotta keep gettin' on their asses," I said. "If not, we lose them and a chance to win this war."
He nodded in agreement. "Exactly."
Both of us ultimately decided that it was best if we remained hidden from Balor and his goons, mainly because we wanted to amplify the element of surprise. We figured that if we surprised Balor, then we'd have a better chance at chopping him down little by little. The more we could gradually chop him down, the sooner he gets weaker. And the sooner he gets to his weakest point, the better. Whiskey and I would have a better chance at winning this fight if Balor was at his most vulnerable point.
"He's making his way over here," I said panickedly.
"And if he finds us here, then we're fucked," Whiskey added.
Before Balor could look over toward our direction, Whiskey and I bolted into a nearby alleyway, where we found out that we needed to conceal ourselves even more. Then, we saw a nearby dumpster full of trash. That's when we got a genius idea. Well, that's when Whiskey got a genius idea. I, however, was panicking. The trauma from alleyways and dumpsters—all from the night I found Devin's dead body—was getting to me, and I think Whiskey was picking up on that.
"You okay, sugar?" he asked. "Rocky? Rocky, are you okay?"
My chest closed tighter by the minute, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Beads of sweat formed quickly along my forehead and hands, and my heart was beating so hard that I felt like it would leap out of my chest.
"No, Whiskey. I'm not," I answered through my struggles to breathe. "I can't—I can't—I can't breathe."
It's a good thing that Whiskey knew that it was because of my PTSD-formed agoraphobia...because I wouldn't know what to do if he didn't know.
"Would it make you feel better if I sat there in the dumpster with you and held you?" he asked.
"I thought you were already doing that," I responded.
"Well, I was. Now, I do that under different circumstances," he said with a smirk. "Now, hurry up and get in that dumpster before Balor pumps our guts full of lead."
I smirked and saluted Whiskey. "Sir yes sir."
Offering his cupped hands out, Whiskey took my right foot with ease, boosting me up into the dumpster. And as soon as I swung my right leg over and got fully inside the dumpster, it hit me. The awful, awful smell of trash in the dumpster. It was a combination of rotten food, stinky food wrappers, and God knows what else.
"Christ!" I exclaimed as Whiskey hopped in and shut the lid to the dumpster.
Whiskey gave me a stupid look. But he complimented it with a confused smirk, so he didn't think I was completely stupid. "What?" he asked. Then, the awful dumpster smell hit him. "Oh, Christ!"
I nodded. "That's what I'm cryin' about."
"Yeah. I can tell," he said, pulling his t-shirt over his nose to try and stop smelling the odor. "Christ, what is in that smell?"
I followed suit and used my t-shirt to cover my nose. I was making it quite clear that I did not want to smell this odor anymore. "This hiding spot couldn't smell any worse."
"Oh, trust me, sugar. I've been in places that smelled much worse than this," he responded.
One of my eyebrows hooked upward, and I was looking at Whiskey as if he was stupid. There was no way I could believe that Whiskey had been in places that smelled worse than this dumpster. Then again, he had been an agent for the Statesman for a long time. In fact, he's been an agent for a long while before he even met me. He's probably seen and experienced some wild shit long before he had to deal with my crazy ass.
"You've smelt worse?" I asked, despite my anxiety building up.
He nodded. "Oh yeah. Much worse than this. You ever smelled pollution before? Like, the nasty smell that comes from a landfill or the water?"
"Yeah. Been to Nashville a couple times," I answered. "Sometimes, I'd be on a nice walk along a pedestrian walkway, which runs along the Cumberland River. Most days, it smelled fine, but once in a great while, though—God, it smelled nasty."
"I could imagine," Whiskey responded. "I've been to Nashville a couple times. Most of the time, it smelled fine. Once in a great, great while, though, it smelled God awful."
An image of the beautiful Nashville appeared in my head, and I couldn't help but entirely think about it. It's so beautiful, so scenic—God, I wish I could go back there someday. Maybe once this war with Balor is over. Or, at the very least, settled momentarily. Going back there will definitely bring me peace and comfort in such a stressful time.
"I want to go back there one day," I said to Whiskey. "Maybe when all this with Balor ends. Or simmers down a whole lot, at the very least."
