He sprinted towards the couches while keeping down low. Gunfire peppered the furniture, sending stuffing into the air. Good thing, I’m not allergic to feathers.
When he reached the gap between the couches and the door leading to the kitchen he squeezed off several rounds from his pistol towards the main entrance. That did little to slow down return fires, and even swore that one ruffled his hair.
Smythe dove through the door, and immediately scooted over to the stainless steel cabinets from the steam line. The sliding panels deformed as projectiles failed to penetrate. Don’t think about that!
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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