Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
All my doubts melt away. I can tell there’s going to be nothing normal about what might occur between Kellen and me in the future, but it sounds like it might be quite the ride.
CHAPTER 6
Kellen
Walking into work, I take note of the similarities between Jameson Force Security and the Marine Corps.
Camaraderie is paramount. I move through the maze of desks set out in the open on the second floor. When not on mission, we’re here in this massive, abandoned warehouse Kynan McGrath converted into covert offices, planning out upcoming missions and writing our reports on finished ones.
Several of my new coworkers—teammates, really, depending on who I’m on mission with—call out greetings. Some are nothing more than chin lifts before reengaging in whatever office work they have before them, some are first bumps, and another calls out a crude joke.
Every single one of these guys has not only welcomed me into the fold but several have put their lives on the line right beside me, and I trust them to take a bullet for me if the case warranted. And I’d do the same for every single one of them.
Yet, there are significant differences between Jameson and the military. The first and most obvious is the working conditions, at least while off mission. This warehouse is all faded, crumbling brick covered with graffiti on the outside, but inside it’s a feast for the eyes. Kynan, our esteemed leader, spared absolutely no expense on decorating this place with high-end furniture and décor, as well as state-of-the-art equipment. We have a fully functioning firing range on the third floor, as well as a gym, sauna, commercial kitchen, and even apartments for some of the guys to live in. I stayed in one myself when I first started.
I wasn’t required to come in today. Debriefing for our latest mission isn’t happening until Monday since Mexico wasn’t anything more than security detail. Granted, it was in a highly dangerous area, but it was pretty routine, and we didn’t run afoul of any international laws or treaties.
Because many of our jobs require travel to other countries and can take several days—of which we are essentially on the job twenty-four hours a day—Kynan believes strongly in us taking plenty of time off in between. It’s why my parents are coming for a visit, since I don’t have any work obligations.
But I also don’t like sitting at home twiddling my thumbs, so I left Princess under Bubba’s careful watch (after picking up all stuffed toys and putting them out of his reach) and came in to hang out for a few hours.
My eyes zero in on Malik sitting at a desk in the very back. He’s typing steadily on his keyboard while three other guys—Cruce, Cage, and Saint—toss around a tennis ball and talk. Their desks surround Malik’s, and he’s so engrossed in his work, he doesn’t even flinch as the ball sails back and forth around him. He’s also completely tuned out whatever it is the guys are discussing.
I head straight for them, reaching Malik’s desk just as the ball flies over his head. My arm shoots out, and I grab it cleanly—thank you, all those years of playing second base—and Cage utters protest. “Come on, dude. We were up to sixty-seven tosses without Malik yelling at us once.”
Laughing, I toss him the ball and sit on the front corner of Malik’s desk. He hunches forward, squinting at the monitor, ignoring me. The ball tossing resumes.
I wave my hand in front of the screen, and Malik blinks up at me, like he’s surprised to see me there. I lean forward, take a gander at his screen, and see it’s nothing more than his written report of our Mexico trip. He was team lead and is responsible for the main write-up, although Cage and I will have to provide our own accounts of the mission.
“What’s up?” he says, jolting slightly as the ball sails overhead, apparently noticing it for the first time. Saint snickers.
“What’s up?” I ask incredulously. “What’s up with you, dude? Three days ago, you left Cage and me in the bar to go propose to Anna.”
Saint snags the tennis ball out of the air, his attention now riveted on Malik. Cruce leans forward in his chair. “So, are you engaged or not?”
“Not,” he replies.
“What the fuck?” Cage demands. “I thought you were past the whole worrying about what others thought shit.”
“Honestly, you two should just elope,” Saint drawls, tossing the ball back to Cage who doesn’t see it coming. It pings off his shoulder, bounces off an empty desk, and rolls out of sight.
Malik frowns at Saint. “We’re not eloping.” He looks to Cage, then to me, then back to Cage. “And I am past that. But I decided that I needed to do something more romantic. Just barging into the apartment and falling down on one knee isn’t good enough for Anna.”