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)
“They’re still at it?” I peered into the house but could obviously not see anything. The living room was still empty. “Reese, Dante, Darius! Take a break!”
“In a minute!” Reese called back. “We’re declarin’ war against IKEA!”
I snorted. Then it wasn’t my kitchen table. I had a single item from IKEA, and it was a ridiculously comfortable reading chair for my study. I’d just bought a new one.
“Toby! This is for you.” Gray stuck a piece of bread into his mouth and changed songs on his phone.
Oh fuck yeah, it took me about half a second to recognize Kenny Loggins’s “Danger Zone” and dive right back into my childhood. One of the reasons I’d loved growing up in the San Diego area, watching the Navy ships on the weekends with my old man.
Toby was a good boy. He was former Navy too. He and Crew were high on life and didn’t hesitate to put on a poolside show for us, dancing and singing along.
Blake laughed and cheered.
“Nobody tell anyone I’m getting down to Navy music,” Crew threatened. “Damn squids.”
“Whoa!” I stood up with my mouth full of olives, pepper salami, and bread.
“I got this, boss. You go back to eating,” Toby reassured me. Hey, not everyone wanted eight-packs. Some wanted food. He turned to Crew and clasped his shoulder. “Looks like I gotta teach you a Top Gun lesson, my jarhead friend.”
Oh, this oughta be good—
I felt my body seize up a fraction of a second before my brain screamed desert. The smell of tea, herbs, and diesel invaded my senses. Take cover, take cover! I was back in Fallujah. Dogs barked, mopeds beeped, men screamed, the morning call to prayer had been interrupted by the sounds of rocket launchers. That loud thump followed by the rocket cracking through the air.
I sucked in a breath and met Crew’s wild stare from almost fifty feet away, and I could tell he’d reacted too. Then we snapped our gazes to the sky, and I didn’t even think. The sound was so fucking distinctive that I switched over to muscle memory. I wasn’t sure I saw anything, but I knew.
“Everyone away from the house!” I yelled. “Take cover! Away from the house!”
“Fucking run!” Crew shouted.
“Out of the pool!” Ortega grabbed ahold of Madison.
River was already out of the lounger, pulling Shay with him, and I aimed for Marisa. Gray ran, Tariq ran. Piper screamed for Blake to run toward the avocado trees. I pushed Marisa off the patio and—
A blast went off so loudly that it felt like my skull exploded, and then I was knocked over, pain shooting through me.
“Wake up!”
“Elliott!”
“Get Gray!”
“Run, Madison!”
I groaned and tried to cover my head at the sound of rapid gunfire that rose above the ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t fucking move. I wasn’t in Fallujah or any of the other Middle Eastern cities I’d carried out contracts in over the years. Blake. Get to Blake. I heard Piper screaming in the distance. Nothing else. Just my own pulse and the ringing noise, like a machine telling me I was flatlining.
Unlock the gun safe.
I blinked drowsily and pushed past every pain that pinned me to the grass. Blurry forms ran around, someone fell to the ground, and—fucking hell, the whole patio was on fire. I gasped raggedly and inhaled a bunch of smoke, which sent me into a coughing fit. But it cleared my head too. Panic gripped the edges of my senses and got me to my feet. Flight didn’t exist. Only fight did.
Someone came at me; I couldn’t see their damn face, but the attack was clear in their stance. I shoved at him, then again and again, until he tripped and hit his head against the back of the grill. I blinked repeatedly and coughed every time I inhaled smoke. Come on, come on, come on. Second by second, my vision cleared a little.
“Tariq!” Madison—that was Madison. Her shrill scream shocked me with awareness, and I finally managed to see better, hear better, and take in the fucking mayhem going on around me.
The guy I’d knocked over tried to get up again, so I let my instincts take over. Rage and adrenaline pumped through me, shoving me back to a time where survival was everything. I picked a knife off him, and I slashed his throat.
No gun on him. Fuck.
I spun around and scanned my surroundings, quickly counting about fifteen heads. Two vans rolling down the hillside, another driving toward my neighbor to the south, engines revving at the front of the house, shouting in both Spanish and English, Darius and Ortega fighting a brick shithouse of a man, flames eating the patio floor, Crew yelling at whoever he’d wrestled to the ground on the lawn.
“Where’s Blake?” I shouted. I ran for the next guy, my heart pounding, my vision sharpening, and I came up behind him, stabbed him in his side, and lifted his gun off him.