Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I started to move around the area, assessing.
There were minor injuries all over the place, until I came to the bathroom and saw that one of the children hadn’t quite made it to safety before the shooting had started. And since he’d been wearing black and yellow as well, he’d been a target.
“Shit,” I said as I dropped down to my knees, feeling for a pulse.
It was faint, and I steeled my spine as I rolled the poor boy over onto his back.
He was all of maybe eleven, eyes wide, staring at me with fear in his eyes.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Don’t talk to me, pig,” he snarled, kicking out.
I went back onto my ass, and then watched in horror as this kid pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at my face.
My mom came around the corner and reacted with years of training, taking the kid’s arm out with her baton.
The kid’s arm audibly snapped, and the gun dropped uselessly to the floor.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she repeated as she dropped down to her knees beside the kid. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
I assessed the damage to the kid, besides the obviously broken wrist.
“Gunshot wound to the upper left… Mom,” I called out. “Get the medi-vac here. ASAP.”
My mom looked down to the see the blood pouring from the kid’s mouth and pulled out her phone.
Angel Flight arrived less than two minutes later, landing right in the middle of the field that it’d all gone down on.
I saw my sister jump out of the Angel Flight, followed shortly by Shayne.
This morning, when I’d seen her, she must’ve been on the way to work.
She’d started working full-time for Angel Flight a couple of months ago, and according to Ande, loved it.
“What do we have?” Ande asked as she dropped down onto her knees in the grass.
I tore my eyes away from Shayne, who was following behind with the stretcher and the bags, and gave her all the information.
“Thanks, Quinn,” she said as she went to work.
I stepped away, giving them room.
And watched, heart in my throat, as the woman of my dreams went to work with my sister, not sparing me a glance.
“Tell us everything,” Dad said, using his assistant chief voice.
The actual chief, who was sitting across the room, arms crossed in front of him, nodded his head in agreement.
I recounted everything, from start to finish.
“And you?” the chief asked Gable. “Tell us you have what you need.”
Gable nodded. “Actually, I do. I fell on some information two days ago. I’ve been following around one of Costas’s lieutenants or whatever they call them, kid by the name of Rummy, for the better part of two months now. He thinks we’re best friends.”
“And you’re sure that you weren’t recognized by Costas?” Dad asked.
“Positive,” Gable said. “I was careful. I also dyed my hair. Got a perm. And I know that he hasn’t been following me anywhere. There’s no way he would’ve made me.”
“Tell me what you got,” Dad ordered.
Gable steepled his fingers before saying, “I got the time and place of some major things that are happening over the next few weeks. I also caught wind of a very large drug operation being run out of his grandmother’s house.”
My stomach sank.
His grandmother’s house, where Shayne lived with him.
“Tell me you’re joking,” I pleaded.
Gable’s eyes were sorrow filled as he said, “I wish I could, brother, but it’s true. They’ve been running ice out of that house for a month. I just got close enough to find out what and where, though. It’s not good.”
He was right.
After a couple of days of surveillance, I found out that not only was he running drugs out of that house, but also prostitutes.
And there Shayne was, right in the middle of it.
I had to do something.
I just had to.
Except, the more information we learned, the more I started to think that Shayne had no way of not knowing what her brother was doing at that house.
Which meant, I couldn’t warn her at all.
Right?
I was diagnosed with OCCABD. Obsessive, compulsive, cursing, angry bitch disorder. There is no cure.
—Shayne to Ande
SHAYNE
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him in the middle of a gang war.
Really, I shouldn’t have.
I knew he had a dangerous job. I knew that every day, he went to work and tried to fix a problem that was unfixable. I knew that he was in danger every second of every day he was on duty.
Yet, as I dropped the helo into the middle of that park and saw him there, hands on his hips, angry at the world, I was reminded that though I’d left the warzone, he’d only traded his from overseas to American soil.
Years ago, when I’d heard he’d gone into the gang division, I hadn’t been surprised.