Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
He roars as he gets to his feet and lunges on me, but he never arrives. A huge blur flies between us, tackling him to the ground.
I gasp as I watch two huge men separate as they stare each other down with furious eyes.
Shit, I don’t have time for this. I’m trying to fulfill my life’s dream over here. I keep the stream of water pointed at the building (and not between Grey’s eyes like I want to).
The other guys start hollering and yelling as Grey and the new man collide again. Enzo, Quinton, and Brees all run over.
I want to help him since he did save my life, but the man is on top of Grey and landing hard punches, so he doesn’t need help from me. But that poor lady over there watching her business burn to the ground does.
I step away from the brawl and try to detect the hot zones like I learned in training. Shit, the whole building is a hot zone.
My heart is racing with excitement as I take on the flames, smothering them with the water from the hose. Thick black smoke billows into the air as the water does its job.
The owner comes running over to me, waving her hands in the air. “Turn it off! Let it burn! I’m going to collect the insurance money and retire in Barbados!”
She looks thrilled, which is a relief, but I’m not going to stop until every last flame is out.
It’s not long before all that’s left is a creaking, soaked, blackened frame of a building.
I turn off the nozzle, cutting the water as I grin. I did it. There’s not much left to the building, but I did what I could.
It’s then that I remember the fight. I lower the pipe and turn around to look.
I gasp when I see Grey holding the man’s arms behind his back as Quinton lands hard punches into his stomach.
“Hey! Stop that!”
They don’t listen. Brees is watching impassively. Only Enzo seems to care. He’s shaking his head as he turns away, but he’s not doing anything to stop it.
“Leave him alone!” I shout as I rush over, dragging the pipe with me.
Each thunderous punch has me wincing. Each heavy grunt that leaves my savior breaks my heart. I can’t let them do this. He helped me and I have to return the favor.
“Stop it!” I scream, giving them one last chance.
Quinton not only doesn’t stop, but he switches to the man’s face, slamming hard punches into his cheeks and chin.
That’s it! I’m putting a stop to this.
I pull back the pipe and let them have it.
A hard stream of water surges out and blasts Quinton in the chest just as he pulls back his fist to land another devastating blow. He’s caught off balance and flies backward, skidding across the pavement with a grunt.
As he slides away from us, I arch the jet of water over my new friend’s head and blast it right into Grey’s face. If he didn’t want to kill me before, he surely does now. I’m as good as dead.
He releases the guy and his arms fly up to cover his face as I fill it with ten thousand gallons of water. The guy elbows him in the stomach and then rushes over to my side.
I get my first glimpse of his face and my core tightens. The way he’s looking at me…
It sends shivers racing through my body. Those brown eyes… They’re so intense.
There’s something different about this man. I can feel it all over. Physically, mentally, spiritually. I step closer to him as goosebumps tickle my skin.
“We’re going,” he grunts as he grabs my wrist with an unbreakable grip.
This is my job. I can’t leave. I worked so hard to get here and I refuse to quit.
Quinton is soaked as he gets up, glaring at me with his furious blue eyes.
I gulp. I guess I quit the second I decided to hit my boss in the chest with a water gun on steroids. I’ll be lucky if he only fires me. Both him and Grey look like they want my head on a pike.
I nod my head at the guy clutching my wrist. “Great idea!”
I pull the lever down, cutting the flow of water, but the hose is still primed and ready as we back toward what I’m hoping is his truck.
My new crew (or my old crew is more like it) glare at us as we back away.
“Traitor,” Brees says, spitting out the word like venom.
Ouch. That hurts.
The man’s hand is still wrapped around my wrist as he pulls me back. It should be sending warning bells off in my head, but it’s not. If anything, my body, soul, brain, and every other part of me is telling me to go with him.