The Gunroom Novels & Stories

Chapter Nine You’re the Bullet, I’m the Gun 04:48 P.M. Cain’s private war room — Underground bunker, Safehouse Delta The smell of iron hung thick in the air. A long metal table stood at the center. Maps, weapons, surveillance photos. A bottle of whiskey half-drained. Bloodstained gloves. Two guns, one still warm. Cain paced slowly, shirtless, his body a canvas of new bruises and old rage. Saxon sat in the far corner, wrapped in a black robe, barefoot, silent. Watching him.

I pressed. “Nobody ever knew his name or saw him. We just knew he existed and was equally deadly.” Another wasted night. I sighed and got down from the oversized man. “What the hell?” He swore, trying to reach out to me but I kicked him back into the couch. He clutched his chest in pain. I fixed my dress and snatched my purse from the table. I was about to leave the dimly lit room when I heard a gun cock. Turning around, I saw his shaky hand trying to grip the revolver. I almost laughed at the attempt.

I just wanted her away from them. We stepped into the room where I kept my weapons and I locked the door behind us. The walls were lined with glowing high-tech displays and racks of weapons that cost more than most people made in a lifetime. Gianna let out a small, breathless sound. She started to walk around the room. I stayed by the door, leaning my back against the wood, my arms crossing over my chest. I just watched her. She walked to the long glass case on the left. Inside were rows of sleek, matte-black pistols and custom-made knives with handles carved from bone and carbon fiber. Her fingers hovered over the glass, her eyes scanning the sights, the triggers.

Her eyes flicked to the gun in my hand, and she asked, "Are these silver plated too?" "Yeah, but nothing like this one," I replied, raising the gun and pointing it at hers. The familiar weight of the gun was reassuring, but I knew it wouldn't last long. "On my mark," I said, my voice firm. Chekov stood right behind me, ready to charge outside at a moment's notice. I pushed the door slightly, peering out into the hallway. George Rutherford and six men with dark uniforms I couldn't recognize stood before us, trying to breach the safe room. Their faces twisted in anger and frustration.

“Do you realize what you’re setting in motion, Cardan?” My jaw flexed, but I didn’t answer. The thought of leaving her alone in that den of wolves made something sharp and primal curl tight in my chest. But I pushed it down. I couldn’t afford distractions. We finally reached the chamber. Heavy iron doors groaned as George shoved them open. The room beyond wasn’t a chamber in the ordinary sense. It was an arsenal. Weapons of every kind lined the walls, blades gleaming with silver edges, spears forged with wolfsbane tips, guns that waited with runes carved into their steel.

she asked as they descended the stairs. “Not quite,” he replied, a teasing edge in his voice. But as they reached the bottom, his tone shifted steadier, more serious. “That one is different.” When the final door opened, she paused in awe. It was a fully equipped private shooting range, high ceilings, soundproof walls, and a long stretch of polished flooring leading to automated targets at the far end. The place was sleek and coldly modern, the kind of room that whispered danger in luxury. Along one wall stood a glass case of weapons, organized, gleaming, and unmistakably real.

It has not been a problem for him since he got used to it. There was actually a spare room in his condo. Two, as a matter of fact. One, he converted it into a training room where he put all his weapons; knives, swords, and his gun collection. There's also a space in that room where he can practice his firing skills. The remaining portion was left for his training dummy, which he used for sharpening his sword skill. The other room was his gym. When he is frustrated, he will let off his steam in his training room, but when he is feeling lonely while missing his family, he will go to the gym and do some exercise. The things he and his family did together when they were still alive. The two room

The gunshots echoed through the hallways, the guild members' movements swift and precise. The adversaries fought fiercely, but the guild members' determination pushed them forward. With calculated teamwork, they neutralized the threats and moved on. As they reached the sixth floor, Jota's grip on the machine gun tightened. They were closer now, and the tension in the air was palpable. The guild members entered another room, their guns blazing as they confronted the adversaries. The exchange of gunfire was intense, the room illuminated by the flashes of muzzle fire. The guild members' resolve held strong, and they emerged victorious once more.

I come out of my hiding place and begin to look around for the room where their weapons are kept. All pack has a weapon room in case of war break out. I walk further, there is a room at the adjacent side of the hallway and there’s a difference on the curtain color. It’s the only room that has a red curtain instead of dark curtains. The difference attracts my attention, I yank the curtain open and I begin to see different weapons, handcuff, a huge black chain and many more. I charge into the room and begin to touch all the weapons as I try to find the type of gun that fits perfectly with the bullet.

Stan took position on the other side of the door, and as one, we leaned in to divide the target and fired. Half a dozen men in the room beyond the door, all armed and standing in front of a second door. The room in question looked like a goddamn mudroom, except for the blood and automatic weapons. I clipped a man leaning out from behind a shoe rack in the shoulder, and Stan landed a headshot on the one behind the sink. We ducked back out.