Repose Books (reposebooks) wrote in repose, @ 2018-03-26 19:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, ~plot: books |
Reveal
Who: Vaguely threatening
What: Reveals
When: Immediately after this
The cool, slightly damp air of Repose was nearly as brutal as the kick to her stomach had been. Gone was the wall, the heat of the desert, the gritty almost sand-dirt of the place. Gone was the gun in her hand, the sicarios, the American whose face she had blown off in a fit of spite.
Fuck.
She coughed, swinging her legs under her, but it took a few failed attempts before she managed to get up, bile scalding in her esophagus. She'd shot him. She was sure he hadn't been the mole, but she still shot him, and she barely made it out of the exhibit in her boots before she was back on her knees and throwing up in the grass.
She was not fucking Elena Sanchez, La Reina of the Baja Cartel. She didn't fucking shoot people in the face except -- except she had. Her guts heaved again, but nothing new came up, and she forced herself to breathe in. It was wet, and wheezy, but she managed it. A second breath was quieter. The third almost silent. She sucked in a shaky but quiet breath before she climbed to her feet, hands on her jean covered thighs.
She needed to -- she should check on him. Was he real? She staggered, guts threatening to revolt again, but she swallowed the feeling down until she could breathe around it. She could do this. She'd find him. Leena would find him if he was real. Fuck.