Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
The pandemic had given them a lot of practice hours, during which they’d put more focus on speed, silent communication—Gray had even started learning sign language—and disarming someone quickly. Removing the threat was the key to ensuring their own safety.
Darius raised a closed fist, halting their approach, and peered through the monocular.
So far, Gray couldn’t see anything other than trees and ferns—the entire jungle floor was covered—but it shouldn’t be long now. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and maybe the clouds were rolling back to reveal the moon too. Hard to be sure. He couldn’t actually see the sky for the density of the trees.
“They’re taking a break,” Darius murmured. “One is drinking, the other is definitely smoking. Lucky bastard.”
Gray rolled his eyes and unstrapped his knife. He unfastened his gun too, but held it in his holster.
“We won’t get a better shot than this,” Darius finished quietly. “Estimated distance, fifty feet. I can see one rifle on the left guy’s back. Don’t know about the other one, but we assume they’re both armed. Left guy’s yours.”
“Understood.” Gray patted his pockets to make sure he knew where he had duct tape and zip ties. “I’m ready.”
They resumed their pursuit, and Gray took a deep breath. His stomach tightened with determination, and he poured all his concentration into the target ahead of them.
They were practically wading in a sea of ferns and low bushes, with traitorous roots slithering below, waiting to trip them. But at least the sounds they made were drowned out by the rest of the cacophony of noises. Distant screeches, echoes of howls, and so many fucking birds and buzzing night creatures.
Gray heard the two men before he saw them. They spoke Spanish. The glow of a cigarette followed, and then the shadowy figures became clearer.
Left guy, left guy. Several options ran through Gray’s head. He knew Darius had given him the left guy because a man with a visible weapon was easier to disarm than one you didn’t even know was strapped.
Their approach slowed down. Gray and Darius were about ten feet away, somewhat hidden behind a thick tree, and the targets had their backs to them. Darius pocketed the monocular and signaled to Gray. We charge at the same time. Gray nodded.
Focus.
Deep breaths.
The second Darius gave the signal, Gray crept forward and had to force himself to think about every step he took. Where he could steady himself in case he stumbled and how long it would take to jump to his feet if he fell.
He heard Darius’s firm coaching voice in his head. You don’t run until you have to. You have the element of surprise right up until you’re noticed. Keep that moment for as long as you can.
The two men chuckled at something, and the guy to the right gestured as he spoke about whatever. Darius undoubtedly understood; he knew Spanish. Gray had forgotten most of what he’d learned in high school.
“No manches, estás pero si bien pendejo,” one of them laughed.
When the guy to the left dropped his water canteen and bent down to pick it up, Gray made the decision in a fraction of a second, and it would change their plans. He sucked in a breath, sprinted the last few feet, and lifted the rifle off his target. Then, to the surprised shout of both men, he threw the rifle farther into the jungle and rammed into the guy to the right, sending them both to the ground.
Gray gnashed his teeth and used his upper body to keep the man down while his hands went to check for guns. He had maybe two seconds before the invisible restrictions of shock faded and allowed the men to fight back.
“Goddammit, knucklehead!” Darius swore.
“¡Vete a la verga!”
Gray grunted and threw away a handgun, and right then, the guy got ready to swing at him. So Gray utilized what he had left, his head. He slammed his forehead against the guy’s nose and used the seconds of bloody pain—literally—to roll the guy over onto his stomach.
Behind him, he heard Darius’s heavy breathing and shouting in Spanish by the other dude, which went completely silent after a muted thud. Darius must’ve knocked him out.
“Fuck,” Gray panted. He found a knife too and threw that away as well. Then he jumped to his feet, planted a boot on the man’s back, and gathered his hands together. “I need help.”
Darius was already there. He pulled out a roll of duct tape and began taping the man’s wrists together behind his back. “I told you to take the guy to the left,” he said irritably.
“I saw an opportunity,” Gray argued. “You always say we shouldn’t waste them.”
Darius clenched his jaw but said nothing. They worked in silence for a minute or two—guns and knives were disposed of, a radio was turned off, phones were shut off and thrown into the bush, hands and feet were restrained securely, and several layers of duct tape went around the targets’ heads to keep them from making sounds.