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)
I haven’t had much time to think about that and analyze it, and if I’m honest with myself, that’s a good thing. “I’m going to go with the delusion that you will call the proper authorities when the time comes.”
He pats my cheek. “Good boy. Plausible deniability and all that. Let’s get out of here.”
Nerves and adrenaline churn as Trav gets in the driver’s seat and the engine roars to life.
I’ve been involved in countless raids before, and this feels similar, but it’s heightened by the knowledge these guys’ target is me. This isn’t a drug dealer versus cop. This is … okay, I don’t know who these guys are or who they work for, only that they’re chasing a bounty to take me out. If the guy bleeding out on Trav’s floor is to be believed anyway.
Though, he’d have no reason to lie about that.
One of Trav’s three garage doors opens slowly, but where I’m expecting him to drive forward and out, he puts the car in reverse.
I fly forward, bracing my hand on the seat in front of me as Trav navigates his way backward out a different door that’s now rising too.
“A little warning would’ve been nice,” I yell.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
His distraction has worked, though. Whoever’s out there is running down the ramp in front of us, not behind.
We hit the unpaved path outside, and one of the assailants takes aim with an assault rifle, but Trav’s quicker.
“Hold tight.” He pulls on the handbrake and spins this beast in the opposite direction.
The tires spin beneath us on the rough surface until we’re thrust forward as Trav punches the accelerator. We meet up with the actual driveway, and just when I begin to get my hopes up that we’ve shaken them already, headlights appear behind us, bright and blinding.
“You’re up,” Trav says. “And please don’t die. Or get shot. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Lucky this is happening now and not in a month, then.”
“It’s cute you think a month would be long enough with you,” he yells. Before I can even react to that piece of news, he continues. “Now, please get these asses off my ass. Things are about to get bumpy.”
Right. Time to channel my inner Trav and blow shit up.
I can do this. I grab hold of the I-bar above me and pull myself up, turning and putting one foot against the backrest of my seat to steady me while I raise the AR-15 and aim toward the general vicinity of the glowing headlights.
I’m glad I don’t have time to overthink about where my bullets are going because shooting without reservations about who it might kill is not how it’s done in the DEA. Even when our lives are at stake.
There might be some law enforcement officers who believe shoot now, ask questions later, but I’ve never been like that. Life has value. And right now, I need to protect my own.
I ignore the ringing in my ears as I fire my weapon, and it lets out round after round.
Trav turns off onto an old beaten path, and the dip that follows as the tires roll over holes almost makes me lose balance.
A random spray of bullets gets shot into the air as I correct myself.
“I told you it was about to get bumpy,” Trav yells.
Thanks, asshole.
“They still following?” he asks.
“Yep. They’re slower, though.” We’re putting some good distance between us.
“Put a hole in the ground and block them from coming any farther.”
“Huh?” We hit another bump, and I grab onto the bar to stop myself from falling.
“Throw a grenade!” he yells.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Do it.”
With a sigh, I put the safety on the rifle and let it hang by my side. My hands shake as I pull one of the grenades out of my pocket, and I can’t even blame the treacherous terrain that has the heavy vehicle bouncing around all over the place. I seriously feel like I’m in a bouncy house.
The chance of me dropping this damn thing is high. At least if I accidentally kill Trav, he won’t be able to mock me for it.
Okay, hold the handle thingy to the thing. Pull and twist the other thing, and—the pin comes out. Holy fuck, I’m holding something that’s about to go boom.
I have to admit, there’s some power in that, but I’m too freaked-out about blowing ourselves up to enjoy it.
I throw it as hard as I can and then spin to take my seat and prepare for the explosion.
Trav accelerates, and I look back just in time for the ground to shake and the plume of fire to shoot up into the sky.
And as terrifying as it is that I did that, it’s a tiny bit thrilling as well. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. Especially not to Trav.