Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“What a good fucking girl,” he says. “God, how can I ever stay away from a woman like you?”
I keep going, pleased he’s pleased, and worried out of my mind.
Chapter 41
Jayson
I park outside of a rundown motel two blocks off the strip. Two Costa soldiers sit in the back of my SUV, and Zach Layton sits up front. We’re in all-black tactical gear: bulletproof vests, silenced semi-automatic rifles, flash grenades, and helmets.
It’s our not-fucking-around gear, and there’s another SUV with five more trained killers in the exact same stuff.
“You know the plan?” I ask Zach as we go through our last-minute prep. Guns checked, straps tightened.
“It’s five until two in the morning right now.” He looks at his phone and sends a text to Domiano, the leader of the other fire team. “We’ll muster at two, take the door at five after, and be home by two-thirty.”
“All of us will be home,” I say, nodding at him.
“Roger that, boss.” Zach sits up straight. “You know, as head of casino security, I hope I’m getting a bonus for this kind of action.”
I laugh and slap his back. “I’ve been murdering these worthless pricks all alone. You can handle fighting in a team of ten.”
Zach rolls his eyes. “No, you fucker, that’s not the issue.”
“You want a pay raise, is that it?”
“I’m a valuable employee.”
“Hell of a time to negotiate your contract.”
“I’m an opportunist.”
“I’ll talk Adler into giving you another ten percent. How’s that sound?”
He cocks his gun. “Sounds good to me.”
I glance back at the other two. “You boys got a problem with your pay?”
“No, sir,” they reply, both of them grinning. Fucking goons.
“Time,” Zach says and pushes open the door.
I follow him, hurrying into the dim parking lot. There are few cars and fewer lights; it’s almost as if the stupid Grady bastards picked the perfect place to be ambushed on purpose. The second fire team heads up the back way and we take the front, storming the staircase to the second floor and heading to room 223.
I take point. I’d never let someone go before me and get all the glory. Once I’m at the door, the other fire team appears on the other side, and Domiano gives me the breach signal.
Zach takes my rifle and holds it as I square up and kick the door once, using all my strength to bash my steel-reinforced boot against the lock right above the knob.
The door shatters and slams open. Wood smashes against drywall and I step back. The room inside is dark as Domiano steps forward, rolling a flash grenade on the floor. I take my rifle back as Zach steps up next, throwing a flash deep into the room. It’s a tactic I developed during the war: two flashes, one short, one long, timed to go off slightly staggered, so if one misses, the other will catch them.
Two loud bangs and two wild bursts of light. Then I storm in, gun to my shoulder, as men file in behind me.
My night-vision goggles zero in on bodies in the bed. Two sharing, another alone. I open fire, not bothering to make sure they’re the right people. All three are rolling around, groaning as they rub at their eyes, and a hailstorm of bullets tears into them, mangling their corpses. It’s the easiest, most efficient kill of my life—these poor morons never thought we’d catch them.
I signal for a halt. Domiano’s men move forward, checking the bathroom, as Zach makes sure the guys in the bed are all dead.
“No pulse,” he confirms, one after the other.
I rifle through their bags until I find what I’m looking for. Three Irish passports. Probably faked, though the pictures will be real enough. I shove them into my bag and turn around to check on Zach.
He’s standing with his hands raised in the air, his face white.
One of the men in the bed has a gun leveled at him. The guy’s riddled with holes, oozing blood, and the barrel’s shaking.
“Don’t be stupid,” I growl at him. “You’re already dead.”
Another chance. I flash back to Jackson. I flash back to Fallon. One failure, one success. I promised myself once, a while back, that I’d never lose someone the way I lost Jackson. Nobody.
God, I hope she can forgive me. I hope she can understand. I love her so much, but I wouldn’t be the man I want to be if I didn’t do this. I love you, Fallon. I’m so sorry. Please, understand, and forgive me. I love you.
The Irishman looks at me, and in that moment, I shove Zach out of the way, knocking him over.
The gun levels in my direction and goes off.
Hammers slam into my body. One, two, three of them before the room erupts into chaos again. I stagger backwards, feeling nothing at first, until my breath hitches in my throat and I can’t breathe.