He reached over and held my hand tightly, using that gesture as a sign of security and safety. I considered it a sign of reassurance. The reassurance that everything was going to be okay in the end. You know how I could tell this was a sign of reassurance? Whiskey's eyes were soft and sincere, which meant that he was entirely vulnerable and fully serious when it came to comforting me.
"Don't worry," he said. "We'll go back there real soon. I'll make sure of it."
My eyes softened. "Really?" I asked in a relatively high-pitched tone.
He nodded. "Really."
Just then, I heard some loud chatter. It was as if the sound was growing louder because it was getting closer. Now, what did I hear? Mischievous plotting. The mischievous plotting from you know who...Balor.
"Quick!" Whiskey whispered. "Shut the lid."
I started to shut the lid to the dumpster, but I got a genius idea. "Do you want me to keep it a smidge cracked so we can see what's goin' on out there?"
"Yeah, sure. That'd prolly be better," Whiskey agreed.
So Whiskey and I held the lid to the dumpster slightly open. Enough for our eyes to see what Balor and his goons were up to. If I had to guess, they were doing everything they could to try and find us. Sure, we pissed them off pretty good. I mean, that's our job...to piss Balor off enough and widdle him down little by little. If he can get him vulnerable enough, then it will be better for me and Whiskey to take him down.
"Where do you think they are, boss?" one of the goons asked.
Balor clicked his tongue a couple times, thinking desperately of a good answer. "Who knows? They could be halfway across the country by now, but I don't know! That's why we can't leave any inch of this downtown untouched. You never know if those bastards are hiding here or not."
He pointed to the first goon. "You! Go to that cozy restaurant there and start searching." As the first goon went away, Balor turned his attention toward the second goon. "And you! You stay here with me. I have a big plan in store for those jackasses."
Meanwhile, Whiskey and I were back in the dumpster, still listening closely to Balor and his men. "What do you think Balor and the other idiot have goin' on?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know. But let's just assume they're up to no good, as always."
"Should we pop out and give 'em a good talkin' to?" I asked, cracking my knuckles.
Poor Whiskey seemed oddly terrified about that. "Ah, ah, ah. No, no, no, no, no! Not yet. Not until Balor and that goon are in the perfect position."
"What perfect position?" I asked. "They're right where we want them!"
Whiskey sighed, pressing his hand to the front of his head. He used his thumb and index finger to massage his forehead, as if he's trying to soothe a massive headache he has. But he doesn't have a headache. He just has a hard decision to make. Either stay cooped up in a nasty, smelling dumpster and wait for Balor and his goons to engage us, or pop out and engage Balor and his goons ourselves.
It's a difficult choice to make, but I'm optimistic that Whiskey and I could make either choice work for us in the long run.
"Ah, fuck it!" he quietly exclaimed, starting to hop out of the dumpster. "Come on. I'll hoist ya outta here."
As he grabbed my hand, he yanked me up so I could safely climb out of the dumpster. It felt like climbing over fences in order to get inside the pins where cattle live. Like Oklahoma City! And also like the times I'd help out at the local farm to get some extra money for college. With those two salaries, I ended up going to college practically free and had some extra money on the side to satisfy my needs at college.
You know, since I was gonna be staying at the dorms there with my twin brother.
It took a lot of convincing, but me and my brother ended up staying in the same dorm together. Daddy said that I should've been a lawyer with my impeccable arguing skills, but I never got drawn into the world of law. Well...I kinda did. I was so interested in the criminal justice system, so it's technically law, in a way.
Alright, alright. I digress. But those were good times with my twin, and I'm thankful for all the time I had with him.
"Okay," I said to Whiskey. "What's the plan now?"
He gave me a prodding glance, allowing his eyebrow to hook upward. The corners of his mouth curved upward, showing the dimples of his cheeks perfectly. "You tell me," he said.
My eyes widened with shock. "You want me to come up with a plan? Are you sure about that?"
"I'm sure," he said. "What do you have in mind?"
I had to think about this question. Oh, the things I could do to mess with Balor! But for the sake of trying to beat him down little by little, I resort to something else. Something that'll mess with Balor. Something that'll make him extremely irate with me and Whiskey.
Hehehehe. Driving people mad is so much fun!
