Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
So I come up with a plan. I’m gonna print up two copies of the Bishop Busybody this week. One for the masses and one just for Amon Parrish. A bonafide version of my slutty side.
If he can make me all hot and bothered by being spontaneously creative, then so can I.
It’s Wednesday morning, a seemingly ordinary day in late June, and I couldn’t be more excited about it if I tried. I’m standing on my porch sipping coffee, just looking out over the misty rolling lawn of the Edge Security compound, watching the men do their early-morning PT. The rhythmic thumping of boots hitting the ground in unison is a sound I will never grow tired of. There’s something comforting in it.
We’re not a boot camp, but then again, we kinda are. It was Ryan’s idea to have mandatory PT at five a.m. every morning. Collin wasn’t impressed and Nash didn’t really have an opinion on it either. But I agreed with Ryan. PT is a good idea for men like this. Most of them came to us in pretty good shape. I mean, nearly all of them needed a little kick in the ass to be back in optimal condition, but only a couple were on the washed-out side.
At first, they were fairly lazy when it came to morning PT. Lots of complaints.
But on day two, the cadences started. And we got ourselves a good caller. Big shaved-head tattooed guy named Grinder who kinda took it upon himself to be leader. There were scuffles over who would unofficially be in charge when it all started, but while Grinder’s smugness and no-nonsense attitude can be a little off-putting, he’s actually very fair. And most men respect fair.
So he calls and they respond, and not a single one of them, not even the washed-up fucks, wants to miss PT every morning. It’s fun. Sometimes I even have the urge to join in. But we really are leadership and it would mess with their routine. So we stay out of it. Because these aren’t new recruits—these are experienced men. Men who have seen things, and done things, and have the nightmares to prove it.
Grinder and his number one—skinny guy, former SEAL sniper called York who lost his mind several years back, but found it again a couple years later—have a whole course set up that they run every morning that starts at the top of the driveway, comes all the way back here to my house, loops through the woods behind the kennel, and comes out on the other side of the church-slash-munitions depot. They even have a ruck course that goes deep into the hills that they do at least once a week.
A month of this has turned these once-lost men into serious, focused, downright dangerous members of the Edge team.
Of course, it’s really the dogs that did that.
God, that was a good idea. I mean, if they could sleep with their canine partner every night, they would. But they can’t. The dogs stay in the kennel because they are not pets, they are actually employees.
A screen door squeaks on my left and I look over and find Collin coming out holding his own cup of coffee. He looks over at me and smiles, nodding his head to the group as they pass our houses. “Can you believe this shit?”
I chuckle and watch the men as they disappear behind the kennel. But no, I actually can’t. It was a risky idea, what we’re doing. Taking these men who are all sorts of fucked up in the head and giving them a second chance. I mean, there are second chances and then there are second chances.
This one in particular involves a whole lot of weapons.
Is it a mistake?
I guess only time can tell that. But they’re less dangerous here with us than they would be out there with no one. That’s how we see it. I mean, once you teach a man how to work a rocket launcher, kill someone with a knife, survive in the wild, and sweep an urban center for enemies, the thing is pretty much done, ya know? You can’t make him unlearn those things. So why not redirect all those skills into something profitable? Both for us and them.
Maybe it’s a good idea, maybe it’s not. But it sounded just dandy to Charlie Beaufort and I guess that’s all that matters.
Collin comes down off his porch and heads my way. “What are you up to today, Amon?”
I grin like a fuckin’ schoolboy. “Oh, I got a lunch date with Rosie.” I side-eye Collin as he stops in front of my steps. “She doesn’t know it yet, but it’s gonna be fun.”
“The two of you gettin’ serious then?” He’s got one eyebrow cocked.
I nod, slowly, looking him in the eyes. “Yep. It’s a fact.”