Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Yep.”
We just need you to pop in and kill a guy, no questions asked. Yeah, that was the kind of shit that had burned him out with the CIA in the first place. These jobs weren’t going to help clean the dark marks from his soul.
“Not a chance. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m sure your Rolodex is filled with plenty of former agents still in the game.”
“Yeah, but you’re one of the best. No one can get in and out of an area without notice like you.”
Bert had him there. He was good at blending in, not drawing attention to himself. He could take out a target and hours if not days would pass before someone realized something was wrong.
The frustrating part of it all was that he enjoyed it. He loved the danger and excitement of having his feet on the ground, of following a target until that person finally revealed a weakness he could exploit. He lived for the rush of physically pushing himself to the limit, knowing that if he failed, it could very well mean his life. It was like going head-to-head with fate and winning.
But working for the Agency, working for anyone, meant he was relying on them to tell him the truth, or at the very least, to have the right intel. Too many jobs he’d worked in the past had been fucked up by bad information, or he’d simply been lied to. In the end, innocent people had died. His bosses didn’t seem to have a problem with it—chalked it up to unfortunate casualties of war. Justin couldn’t be so blasé about those lives that were stolen.
In the end, it had not only driven him to go private but to get more involved in the information and hacking side of things. Within the first year of his solo career, he’d discovered he could get far more done with his computer than some well-placed bullets. It was a little disturbing, and more than a little addictive.
Behind the computer, he was just as powerful as the killer in the night. He could change lives with keystrokes. Even end a few lives of bad people if he decided such. And it meant that when he did go into the field, he always had the right information.
“Look, Bert, I appreciate you thinking of me—”
“Don’t think for a second you can bullshit me,” Bert grumbled, and Justin grinned at the phone. Yeah, Bert could see through his mostly empty platitudes.
“Well, it is nice to know that you think I’m still one of the best, but it’s better if the Agency and I keep a comfortable distance from each other.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bert heaved a heavy sigh into the phone. “You ain’t the only one who feels that way, but you’re the only one that I can tempt.”
“The only thing tempting me these days is the steak and pint of Cherry Garcia in my freezer.”
“Idiot,” Bert laughed. “All right, then. You stay out of trouble, okay?”
Justin hesitated. It was on the tip of his tongue to toss out Gabriel’s name. It would not be the first time Justin had given a name to Bert for a little information. Justin had served the Agency well during his time and he looked at the information as a bit of backpay. The CIA kept a detailed list of mercenaries and assassins. These people were not only great killers for pay, but they tended to be well informed. They could be hired as spies here and there for small jobs.
There was a good chance that Bert knew something about Gabriel, but what if he didn’t? What if the CIA was blissfully unaware of the sexy man with the lethal cheekbones who moved as if he were a liquid shadow?
Gabriel hadn’t done anything yet for Justin to toss him in front of the CIA bus. The man had even taken care of him—pulled a bullet out of him, patched him up, and then protected him as he slept.
“What kind of trouble am I going to find?” Justin joked, aware he might have hesitated too long for that quip.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep your nose clean, and I’ll send you some more ice cream.” Bert hung up after that, and Justin breathed a small sigh of relief.
Cursing himself, Justin glanced over to his computer one last time to make sure everything was running like it was supposed to be before he trudged up the stairs. He paused in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and continued on to the bathroom.
He didn’t hurt all that much. His side still ached like a motherfucker had kicked him, and he was a worn-out kind of ragged, but that was about it. The fatigue nipped at him. A shower was needed first, though. He had all of yesterday’s sweat dried on him mixed with blood.