"Okay. Here's what I'm thinkin'," I said, starting to describe my plan. "We talk 'im down and try to be reasonable. Since it's downtown, there's a good amount of people here, and I don't want to have to engage in a gunfight unless I absolutely have to. So we talk 'im down, and if shit hits the fan, we start firing away. How's that sound?"
"You're going for a peaceful resolution?" Whiskey questioned in disbelief, seeing me nod my head up and down rapidly. "Well, that's new."
With a menacing smirk on my face, I started to load up on my weapons and gear. "Well, considering we're in the downtown part of Denver, there's gonna be a shitload of people. I don't wanna have them get caught in the crossfire and get killed. I know what happened to your high school sweetheart, Whiskey, and I don't want a repeat of that."
"Is that why you're putting on your bulletproof vest?" he asked.
I fastened the straps on the vest and nodded slowly, confirming Whiskey's question. "Yeah," I replied mournfully.
Taking my advice, Whiskey soon suited up, making absolutely sure that he put on his black bulletproof vest. I mean, if there's even the slightest possibility that we're gonna be in a gunfight against Balor, I definitely don't want to take any chances. No chances for Balor to hurt more innocent civilians, no chances for him to hurt me or Whiskey—absolutely no chances whatsoever. That asshole doesn't deserve more chances.
He deserves to rot in the deepest, darkest Hell that even Satan himself won't dare to set foot in.
We carefully treaded out of the alleyway, with our guns drawn just in case everything went to shit. As we carefully walked the sidewalk a little ways, both Whiskey and I saw Balor in the distance, emerging from his hiding spot, which was the outdoor landing to a nearby shop. And since he emerged with one of his goons, the standoff evened the odds for me and Whiskey.
"Hey, asshole!" I shouted, keeping one hand on my gun and not pointing it at Balor. I didn't want to aggravate the situation, since I did decide to engage in peaceful resolution instead of a gunfight right away.
Almost immediately, Balor and his goon turned around to see me and Whiskey. We both had our guns drawn in one hand, and we didn't point any of them at Balor, so he had no reason to look so pissed off.
"You!" he snarled at such a loud tone. "I thought we ran you out of town."
"Mmm," Whiskey said. "Not quite."
Balor fixed the cuffs on his black tuxedo's sleeves, as if he's nonchalantly ignoring us. "I would assume that you all had fled me once again."
"Really?" I asked. "Then, why were you and your idiot pet there hidin' in the outdoor landing of a shop?"
Balor tried to speak, but I managed to interrupt him. "And don't you dare make up more of your bullshit. I can see right through that," I said.
"Excuse me," Balor said, shocked by what I said.
"That is no way for a lady to talk," Balor's goon added.
I flashed an evil glare over to the goon, but Whiskey said something before I could. "You have no room to talk to her like that!"
"Since all that you are is Balor's bitch!" I exclaimed angrily.
Whiskey snapped his head toward my direction, shocked by my response toward Balor and his goon. Despite understanding the fact that I'm always bound to become volatile and curse a lot, Whiskey was still shocked by my response. He couldn't believe that I could flip a switch so quickly like that.
"What the hell do you want with us anyway?" Balor asked annoyingly.
I stared into Balor's soulless eyes from afar, not skipping a beat. "We just wanna talk you down. You know, try to come to a peaceful resolution this time."
Balor burst into laughter. Evil laughter. I mean, it was the most evil laughter I've ever heard. With every laugh Balor projected, a fearful chill zipped down my spine faster than Nascar vehicles. And yes, I was definitely afraid of Balor, only because he's so ruthless and maniacal that no sane person can even think about him.
"How cute," he teased. "You think we could come to a peaceful resolution."
"Well, unlike you," I started, "I don't want to see any more people get killed."
Whiskey was keeping an eye on me, just in case I just so happened to lunge at Balor. I guess he also had the adamant idea to keep to peaceful resolutions. He only wanted to get aggressive if all hell freezes over, which—judging by the way things are going right now—seems inevitable.
"Oh, I plan on killing people whenever I damn well please," Balor added. "Just like I plan on killing you when I get the chance."
"You're not gonna lay one finger on her," Whiskey warned in a low tone.
A wicked smile slowly appeared on Balor's face. "Oh, but I will."
