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)
Joel stopped abruptly in the middle of the road and lifted the rifle. Three shots popped off, and I stared in bewilderment and awe as he took out three tires of the SUV closest to us, causing it to drive off the road.
He wasn’t done. He aimed at the last SUV, and he used his last three rounds to take out three more tires. He didn’t miss a single fucking shot; he knew exactly how many rounds he had, and…Jesus Christ, the SUV farthest away hit the ditch almost half a mile down the road.
When he threw the rifle aside and started running again, I automatically sprinted after. There were too many, too fucking many. Three—no, four. Four men stumbled out of the first SUV, guns ready. Joel had already grabbed his handgun from the base of his spine, and he killed the driver with two shots. Another four men had poured out of the SUV farther up the road too, but I estimated we had at least ten seconds before they’d be within firing range with their pistols. I couldn’t see any rifles.
Joel yelled at the three men mere feet away. Where’s my daughter? Are you with Carillo? Answer me! Where are you keeping my girl? And all I saw was the situation escalating into something we couldn’t handle. I killed another with a shot to the head while Joel shot the damn hand off the third, rendering it useless. The man’s gun thwacked against the dirt road, and he screamed.
Sorry, but Joel was going to have to interrogate someone another time. I killed the fourth guy who was semi-hiding behind the SUV, and now we had to deal with the next problem. Or I did. Joel grabbed the man he’d injured and slammed him up against the car, more focused on getting information.
Bullets ricocheted against the car. I stayed behind the driver’s door and aimed at the four darting up the road.
“Keep them alive!” Joel barked out.
I shot the first one, and he went down.
Then I heard Joel’s furious shout, the sound laced with so much pain that I knew he’d been hit—and I heard him drop behind me. You dumb son of a bitch, you’re not allowed to get hurt. I unloaded my gun on the remaining men as fear shot through me. The last man to die was the one Joel had pushed up against the car, and I got him while he was trying to make a run for it. Backup was on its way, a minute or two too late. I fell to my knees next to Joel and frantically searched for an entry wound. The top of his shoulder. He groaned and tried to get up, but I held him down.
We were suddenly surrounded by Vincente’s guards, and they busied themselves with the dead guys.
The bullet had to be lodged in his flesh; I didn’t feel any exit wound on the other side. I prayed it looked worse than it was. He was losing a lot of blood, and I had nothing to stop the bleeding with.
“Hold here. I’m gonna get you back to the house.” I pressed his hand to the entry point, then hauled him up into a seated position. He cursed and winced. The spotlights over by the gate cast the brightest light over us—and the blackest shadows when guards blocked the beam.
I got him to his feet and repositioned myself on his uninjured side, so I could drape his arm around my shoulders.
“Are some alive so we can interrogate—ow, fuck.” He hissed.
“You worry about that later,” I told him. Knowing Vincente, I didn’t think there was a risk he traveled without a doctor. The bosses liked to bring their infrastructure with them wherever they went. And that person better free up some time to help Joel.
Christ, I needed my heart to stop racing.
I was gonna blame Joel for driving me to smoking again. Vincente’s personal doctor, referred to only as Garcia, had set up shop next to the pool table in the office, and he’d been working on Joel’s shoulder for about half an hour now, after we’d waited twice that long. The man was in excruciating pain, but it had very little to do with the gunshot wound.
Joel was equal parts the strong and silent type and the one who wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t complain for nothing; he could handle physical pain just fine. But something had happened tonight. I could only guess that being so close to Carillo affiliates had given him hope.
Now he was crashing. He’d heard Vincente mention that all eight men from the attack were dead, and maybe Joel saw that as defeat. I didn’t know. What I did know was that I couldn’t handle hearing another whimper or sniffle from him. I couldn’t stand to see him wipe his tears one more time.