Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Here,” I mutter to the young man, as I take George’s gun in my hand, handing back one of the two I’d taken from him.
His expression one of agony, he takes the gun and tells me, “Get out of here. I got this.”
I peek out into the hall before making my move and running across the open living area. One of Neo’s men wrestles with one of Black’s, and Black’s boy is about to be knocked the fuck out.
As I move toward them, I call out, “Hey!” for a moment’s distraction, and it works. Both men look up at me, and I take that moment to kick Neo’s guy is the face, off Black’s soldier. Once off him, Black’s boy regains control, taking the guy down and keeping him there.
My work done, I move on to find some other asses to kick.
Two of Black’s boys flank a guy with his head turned at an unnatural angle, blood all over his face, his neck clearly broken, as they hold a second, cuffed man.
The doors to the patio open and I spot Black reading Neo his rights, although, they’re a little different to the ones I’d heard before.
Black stands tall, glaring down at a silent Neo Metaxas. “If you speak, I will pistol whip you. If you breathe too loudly, I will box you right in the fucking mouth. If you so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll have my boys beat your ass, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut, Metaxas, because nothing is going to save you from the hell I’m going to deliver you to.”
You know, now that I think about it, Black and I aren’t complete opposites. He’s kind of a badass, not that I’d ever admit it to him.
When Black spots me holding two guns, he scowls hard, before taking them from me and placing them on the table by his side. Like a fucking child having his favorite toy taken from him, my anger spikes, but I don’t dare speak in front of Neo.
From the corner of my eye, I see one of Black’s boys sitting beside a man who might’ve been unconscious at one point, but is no longer. When he jumps up and knocks the soldier on his ass, reaching for his gun, I react. And I do this quicker than any of the motherfuckers in the entire force.
Reaching behind Black, I take one of the pistols off the table and, this time, I don’t aim low.
Neo’s man stands, aiming his stolen pistol right at Black.
Ready. Aim. Fire.
Boom, bitch.
The dude’s eye crosses as my bullet hits him, taking out his left eye, leaving a gaping hole where it used to be, his brains splattering all over Neo’s dove-white armchair. He lands on the floor where his face will forever remain a picture of eternal astonishment, his eyehole oozing red.
My heart races and my chest heaves. I’m running on pure adrenalin.
I turn to see all of Black’s men on their feet, weapons raised, staring at me. I look from Black to Metaxas then back to Black. Taking a step back, I place the gun back on the table, laying it down with a gentle clunk. I move to leave the patio, but before I do, I move toward Black. Leaning in close, right up to his ear and only loud enough for him to hear me, I grunt, “You’re welcome.”
I walk back inside and ignore the curious stares of all of Black’s men, taking myself into the kitchen, where I watch the young man be loaded onto a stretcher by a couple of medics, the knife still lodged in his thigh.
I cross my arms over my chest and wait in solitude for the commotion to die down.
Next time I ask for a fucking gun, something tells me I’ll get one.
Julius lies on his back with me pulled in close. My cheek rests on his pectoral, and with our hands entwined over his beating heart, I mutter quietly, “My brother.”
His fingers pluck at mine softly, as if he has to reassure himself we are here, together at long last. I have been waiting my whole life for this man, only I didn’t know it. Now, as we are, a solid feeling of contentment washes over me. He grunts in confusion.
I raise my head reluctantly and muse aloud, “I should speak to my brother. I need to know what’s happening. I need to know that my sisters are okay.”
A look I can’t quite read passes over his face and, without malice, he utters a drowsy, “Baby, what you did… you have to understand, you ain’t got no family anymore.” My heart just about shatters when he adds, “I’m your family now.”
He’s trying his best not to spook me. Am I so precious that I need to be spoken to like a child?