Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Come on, pup.” I tuck my gun away and bend to pick her up.
“What are you doing?” Saint asks.
“Don’t you think standing out here waiting for a dog is a good way to get us killed? And if we abandon her in the middle of a gunfight, your boyfriend will kill us. Either way, I don’t want to die.”
The next minute, Iris appears from the weapon bunker, running and waving his arms.
I think he’s yelling something, but he’s too far away, and there’s too much gunfire ringing in my ears for me to make out what. Then I can make out a faint “Go!”
I quickly pick up the dog and run as fast as I can while carrying the sixty-pound beast, who has suddenly stopped whining and is now happily panting in my arms.
Saint and I make it to the car, and I put Princess in the back seat with me. Saint gets in the driver’s seat, the engine roars to life, and then we watch as Iris runs backward while spraying bullets everywhere in the vicinity of the shadows chasing us.
Saint laughs. “She played you.”
I glance down at the German shepherd, who’s now looking up at me with a wide smile on her face and her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. She probably did, but I don’t even care. I praise her and pat her head, but then I’m thrust backward as Saint steps on the gas. He pulls up next to Iris, who instead of getting in the car like a normal person, jumps in through the already open window feet-first and sits on the doorframe like it’s a seat.
He reaches back for the rocket launcher and bangs on the roof twice, and Saint takes off again.
Trav’s people are … frighteningly badass. And I shouldn’t be surprised considering Trav is the same, but it makes me realize I don’t understand their world.
I live and work in the crime industry. I thought I knew what bad guys were like. This … whole underworld of assassin mercenaries, go bags, and running out of your home to escape people trying to kill you … There’s so much more to Trav than I ever let myself contemplate before.
And if I walk away from this with no job, no future, and no real direction, at least I’ll leave with something I never had before: respect for Trav.
I’ve also learned to understand him on a deeper level. He likes to keep things light because if he lived with this constant darkness getting to him, there’s no way he could stay sane.
As we pass the house to get to the main gate, the flames are what catch my attention. The house is still on fire, the wood paneling acting like kindling to the flames.
“I think you’re going to lose your house,” I say.
Two figures emerge from the front door, one limping while raising his automatic rifle at us, the other continuously firing our way. The tinging of bullets hitting metal has me jumping on top of their dog in case any breach the car.
Then, without warning, Iris launches a fucking grenade at his house. It hits the steps leading up to his porch and front door and explodes into a fireball of debris and smoke.
The ground shudders, the explosion rattling the whole car and scaring Princess half to death.
She sits up and whines, and I pull her close.
The two assholes Iris was aiming for fly through the air like they’ve been shot out of a cannon and land on the ground with a hard thump. If they’re not dead, they’re at least seriously injured.
“I take it back,” I say. “You’re definitely going to lose your house.”
We make it down their long driveway and out onto their street when Iris taps on the roof again. Saint pulls to a stop, and Iris climbs out, approaching two cars parked illegally near the entrance to his house. He takes out a knife and slashes their tires before moving around to the driver’s-side door and knocking on Saint’s window.
“You know the rules.”
Saint gets out of the car. “The first time he lets me drive his car, and it’s literally one hundred feet. Worst boyfriend ever.”
They don’t trade places quick enough for my liking, and I frantically glance around to see if anyone’s about to jump out at us.
I’m about to ask them if we’re going to get on the road anytime soon, but Iris’s words cut me off.
“Are you sure you’re okay? No PTSD or flashbacks or panic attacks going on?”
Yep. I’m going to shut my mouth and pretend I can’t hear them.
“Surprisingly, no.”
The smile in Saint’s voice is evident, and I’m happy for him. I didn’t know he had PTSD, but then again, it’s not like I know much about any of Trav’s men.
I fought my attraction to him for so long, I lumped all of Mike Bravo in with each other. I thought they were all meathead adrenaline junkies who thrived on this shit. But thinking about it deeper, it would make sense that they have scars, both physically and mentally after what they do.