Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Of course. And then I’ll have to tell her who did the popping and every sordid detail so granular it would make a romance writer blush.
Delia: You’ll get your deets when I’m ready. Just give me time, okay? I told you. It’s complicated.
There’s dead silence for a few minutes and I wonder if I’ve actually upset her. Then my phone buzzes.
Marnie: Cordie, honey, what have you gotten yourself into???
I sigh before I push my fingers to the screen and reply.
Delia: Girl, you don’t want to know.
16
Carbon Bets (Chris)
I can’t believe how boned I am.
I hide it well, but I’m out of focus at the briefing a few days later.
Sexton snaps his fingers and calls me out twice for zoning out, asking if I want to be shipped home in a body bag.
Shit.
“No sir,” I say, feeling like a jackass.
Everybody from tactical is in the room, plus the whole senior team from Landon Strauss on down. There’s also a sprawling contingent of Federal agents and their Mexican counterparts, everyone with a hand in signing off on this raid.
The commander returns to the high-definition black-and-white photos on the projector screen, using a laser pointer to identify the only road into Eladio’s secretive compound.
It’s tucked back just like every snake pit built with money, rocky and hidden and well protected by the natural landscape.
The place itself is built like a medieval castle with modern comforts, perched so precariously over a jagged shoreline that it looks like it’ll slide into the foaming Pacific if anyone steps in the wrong place.
Of course, their advantages don’t end with sharp rocks and natural barbed wire lines of brush and cacti.
They’re strapped in with trained killers and military grade weapons.
Even with the solid rock around the place, Batista reminds us it might have reinforced tunnels plunging under the main structure. The kind of fighting that makes liquidating bin Laden look like a ride on a Ferris wheel.
“We’ll dig those bastards out for a solid week if we have to,” Sexton promises with a nod. “We’ve got the gear and all the time in the world after we breach them. We just need time. A few more weeks of recon and planning, and we’ll be coming down like a ton of bricks.”
Rosy assessment. Way too damn rosy, a voice in the back of my head whispers.
Because I know they’ll probably be packing more than a few hostages they can use as human shields anytime.
And aside from the nests and bunker-like tunnels diving deep underground, I’m willing to bet there are escape routes that’ll activate as contingencies the second Count Dracula gets tipped off.
Fuck.
The longer Sex runs his mouth, sparing all three dozen of us no detail, the deeper my balls want to crawl up my stomach.
Still, I force myself to pay attention, eyeing the solemn faces of my crew. Everybody assembled here has been through this same song and dance at least half a dozen times before.
Just never anything this hairy.
When we rolled up on Jordan Warzach, we had surprise on our side. The prick had no warning, thinking he was safe on a remote edge of the island where he’d gotten away with his shit for too long.
But with Joaquin and his home field advantage, we’re not getting that lucky twice.
Surprise will be damnably difficult.
The big cartels spare no expense forging ties with officials who can be their eyes and ears. Hell, we may even have a mole being paid fat money in this room right now.
I can only hope whatever time we have left is enough to root out any assholes who’d tip them off.
On the way out, Brad Gering slaps me on the shoulder, healed from his latest run-in with the cartel. We make small talk while he takes up a spot next to me in the gym, along with Batista.
Half the guys on our team are piling in. Guess everyone has the same burning need to blow off some stress by beating their muscles to a pulp.
“Seem to have a lot on your mind, Triton. What the fuck’s going on? Your mother get into the junk again?”
I inwardly cringe, adjusting the pec deck machine that’s about to give my upper body hell.
He’s one of the only guys I’ve told about my rotten family tree over beers and long nights at makeshift bases.
“Yeah, basically the norm. You know how she spirals. She just got out of the hospital, I guess. Thankfully it wasn’t a bad trip this time,” I say dully. “She’s had worse.”
“Oh, shit.” Gering pauses and smiles at me from his leg press. “So if it’s not her...it’s a woman, huh?”
I do a double take as he laughs.
Dickhead.
“You mean it’s a good one, Gering. Has to be if his balls are this twisted up,” Batista calls from the bench, doing arm curls with a devilish smile on his face.