Once Balor and his goon started to reach for their guns, Whiskey and I knew what to do. So we ended up drawing our guns and pointing them at Balor and his goon. Of course, Whiskey had eyes on the goon, while I had my eyes on Balor. Despite being so afraid of him, I didn't let that show, and I kept my gun pointed at Balor without moving a single inch.
"Ah, ah," Whiskey said. "Not so fast."
One corner of Balor's mouth hooked upward into a devilish smirk. It's quite difficult to see what exactly is going through his head, but I could assume that nothing good is coursing through there. It's only the most God awful thoughts. Thoughts that even the most evil of people wouldn't dare think.
"You ain't gettin' away with your bullshit that easily," I said to Balor, still keeping my glock pointed toward him.
"Oh, but I intend to," Balor sneered.
Right at that moment, a large boom echoed throughout downtown, which jolted me and Whiskey out of our focus on Balor. When we looked over to see where it came from, we concluded that it came from a cozy restaurant across the street. We exchanged a quick glance to one another and then decided to dash over there to see what was going on.
"The hell was that?" I asked.
When Whiskey and I entered, we found several people—all of which were probably differently aged—curled up into tiny balls, praying that they wouldn't get shot. Luckily, no one was killed yet, as far as Whiskey and I could see. We saw one of Balor's goons, standing on a counter and pointing his gun at the people below.
"I'll kill you all if I have to," he snarled.
Whiskey and I raised our guns toward him quicker than a flash. "Drop the gun now!" I shouted.
The goon then turned his attention to us, pointing his gun at us. Luckily, Whiskey and I had our guns loaded, so we could shoot at a moment's notice.
"And I'll kill you two, as well," the goon commented.
"Bitch, please!" Whiskey exclaimed. "You got two guns pointed at your goddamn head. I highly doubt any of us are gonna miss."
There was a part of me that wanted to burst out laughing, given the fortuitous response from Whiskey. Sure, I knew he had a mouth on him like I do, but I didn't expect him to say something like that.
"Oh. I definitely won't miss," the goon said.
"Okay. Anyone that ain't in a standoff right now, please get the hell outta here," I said to the crowd of people who were being held hostage by the goon.
The crowd started to file out of the restaurant, while Whiskey and I kept our guns pointed at the goon. But my attention was diverted when a sound of gunshots—followed by screams of terror—echoed throughout the air.
"The hell?" I asked, going toward the main doorway to figure out what was going on.
Luckily, as far as I could see, no one was hurt. They were just frightened as hell. But what were they frightened of? Well, I found out very quickly, and it came from Balor and his goon. Definitely not good, by any means.
"Goddamn it!" I exclaimed. "Whiskey, they're firin' into the damn crowd!"
He exchanged a frightened yet angry glance with me. "Goddamnit!" he exclaimed. That's when Whiskey shot the goon in the leg, causing him to fall off the counter in pain. And although the goon's screams of agony were loud, I had the strength to ignore them.
"You sure that's gonna incapacitate him?" I asked.
Whiskey looked at the goon, then back at me. He shrugged as though he was doing nothing wrong. "Eh. It'll keep him down for a while."
We dashed out to the street and found that Balor and one of his goons were shooting into the crowd, trying to kill them. I wasn't going to let that slide, and I'm sure as hell Whiskey wasn't about to, either. So we jumped over to the other side of the street so that we could get a better shot of Balor and his goon—all while Whiskey and I were ducking out of the way of the bullet shower heading for us.
Eventually, we used an alleyway to disappear from the bullets. It also gave us a way for Whiskey and I to prepare our weapons...so that we could engage in a gunfight. A damn good one, too. I could feel that this was gonna be a good gunfight.
Any chance Whiskey and I had, we tried to fire shots at Balor and his goon. But we could never land those shots. Balor and his goon would duck behind a wall—specifically, a wall that connects to the building of a cozy shop—so that they don't get hit by any stray bullets. This angered me a lot, considering that I wanted to shoot Balor so badly. I don't know why, but maybe it had something to do with the fact that he's a complete psycho who needs to be taught a lesson.
A damn good one, too.
For a while, Whiskey and I exchanged shots with Balor and his goon, missing them almost every time. There were a couple times where we came close to hitting them, and had they not moved, then we would have shot them. I ducked behind the wall again to avoid Balor's bullets and to also reload the cartridge of my glock.
