Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Taking a step toward him, I—
A sharp blast cracked through the air, followed by rapid gunfire and screaming. Shock paralyzed me for a hot second before the shattering of glass made me snap out of it. I sucked in a quick breath and—then I was crashing to the floor.
I thumped against the rug with a grunt, automatically screwing my eyes shut, and I couldn’t fucking breathe. Something heavy was—fuck, it was Joel. He’d rammed into me. I blinked and stared at him, completely dumbfounded, as he eased off me and stayed low on the floor. Why would he protect—
“Get your guns,” he growled.
Another shrill scream sounded from the patio, and we catapulted into action. The window to the left of the balcony door was blown out, and as I tucked my gun into my jeans, I spotted a bullet hole in the wall over my bed.
Joel jumped into a pair of jeans and grabbed one of his guns, and then we darted out of the room and down the stairs.
Adrenaline pumped through me, and I raised my gun when we approached the patio. People were running all over the place. Shouldn’t they be fucking used to gunfire?
“¡Quítense!” Vincente shouted to his guests to get out of his way.
I couldn’t see him in the crowd.
Joel suddenly took aim at the lower part of the patio doors and fired. The bullet got stuck in the glass, presumably answering his question of whether it was bulletproof.
“¡Métanse y cúbranse!” I yelled for people to get inside and take cover, then ordered them to hide in the bedrooms or bathrooms. “¡Escóndanse en los baños o en los cuartos!”
If Carillo knew we were here, if he knew Vincente’s location and that we were working together, we could be screwed. Or even worse, Blake, Marisa, and Shay could be screwed.
As guests started swarming in from the patio, screaming, drowning out the awful club music, Vincente once again yelled for everyone to get out of his way. “¡Putas de mierda, muévanse! ¡Quítense!” Then he pushed past the crowd and ran inside. His gaze was wild and filled with fury—and the high from however much coke he’d done.
He turned to a few of his guards, one of them in particular. “¡Prenda los reflectores! ¡Encuentre a esos hijueputas perros!”
He thought it was Carillo. He’d ordered his personal militia to light up the jungle and find the “dogs.”
“Vincente!” I hurried over to him, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I needed my goddamn phone—right now. “Ya dame mi teléfono.”
He breathed heavily and looked at me.
He had bloodstains on his neck and shirt, but he hadn’t been hit.
Someone had, though.
A quick look outside revealed a woman lying in the pool of her own blood.
“Don’t fuck me, Jones.” Vincente spoke for only me to hear.
“You know my priorities—and you have my word.” I gave him a brief, serious look before I had to follow Joel outside. “Joel, slow down. Stay behind me.”
He ignored me completely but spun on his heel and called back for Vincente, and he demanded a precision rifle. “Blanco! Dame tu mejor rifle de precisión—olvídalo.” He changed his mind as he eyed a guard running by, and I wanted to fucking smack him. Joel stole the guy’s rifle before darting outside.
“Are you crazy?” I growled. “We don’t know how many there are!”
“If they know where Blake is, I don’t give a shit!” he shouted back.
Goddamn idiot!
Bullets started flying again as soon as we reached the end of the patio, each one cracking into the concrete walls around us. We ducked low and ran for the stairs toward the driveway below. Meanwhile, Vincente’s guards were firing back at the damn jungle—until the whole place lit up by industrial spotlights. Every tree, every bush, every vine glowed bright green. And fuck me if I didn’t also see a handful of people perched on ladders outside the perimeter, beyond the outer walls that circled the property.
The gunfire ceased almost immediately, and I heard shouting from the other side. Rapid orders to get back to the cars.
Joel sped up, and we wound up on the drive where half a dozen of Vincente’s guards were wasting bullets.
“Joel!”
Why was he faster than me?
He sprinted down the driveway toward the gate, barefoot, shirtless, and with a rifle in his hand.
“¡Abran la puta puerta!” He roared for the guards there to open the fucking gate.
“I swear to Christ, Joel!” I yelled. He was approximately ten feet ahead of me, and the distance was growing.
The gate was open just enough for him to slip through, and my chest seized up with panic. He had absolutely no cover out there; someone could be lying in wait right outside.
I followed and scanned the thick vegetation on both sides of the dirt road. Up ahead, two SUVs were driving away from us.