Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“What’re the odds of him having private security in the nearby area?” I asked.
“Squeezy’s checking the neighbors right now,” he murmured, concentrating on his own analysis. He kept looking between the camera on the carport’s roof and the kitchen window. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised he’s on his own, but it’s possible he’s meeting up with others soon. He just arrived.”
He had a point.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, so, um, hear me out. This is gonna sound messy, but I propose we enter with force. I’ll shoot my way in through the kitchen window, overthrow him in the living room, make sure he’s unarmed, and then you can go grab the car. We can be gone long before neighbors or law enforcement get here.”
Ryan smirked at me. “That was actually my plan too, except with our roles reversed. I think I should shoot my way in.”
Uh.
I mean…
His smirk disappeared. “Don’t give me any shit—I’m not too old.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I rushed out the words, and I widened my arms. “But to be honest, sir? I’m faster. I’ve done this before, and I’m sure you have too, but it’s been a couple presidents since then, right? Not counting Belize. I mean since this was part of your everyday life.”
He stared at me, not very happy, but he was listening.
“If you think I have what it takes, you can’t be my protector,” I told him. That shit came straight from my heart. I needed him to have faith in me.
“You’ll be in the direct line of fire if he has a gun within reach upon our entry,” he stated.
“So will you be,” I replied, clenching my jaw. “The difference between you and me is that I don’t have any spouses and kids to come home to. You fucking do.”
He frowned. “Son, I told your dad—”
“I don’t wanna hear it!” I whisper-yelled, instantly heated. This was the fucking problem! I wasn’t his friend’s kid. I was his partner! “I’m a grown man, Ryan. You can’t tell me one second to believe in myself, and then the next…” I deflated with an exhale, only to shake my head because god-fucking-dammit, I couldn’t let anyone kill my vibe here. I believed I could do this. I knew I could. “Either we do this fifty-fifty like partners, or you can fly home and I’ll do this on my own.”
“I’ll ignore that last part because I don’t do ultimatums, especially not one that stupid,” he said. “But you’re right. Fifty-fifty. That’s the deal. With that said,” he was quick to add, just when I was ready to breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s about our strengths too, Crew. You may be faster than me—you may be a better fighter, even. But don’t think for a second your aim is better than mine.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. No, I probably wouldn’t claim that.
“We’ll compromise,” he went on. “You can go in first. You can charge at him all you want—unless I tell you to drop.” He gave me a serious look, reminding me even more of my dad. “If he’s armed and I determine you can’t handle it better than I can, you drop to the fucking floor the second I tell you. Are we clear?”
His tone made me stand straighter, which annoyed the fuck out of me, but whatever. He meant business, and it was no time for jokes.
“Yes, sir.” I agreed to his terms.
He nodded once. “Good. Give me a more detailed rundown while I go make sure he’s still in the same position. From the moment you fire at the window, you have fifteen seconds to take him down.”
“Understood.” I released a breath and—then we both froze when we saw shadows moving in the hall outside the kitchen. Delgado had left the living room. Ryan and I glanced at each other quickly. Wing it? Let’s just fucking go?
“Pull the door handle before you shoot at the window,” he ordered under his breath. “Go, go, go.”
I didn’t think about it. I just dove into action, and adrenaline exploded within me. I jumped over the fence, the section that was waist-high, and I grabbed my gun and stayed close to the carport wall to avoid at least one camera. Go, go, go. Using the cover of darkness, I darted past the kitchen window, right around the same time I spotted a man bringing a plate to the sink, and I tugged on the door. Locked. Okay, but we’d tried, and now the clock was ticking. We had his attention.
I aimed and fired three quick rounds that shattered the window, and my fucking eardrums, before I tucked the gun back into my holster and threw myself into the house, sliding across the kitchen table. My pulse skyrocketed, and I vaguely registered the sound of shouting—in French? And Spanish?