Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I only realize I’m being threatening when he takes a step back, looking at me like he thinks I’m going to take out my anger on him. He swallows. “Yeah, w-we’re clear.”
“Good.” I can’t afford to be sorry or care. Just focus. “Get me a weapon.”
I hear the barking before I see the farmhouse. With each step, I try to push Samantha from my mind. I try to tell myself she doesn’t matter. It’s cruel, but it’s what I had to do when I was overseas. On an operation, I couldn’t ever think about my son. Not thinking of Margot was easy. Maybe that makes me a bad man. It definitely made me a bad boyfriend, but not thinking of James was more difficult.
If anything, keeping Samantha out of my head is the hardest. Despite knowing that Loki and those other dogs need me, I still want to turn back and get Samantha as far away from here as possible. Bringing her was a mistake. I’m sure of that now, but I’ve heard the barking. I can’t turn back.
I crouch behind a large tree, peering around the trunk. The sun is just beginning to set, and everything is turning dusky. There’s a man in front of the farmhouse, a surprisingly large structure, the big double doors closed. I can’t risk firing from here, maybe if I had a rifle, but I don’t, just this pistol. I need to know if there are more men on the outside. I can’t see any cameras. I hate doing jobs without proper intel.
Moving from tree to tree, I skirt around to the rear of the farmhouse. There are two more men out here, one sitting on a hay bale, smoking a cigarette. The other has a rifle in his hand. Their torsos seem unnaturally bulky. I think they’re wearing body armor. I’ll be in a good spot if I can get a rifle and some of that body armor.
I wait, taking a moment to diffuse the flame that started burning in me the first time I saw Samantha. She was like a painting herself, every part of her so damn vivid—even her personality. Life wasn’t real before her. Maybe that had its downsides, like being too comfortable in hell, but it let me disconnect to do what needed to be done. It was easier when I was a cold bastard.
Now, I’m a professional. There’s a job to be done. After a few minutes, one man wanders to a nearby bush to take a piss. He’s about fifteen feet from the first man holding the rifle. He slings the rifle back to reach into a front pouch and takes out a pack of cigarettes.
I wait until one hand is on the zipper, and he looks away. Then I sprint faster than a man my size should be able to.
“What the—”
The lack of hesitation allows me to slam him against the wall. I punch him hard in the face once and then raise my pistol to the other man a second before he can raise his. I shake my head and gesture to the ground.
“Now,” I growl quietly. People might’ve heard the bang against the farmhouse wall, but there’s so much barking. The man drops his gun. “Lie down.” I don’t even sound like me to myself. I sound like the old Fletcher, the robotic operator. It’s good. “Now.”
The man beneath me starts stuttering and spitting blood. I slide my hand to his neck and squeeze it tightly, pressing my knee against his stomach. He whines, his rifle probably digging into his back.
“Crawl to me,” I snap.
The man does as he’s told. Meanwhile, I pat down the first man at the waist, keeping a terrifying level of weight on his gut. He’s pushing against me with both hands. It’s necessary to hurt the prick, but I can’t say it doesn’t feel right. No man should hurt a dog, trap a dog, or steal a dog.
I find some zip ties in the first man’s pocket. Goddamn, what do they use these for? Throwing them in the man’s face, I press the gun barrel against his forehead. “Tie yourself. Then turn around so I can check.”
“I c-c-can’t t-t-tie m—”
“You’ll do it or have time to think about it six feet under, motherfucker. Go.”
It takes almost a minute, but he manages to do it. I flip the other man and tie his hands behind his back, too. Then I strip their boots, shove socks into their mouths, drag them over to the bush, and zip-tie their feet together. Moving toward the door, I aim the rifle, ready for anything.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Samantha
“So, what sort of stuff do you paint?” Charles Malone asks, sitting in the driver’s seat of Fletcher’s car, his hand near his hip. I know that he’s ready to draw his gun at any moment. He smells faintly of cologne and sweat and leather from his jacket.