"Goddamnit!" I exclaimed.
Whiskey also ducked behind the wall to avoid getting shot and to reload. "What's the matter?"
"That son-of-a-bitch keeps movin'," I said, trying to stock the cartridge full of bullets. "I can't get a good shot off."
"Yeah. That bastard keeps movin' so that we can't clip 'im," Whiskey added. "If this keeps up, then we'll run out of bullets in no time."
My blood started to boil after I realized this. Perhaps Balor was only moving around like that so that he could cause Whiskey and I to waste our bullets. I was pissed! And I'm sure that Whiskey could detect that just by the killer resting bitch face I had. He didn't want to piss me off even more than I already was, given the fact that I had a fucking gun in my hand.
And he knew damn well that I'm not afraid to use it.
"Well, we ain't runnin' out of bullets," I said. "Not on my watch!"
I appeared from behind the wall again, trying to shoot Balor with a full cartridge. But no matter how hard I tried to land a shot, I couldn't. Balor was simply too quick! Son of a bitch, my thoughts screamed as I ducked behind the wall again to avoid the gunfire.
"I can't land a motherfuckin' shot!" I exclaimed as Whiskey went back out to fire at Balor and his goon.
I saw his face scrunch up after he ducked behind the wall again. He looked at me as though I was completely crazy. Crazier than my usually unhinged personality. "Then, get angry! Be the bitch that I know you can be! Let somethin' piss you off so badly, so that you can finally shoot Balor. Be that bitch!"
His eyes widened with fear. The fear of facing my wrath. It was like he was regretting saying that to me. "I mean that in the best way possible, I swear!" he added. "Please don't kill me."
"Why the hell would I kill you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I figured that you'd kill me after I said that."
I shook my head back and forth, indicating that his assumptions were wrong. "No. No, of course not. I wouldn't even think about killin' you. I'm not even pissed off that you said that. You were just trying to hype me up...and I appreciate that."
I slammed the cartridge back into my glock while looking over my shoulder to see where Balor was. That way, I don't get hit by any incoming bullets. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I said, "we have a terrorist's ass to kick."
As soon as I appeared from behind the wall to start shooting at Balor again, he shot at me, but this time, he was going for my face...and that, in itself, pissed me off badly. And Whiskey knew that too because of my face twisting into an image of rage.
"Oh hell no!" I shouted, cracking my knuckles from behind the wall before I started shooting again.
I appeared from behind the wall again, more pissed off than ever before. Apparently, my rage was useful because I managed to hit Balor in the upper left leg twice. I felt so proud of myself, considering that it was the first time in a long time that Balor had been injured so awfully like this.
"Should I aim for the left leg, too?" I asked Whiskey, who was reloading his weapon.
"I would," he replied. "Make sure he's too incapacitated to even come after us. After we get him down hard enough, we're makin' a mad dash out of here. Understand?"
I nodded, going back to work. After a couple shots, I managed to hit Balor in his right and left shoulders and upper right leg, causing him to completely wither to the ground in plenty of agony. He was yelping in pain, clutching onto his left leg, which had hurt the most.
"I got him! Whiskey, I finally got the son-of-a-bitch!" I exclaimed excitedly.
"Good," he said. "Now that the goon is cowering in fear, let's get the hell outta here before Balor's adrenaline starts kickin' in."
I bit my bottom lip after I realized that. "That'd be smart."
Both Whiskey and I managed to get to the truck quickly, with him taking the wheel in the driver's seat and me in the passenger seat. My only job...to fend off any incoming fire heading toward us. I highly doubt that any would be coming, but it's better if I keep an eye out for that just in case.
Then, Whiskey reversed out of the spot and made a mad dash out of Denver, going out of it in a different way so that Balor didn't see us until it was too late. It was a good thing that I shot both of his arms because had I not, then there was a possibility that he would have shot Whiskey and I. That would've been bad.
But thank God that we managed to escape...I don't know what we would've done if we hadn't. If I didn't have Whiskey, then we would've been dead already. I probably wouldn't have a straight enough head to survive.
And although we managed to escape yet again, it only showed that Whiskey and I had won. Won the battle but not the war...but I fully intend on winning this war. Whatever it takes to do it, I promise to win this war.
Guaranteed.