Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I batted away a moth drawn to the light and followed Ryan into a small entryway. And that was where the scenery changed. Suddenly it made sense that the blinds were drawn, ’cause this was a jarhead’s dream come true. The small living room was fucking filled with shelves and displays of handguns, rifles, grenades, Kevlar vests with an integrated MOLLE system, go-bags, utility clothes, knives, ammo, boots, MREs, first aid, and other protective equipment.
“Hot damn,” I mumbled. “Don’t they have gun safes in France?”
Ryan walked farther into the living room and turned toward me. “If I learned one thing from serving alongside French units in Iraq, it’s to never question their culture. I’ve never heard people scoff so derisively.”
I laughed.
Ryan and I admired the collection for a couple minutes; he wondered aloud what his wife would say if he wanted a room like this one, and I didn’t have anyone to ask, so I was making mental lists for a future home.
Then it was time to get ready, and I checked my phone before all this gear distracted me again. Squeezy had sent a message in our group server—another address, where Ryan and I would stay while we were in Monaco.
How big was her network? How many people did she know?
I had to ask.
How did you secure our accommodashions? CF
I hesitated before I pressed send, ’cause I wasn’t sure about the spelling. Being dyslexic fucking sucked sometimes. But I’d spent my high-school years sticking to simpler words, which had not only reflected in my grades, but it’d made me feel dumb. So I’d promised myself not to be afraid to misspell something just because I wasn’t certain.
I had some help too. Mom texted me a word of the day, Elliott and Madison proofed my reports at work, Uncle Greer and Uncle Roe were a call away if I needed assistance, and Dad… He was kinda sweet. He acted like he didn’t know the spelling of some words and asked me if it was correct. A completely transparent strategy. He thought he was slick. But I didn’t call him out.
Squeezy’s reply popped up seconds later. She was the only one not using a signature.
I “secured” it by making a reservation under one of DQ’s fake identities on Booking.com… :P
I slapped a hand to my face and laughed. I was an idiot. I guessed not everything was super-secret and involving hacking and whatnot.
I heard Ryan’s chuckle and saw he was checking his phone.
“Did I make a typo?” I asked quickly.
That stopped his amusement, and he knitted his brows together. “I just thought your exchange was funny. Who the fuck cares about a typo?”
I did!
“Did I misspell it?” I pressed. “I don’t wanna look stupid.”
The fucker just deepened his frown. “You know, that’s the kind of attitude I’m gonna have a problem with, son. I happen to know you’re dyslexic, and I don’t wanna hear any talk about what’s stupid. There’s no question about what you meant in the text, so quit being your own grammar nazi.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, partly annoyed, partly sort of warming up to Ryan Quinn. I’d heard all the analogies. Dad smacked me upside the head if I talked down to myself, and Mom was the one with the analogies. Would you call a person in a wheelchair stupid for falling on their butt when they’re relearning how to walk after an accident? Stuff like that.
“Fine, whatever,” I agreed. “But I still wanna learn, so be honest.”
He eyed his phone again. “It’s a T instead of SH.”
Fuck, that one got me all the damn time. I hurriedly typed a new text to the group.
*accommodations. CF
There.
“Thanks. Let’s pack.” I pocketed my phone and went over to the clothes rack. “I’m just guessing here, but if they send us in with tactical gear, we won’t be moving in and out of casinos.”
Monaco was Europe’s Vegas in a micro format, and I’d seen some photos online. Kind of bizarre to have a whole country, no matter how small, clustered on rocky mountainsides. Only the very bottom of the nation, right by the beach, was flat.
“Is that really only a guess, Crew?”
I picked out a pair of black utility pants and scrunched my nose at Ryan. “Huh?”
He came over to me and rested an arm atop the rack. “I don’t mean to be a nitpicking bastard, but I’m getting the impression that you’re feelin’ less than confident about this op.”
Oh, for chrissakes. We didn’t have time for a heart-to-heart about this bullshit. We had work to do.
Except, you would never send a fellow Marine into battle with your whiny-ass attitude.
I blew out a breath and tossed the pants onto an ottoman at the center of the room. It was the only piece of furniture to sit on in here.