Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Oh, shut the fuck up, old man.”
Wraith's up on the bow now, the jet ski floating down the side of the boat.
“Shit, one's behind us,” yells Hawthorne, and he fires.
“Fuck,” Wraith yells as he drops onto the boat, a red stain spreading on his thigh. Goddamn it. I can't wait any longer.
Using their distraction, I charge Hawthorne before he gets off another shot. He barely manages to turn before I'm on him and slam him against the dashboard or whatever the fuck you call it on a boat. He grunts and collapses. Wraith's safe, but now I'm exposed. Shit.
Harris points his gun right at me. “Bye, motherfu—”
The throaty snarl that cuts him off is all too fucking familiar and even before Tank has launched himself over the railing and crashed into Harris, I'm grinning. That crazy motherfucker. Did he cling to the outside of the boat this whole fucking time?
They go down in a pile, bringing Kaylee with them. She whimpers when she hits the deck hard. Harris is still holding his gun, which goes off once when his hand hits right by her head, and she screams like a fucking banshee. Fuck, my ears are ringing, so hers have to be in fucking pain.
It gives me great pleasure to stomp my boot down on top of his hand, which yields a very satisfying crunch and a pained roar from Harris. Once his hand's broken, it's easy enough to kick his iron away, and then he doesn't have a chance against Tank. He probably didn't anyway, because Tank's flipped the fuck out, slamming Harris into the deck over and over while flinging those massive fists at him. The sounds coming out of Tank are barely human.
I yank Kaylee out of the way, just so she doesn't get drawn into it. She clings to me, burying her face in my chest like I'm a fucking life buoy.
“Fuck, a hand?” Wraith bites out through a tight wince. He's crawled across the bow to within reach. Kaylee helps as we lower him down and into one of the chairs.
Tank finally gets up, revealing a Harris that's little more than pulp. His face is a mess, I don't think he's got a fucking tooth left, and his shirt is soaked in fucking blood. When he groans, I'm surprised he's still alive.
“Fuck that felt good.” Tank's breathing hard, but he's calming, now that some of that's outta his system.
“Kaylee, you okay?” Wraith's clutching his thigh as he looks up at her.
“Oh my God, I should be asking you that!” She throws herself around his neck, squeezing him hard. “God, I thought all of you were dead, and then when I knocked out Tank, I—”
“Back up!” Wraith pulls her away so he can look at her. “You did fucking what?”
“It was a love tap,” growls Tank as he scoops her up in a bearhug and squeezes her so hard she squeaks. “I'm just fucking glad you're alive.”
We're all interrupted by the sound of the jet ski starting up, and Hawthorne shooting away from us, his suit jacket flapping in the wind behind him. I aim and take a shot, but either it's blowing too hard or the motion of the boat throws me off.
“Let him go,” growls Wraith. “We got Kaylee back.”
“Yeah. We need to get this boat moving again and get you the hell back to Doc.”
A couple of flips of the on off switch, and a shove on the throttle, and something snaps behind the propeller, shooting up into the air. Whatever it was, working it loose seems to have solved the problem. The engine's a little extra grindy, but we're moving forwards. I set a course for the lights ahead of us, hoping we'll find Eagle-eye there.
“Nice,” growls Tank, then he takes the wheel. “Always wanted to try being a skipper.”
“I think I prefer the road, to be honest,” says Wraith. Not sure if it's the wound in his leg or the rocking of the boat that's got him looking a little green. Either way, we should get him back to land.
Harris shifts in the bottom of the boat. Wouldn't you believe it, I think the fucker's trying to crawl over to his gun. This time I'm closer, grabbing the bastard that threatened the life of the woman we love—and don't think I've fucking forgotten how he knocked her around and treated her. I lift him up so his ugly mug is right in front of mine. He tries to spit, but his lips are too split and with most of his teeth missing, it just dribbles over his chin. I could almost feel bad for him.
But I don't. “Fuck you.”
Then I throw him overboard.
Kaylee gasps, but I don't give a fuck. He was dead already. I just made sure of it. His head bobs above the water for a moment, and then he's gone.