Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Yeah, but she’s a kicker.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t.” He double checks his weapon’s holster. “But I just feel like she is. And it’s really not how I want my jingle bells rang today.” I’m tossed an unhappy scowl. “That would put me in a fa-la-la-la fuck you mood, and we are way too close to fucking Christmas for that level of Grinch shit. Coal isn’t on my wish list, Wahl.”
I’m tempted to smirk over his outrageous tantrum. “You’ll be fine.” Closing the trunk is followed by declaring, “We stick to the original plan, and we simply take Britt too. Affirmative?”
The sneer he delivers is attached to announcing his comprehension of the order. “Affirmative.”
Relocating ourselves to the alleyway that houses the takeout door is a quick and easy feat. We stick to our previously mapped out route to avoid camera detection and use whatever coverage is available to prevent those passing by from getting suspicious. Aware of The Accountant’s routine of walking in, staring at the menu for a couple minutes, ordering, and then waiting inside for it to be ready – all masking the payout activity we couldn’t spot due to extremely limited video footage – we know how much time we don’t have left to get into position.
Subduing his security was a necessary anticipated step; however, learning the information about the inside man was unexpected and has created an uncomfortable crunch I could do without.
Our eventual arrival outside Thick Thais barely leaves time for each of us to get into position before our subjects are preparing to exit.
Martindale momentarily puts down her black shoulder bag to inspect the contents of the brown delivery sack on the counter, a sly action she uses to cloak The Accountant picking up her bag only to leave his for the taking. The smooth money drop is easy to conceal from cameras and onlookers, who they can simply wait to exit before executing, and it confirms what we suspected earlier.
She is the leak.
And he is in town to pay her.
I wait until he’s finished placing the bag over his shoulder to push my back against the brick wall. He casually exits, immediately spotting Blu who’s pretending to be texting on his phone. Rather than consider an ulterior motive for my partner’s positioning, he prepares to continue on his path when I swing one arm around his neck from behind, getting my elbow all the way underneath his chin, trapping his throat in the crook of my arm. Takeout crashes to the ground, leaving containers flopping open and sauce splashes in our wake during the process of me dragging him backwards out of the line of sight. I cross my other arm and expand my chest out with a deep inhale to complete the choke. There’s isn’t time for him to fight. Or flail. He simply goes limp in a matter of seconds leaving me only a few more to get him properly restrained. Lowering him to the ground happens just as Martindale leaves the building. Unlike the man currently spitting and slightly seizing, she goes on the attack. Not one for wanting to strike a woman unless he absolutely must, my second exerts every move he can think of to block.
Maneuver.
Evade getting a blow to the face.
The ribs.
The throat.
Her upper body strikes leave very little to concern ourselves with – weak punches, unstable wrists, improperly curled fists – but the lower body ones – the ones Blu was ultimately worried about – are admittedly impressive.
Properly formed high kicks on their own are something that could get the town talking; however, high kicks in goddamn stiletto boots are the type of shit to make a goddamn You Tube tutorial video about.
Guess she really paid attention during those days in Muay Thai.
Zip tying The Accountant’s ankles is completed to the sound of him choking on air that’s violently flooding back to him while cuffing his hands is finished around the time Martindale’s heel just barely misses the side of my best friend’s face.
“Fuck!” he huffs during another squatted dodge. “I really don’t wanna have to hit you!”
“Pussy!”
“Seriously?!” Blu shifts his forearm upward to shield another hit. “Did you seriously just call me a pussy?!”
On an annoyed eye roll, I unholster my Glock, aim it low to the ground, and wait for her to deliver her next kick. Firing off a round at the ankle of the leg she’s using for support results in her falling backwards on a blood curdling scream. “You’re fine, Martindale.” My emotionless reassuring is attached to the yanking up of The Accountant. “It’s a through and through, which is more than you fuckin’ deserve.”
I could add that it’s also just temporary.
For what she’s done?
She’ll be lucky if she makes it to the other side of lunch.
“And you, Little Boy Blu…” keeping my gun trained on the harshly breathing female is done alongside a smug smirk slipping onto my face, “are welcome.”