Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Where are we going?” Pyro asked as soon as he emerged out of the other guestroom. He seemed calm enough on the surface, but his face was getting a flush as they rushed down the stairs.
Tank tried to make little noise in his combat boots, but as he turned toward the front of the house, his gaze met his grandmother’s. She stood in his way in her silk nightgown, watering a large potted plant. She looked her age without makeup and coiffed hair, and he hesitated for the briefest moment.
“Where are you going? I was about to make breakfast,” she said, slowing her speech down when she settled her gaze on the rifle hung over Tank’s shoulder.
Tank exhaled, but as much as he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, he could not tell her what was going on, or stay until she made her breakfast casserole for that matter. “We’ll be back,” he said, walking past her, straight outside, where the bright rays of sun assaulted his eyes.
Pyro beat him to the car and went for the driver’s side. He drove off with a screech of tyres before Tank even got to shut the door.
Tank hardly blamed him. Thoughts were a tangle in his head--a throbbing mass of anger and worry, like a tumor growing in his brain and poisoning his thoughts.
“What the fuck were they thinking?” Pyro broke the silence bubble, dashing through the sleepy streets as soon a he backed out of Grandmother’s driveway.
“Doesn’t matter. You can kill Boar once we have them back,” Tank snarled, leaning into the seat and slowing his breathing. The last thing he needed was stress. There was no plan, and what they were about to do was personal, both of which significantly decreased their chances of success. That was his fucking life. Always picking up the pieces.
“What else do we know?”
Tank squinted at the phone, barely seeing the screen when they turned into a street where sun shone straight at his eyes. “I’ll call him.”
Pyro glanced at the sat-nav. “Doesn’t matter. We’re almost there, he can tell us in person. Can’t afford the chance the connection’s compromised.”
Tank’s heart beat faster when the device led them into a shabby suburb bordering an industrial area, but he didn’t care where he found Clover as long as he held the boy in his arms soon. Yelling at Clover for his actions could wait. Despite anger bubbling in his head, Tank wanted to first gain information on where the two other idiots had gone.
He parked the rental car in a cul-de sac and headed for a small bungalow with a living room set up in the front yard. He went past the sofa with ripped cushions, and a couple of sun chairs, and knocked on the door.
The door knob rattled on the other side, and the clash of the lock was followed by a moan of frustration. “Fuck. I don’t have the key. There’s an open door in the back,” Clover said, and going by the sound of quick footsteps, he’d already ran there too.
Pyro led the way without a word, his shoulders rigid. Despite the itch to act and go after the people who captured Drake and Boar, he couldn’t help the sense of betrayal that grew tighter around his neck with each step he took. The path between broken pieces of furniture and trash was only a blur, but when Tank reached the back of the house and met Clover’s gaze, anger became a distant memory.
Clover wore an oversized tie-dye T-shirt with a Native American chief and a wolf howling at the moon, paired with denim shorts that reached his knees. His bare feet were as dirty as his hands and bore traces of blood. When he looked up at Tank, the haunted, empty expression on his face was like a stab in the stomach.
Tank sped up, the pulsing in his throat about to choke him by the time he pulled the boy into his arms.
Clover whimpered, but clenched his arms around Tank as if he never wanted to let go. “I’m so sorry.”
Blood seeped through the back of his T-shirt, creating dark blots on the pastel-hued pattern. Tank wanted nothing more than to assess Clover’s abused flesh, but the boy was here, safe, while their two friends were not. Comfort and anger both, could come later.
“Where are they? Is there anything we need to know?” he asked, sensing Pyro’s daunting presence behind his back. So far, not a single word had come from him.
“I-I… It’s this abandoned factory? Research facility? Something like that. I’ll lead you back there. I climbed out through the vent, but Drake was too big, and I heard they were s-selling Boar. We need to go.”
Pyro charged forward as if Clover had waved a red cloth in front of him. He grabbed Clover’s arm so hard the force pulled him out of Tank’s hug.