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)
Trav sits opposite me and takes two pieces of pizza at once, stacking them on top of each other and shoving them in his mouth. “You’re thinking hard over there.” His words come out all muffled.
“Yeah. Apparently, trying to use your dick as a distraction only works when I’m on said dick.”
Trav chokes on his food and coughs. “Uh, well, feel free to, you know, get on it at any time. With any part of your body. Your hand, your mouth, your—”
“Thanks for your sacrifice.”
“Just doing my job and taking one for the team. Obviously.”
“Right.” I stare at the pizza on my plate.
“Okay, what’s really going on up here?” Trav taps the side of his head.
“I was thinking about the other guys on my team, contemplating if any of them know what went down. Why Walker has them looking for me.”
“Domino asked me if you know of anyone we could trust on the inside, but it’s a risk to reach out, no matter how sure you are they can be trusted.”
“It’s like you said on the phone earlier. I didn’t even know my direct supervisor was dirty. I also slept with you. I agree my judgment needs some work.” I can’t say hearing those things didn’t sting, but hey, look where I am. I do feel stupid for not knowing about Walker. It’s embarrassing.
“Y-you heard that?”
“Yep. And it’s the truth.” I act like it doesn’t get to me, even if it does.
Trav finishes off his stacked pizza slices and leans forward. “It’s not the truth. I only said all that shit because I know my guys, and if they catch wind of anything remotely—” His mouth slams shut.
“Remotely what?”
“What I mean is, they joke about us being boyfriends all the time. I had to play it down like I’m messing with you and don’t care, otherwise the mocking would only become worse. You think I’m immature for my age? You should see the overgrown frat boys whose hair has started going gray.”
“Why do I feel like you’ve described every member of your team? You shouldn’t be called Mike Bravo, you should be Overgrown Frat Boys with Weapons.”
“I tried that. Didn’t fit on the business card.”
I smile. “And Oscar Foxtrot Bravo Whiskey is a mouthful.”
Trav’s phone goes off with an alert, but it’s not a text or phone call sound. He immediately looks at the screen, his normally stoic expression absent as panic takes over.
“What is it?” I ask.
When he glances up at me, his eyes widen as his gaze zeroes in on my chest. “Get down.” The next second, before I can register what’s going on, he jumps out of his seat and tackles me to the floor.
We land with a hard thud, his big body on top of mine.
I’m not complaining, though I am confused. “Hey, you don’t have any sex minutes left—”
My taunt is cut off by glass exploding, the sound echoing in my ears.
“Stay down,” Trav growls. He backs off me and flips the dining table, providing a shield between us and whatever flew through that window.
“What was that?”
Trav grips me by the shirt and pulls me behind him. “Walker found us.”
Strapped underneath the dining table are an assault rifle and magazine. He rips away the duct tape and has the weapon assembled in no time flat.
“How do you know it’s Walker?” I ask. “Anyone who needs to stash weapons at his dining table surely has enemies.”
“Because the red dot was pointed to the middle of your chest. Not mine. They’re here for you.”
“How did they know where we—”
I’m cut off by Trav lifting his head and spraying bullets toward the window.
If it wasn’t smashed to pieces before, it is now.
Trav ducks back down. “How doesn’t matter. I need to get you out of here. I’ll hold them off. My room has a panic button on the left-hand side near my desk. Get there and lock yourself in.”
“I can help you.”
The crunch of footsteps over broken glass rings in my ears. Whoever it is has made their way inside. Trav hears it too. He lifts his head but quickly drops down again, lifting his gun over the side of the table and shooting blindly. “Go,” he yells over the gunfire.
I don’t have a weapon on me, and I know being out here with him will distract him. The last thing I want is for both of us to get shot because we’re too busy yelling at each other, so I reluctantly leave him even though it feels wrong.
This isn’t what a teammate should do, but I also know Trav can handle himself, and if I’m out here, that’s an added distraction Trav doesn’t need.
I slink away, keeping my head low as I crawl in the direction of Trav’s room, but when I’m safely behind a god-awful tiger-print couch, I reach under it, searching. I figure if Trav has guns stashed under his dining table, he probably has them all over the place.