Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Yeah, they’re leaving.” Elliott was on the phone with Ramirez. “Copy that. We’re switching to earpieces when we know the destination.”
By now, we were all huddled in the entryway, with Joel and Reese keeping watch out the narrow window by the door.
I figured it was a good time… “For afterward, gentlemen.” I started handing out the cigars I’d bought.
We needed to throw ourselves into this fight, fully believing we’d succeed without casualties, preferably without injuries too. Blake and Marisa were coming home, end of story.
“I guess we don’t believe in jinxing ourselves here…” Joel swallowed, visibly nervous, and accepted a cigar. “Thank you.”
“Jinxing is for hockey,” I said.
He cracked a slight smirk.
“They’re comin’ ’round the bend,” Reese stated.
This was it, then.
Crew thought it was a great idea to hum “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.”
Shay came up to me and spoke quietly in my ear. “Is it wrong to be excited?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I smiled and kissed his cheek to show I was mostly kidding. But yeah, Reese and I had an interesting issue up ahead; that was becoming clear. Shay had always been the one who wanted to be useful and make a difference.
Coach’s haphazard offer for Shay to join Hillcroft was his way of testing the waters, and Reese had already texted with Coach to figure out what the fuck he meant by it. And Shay had subtly hinted he was curious.
Luckily, Coach was talking about a noncombat operator. In short, he was interested in talking to Shay about maybe becoming a martial arts instructor for recruits at Hillcroft. A position that wouldn’t worry Reese and me to death, all while…Shay would get a taste of the PMC life. And what if he fucking liked it? Huh? What then? He was young. He was the right age for those who left the military behind to join the private sector.
Darius’s snort of amusement pulled me from my future headache, and he read something from his phone. “Willow’s named our combat units. Renegade Unit 1—Elliott, Joel, Ryan, and Crew. Renegade Unit 2—Reese, Ortega, River. Renegade Rescue Unit—Gray, Darius, Shay, and Mercier.” He glanced up from his phone. “I guess we’re the renegades.”
I exchanged a wry smirk with Elliott, whereas Crew and Shay fist-bumped and clearly loved the name.
“Okay, that’s cool. I like it.” Gray was on board too. “What a dick magnet.” He sidled up next to Darius and jerked his chin, all flirty. “Hey, big daddy. Did you know I’m a renegade? You wanna come back to my place?”
Darius rumbled a laugh and hugged Gray to him. “My renegade dork.”
“All right, let’s renegade the fuck out of here,” Reese said. “All five cars have passed.”
CHAPTER 6
Joel Hayward
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I don’t wanna say goodbye to her.”
Fuck. I cleared my throat and swallowed back my emotions. But when Blake fell apart again, I couldn’t fight the tears to save my life. I picked her up, and we hugged each other tightly.
“Why can’t she be an angel later?” she cried.
I sniffled and carried her away from the gravesite. My mom had moved back to San Diego, once more, to be closer to Blake and me, and she’d gotten, what, six months?
Fuck cancer.
It’d happened too fast. My shock had barely settled before I’d had to bury her.
“You know what we need now?” I murmured thickly. “Tacos and movies and ice cream and not moving our butts from the couch.”
“I think so too,” she croaked. “And maybe new roller skates.”
She was totally right. We both needed new roller skates.
“We’ll make that happen,” I said, clearing my throat again. Screw this year. I didn’t want any more bad news for at least a decade.
This was that moment in every drug interdiction at sea before I had eyes on my target. I knew they were out there somewhere, but I couldn’t see them yet. Determination sharpened my focus, and restlessness set my body in motion. I bounced my knee, I drummed my fingers, I bit at my cuticles, and I rechecked my side pockets to remind myself I had everything.
It felt entirely wrong to let Carillo’s caravan of criminals drive so far ahead of us. But we couldn’t afford to be spotted.
Crew didn’t seem to enjoy driving the speed limit.
The road between Andorra and the Spanish flatlands hugged the mountainsides and was never straight for more than a couple hundred feet. At one point, Crew had almost caught up to Carillo, so now Elliott had his laptop up to ensure the distance didn’t shrink.
Ryan and I sat quietly in the back seat.
I didn’t recognize the software Elliott was using on the laptop. It had to be something advanced that civilians had no access to. There was a live GPS map following the trackers, a constant stream of updates of locations, a message function that he used to communicate with Ramirez and Willow, and walls of code all over.