Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I move to follow, but glance out the front where things seem to have gone quiet for the moment. “My car!”
“Move it!” he screams, just before something booms inside the station, shaking the floor so I nearly lose my balance. Another explosion? Candy bars and bags of chips on fire spill from the shelves, and a fridge full of energy drinks topples over, right between me and Gabriel.
It’s okay, I can climb over—
With a creak and a crash that has me jump back a step, the one next to it falls too. There was a crate of some kinds of car accessories stored on top of it, and suddenly there's a big pile of rubble blocking the door with just a tiny gap for Gabriel and me to see each other through. There’s no way I’m squeezing through that.
We stare at each other helplessly, two bystanders caught in someone else’s war. I’m quickly learning that I should stop wishing for more excitement in my life because I’m not cut out for it, but I know I could never live with myself if something happened to someone else because I froze. “Go! Don’t be stupid. I’ll chance the front.”
He hesitates, but nods. “I’ll call for help,” he yells, already on the move.
I make it as far as what’s left of the front door before the gunfire starts back up and I throw myself to the ground. This is insane. I have no idea what to do. Outside is deadly, but inside is on fire.
There’s a black SUV in front that probably looked a lot better before it was filled with bullet holes and scorched by the explosion. A man in a suit is using the front for cover as he shoots at a group of guys in jeans and leather jackets on the other side of the pumps. The pump that blew up is a fiery wreck, and I’m not sure what’s scarier, the guns or what will happen when the flames keep spreading. There are a bunch more pumps that can go up. My car is still more or less untouched, and I make the—probably stupid—plan to try to get to it and get the heck out of Dodge.
I keep as low as I can, inching towards my car and hoping no one sees me. At least until I trip over the arm of a man in a white dress shirt lying face down in a pool of his own blood. The only thing that keeps me from screaming and bringing everyone’s attention my way is that my scream won’t come out. I’m literally too terrified to make a sound. Time passes like in a dream as I dash to my car without a thought in my head but putting one foot in front of the other until I get there. Somehow, I do.
The guy hiding behind the SUV cries out in pain and the gunshots stop. I hold my breath as the bikers walk right past the other side of the pumps on their way to the SUV. One last gunshot pierces the air and I know in my gut the man in the suit is just as dead as the guy by the door.
“It’s done. Let’s get the fuck outta here,” says one of them in a gruff command.
Tears stream down my face and I make myself as small and still as possible as the murderers run to their bikes.
Don’t see me. Don’t see me, I chant in my head. There’s no way they’ll let a witness get away.
I’m almost convinced that I’ve gotten away with it when one of the monsters stops. I can just see him through the car windows. His face is deeply scarred, the disfiguration continuing from his chin and well down his neck. Then I realize that if I can see him, he can see me, and I huddle down.
“Come on,” snaps one of the others. “Cops are gonna be here soon.”
“I thought I heard…”
He takes a step in my direction.
3
WRAITH
“Get your asses to West and Fifty-second,” Eagle Eye barks into the phone. “Shots fired at the gas station. Something big’s going down and you’re closest.”
“On our way.” Tank and Nitro watch me closely, waiting for the order as I jam my phone in my pocket.. “You heard that?”
“I think they fucking heard him across the street,” says Tank, but other than that, any trace of the laid back jokers they usually are has vanished. Shit’s about to go down, and there’s no one I’d rather have at my back than Tank and Nitro. The Screaming Eagles are my family, and these two assholes are my brothers, not by the blood in our veins, but by the blood we’ve spilled pulling each other’s asses out of the fire over the years.
We adjust our pieces for easy access as we run to our bikes. When things turn bad, every second matters. A moment later, we’re screaming out of the alley and towards who the fuck knows what trouble.