Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I blow him a kiss and keep going.
This is going to last all night at this rate.
And I’m counting on one simple loophole. I’m fairly certain that these assholes have orders not to kill me.
It’s a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. I poke my head out, and one of the guards sees me. And just as I thought, he holds up his arm to the guys next to him and signals in my direction.
That’s right, boys. I’m off limits.
Because Quinn and Duke probably want to do the deed themselves.
Rory is making his way over to me now, and I don’t have much time. So I make a mad dash to another car on the other side of the lawn. I only have one more to go before I get to Storm.
That’s when Conor takes a bullet through the windshield.
“Fuck,” Crow roars. “Stay down, lad.”
And then there’s a grunt not far behind me. That’s when I see it.
Rory’s been hit. In the shoulder.
He’s bleeding. Because of me.
“Are you okay?” I yell.
He clutches at his wound and glares. “Get your arse back over here, now.”
He’s huddled behind the trunk, waiting. Bleeding. And I want to tell him all the things I never have.
I’m pissed off and I’m fucking tired, and now Rory’s hurt because of me.
“No. Fuck this,” I tell him as I stand up and start firing off rounds.
“And fuck them. Fuck all these motherfuckers.”
Crow and Reaper take cover too, and someone tells the guards to hold their fire.
They try to hide behind posts and doors and tires and wooden pallets.
I walk and I fire.
And they go down.
One by one, they go down.
I hear them, rather than see them.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Their bodies fall in time to my heart.
And then one of the guards disobeys his orders and shoots me in the fucking foot. It hurts like a motherfucking cocksucker.
But I keep after it.
Limping my way to Storm. Rory joins me at my side, followed by the rest of the men a minute later.
“Jaysus,” Crow says, eyeing me like I’m insane.
“Aye,” Rory agrees. “And ye thought your woman was fecking crazy. Just look at the little monster I’ve created.”
“Indeed, you did, Frankenstein. Give yourself a pat on the back.”
We huddle behind the car and Storm crawls out to join us. She’s got a bloody knife in her hand, and I don’t have to ask if she used it.
“This is not what I signed up for,” she says.
“Are you alright?”
I check over her wound and she nods.
“What’s one more battle scar?”
“It’s a through and through,” Crow says after taking a look at her arm. “Just keep pressure on it.”
There are still a few stray bullets firing from around the house, but Rory and the guys pick them off within another few minutes.
And this time, they are all business.
Crow tosses everyone an AK from the case.
“I guess that’s one fucking way to do it,” Dom says. “Now that we know Storm’s safe.”
“It’s the only way,” I tell them. “These cowards won’t come out on their own.”
And so we form a chain. Five men and two women strong.
“Know how to shoot one of these things?” Conor asks Storm.
“No fucking clue,” she says as she takes the gun from him, anyway.
On the count of three, we spray the house with bullets. We blow the place up like it’s the fourth of July. Glass and wood and debris fly across the yard and into the gravel.
“I hope they don’t have any neighbors,” Crow yells over the racket.
“They don’t,” I assure him. “It’s dead quiet here. Nobody can hear them scream.”
He glances at me, but doesn’t ask.
We dispense every last round before the place falls quiet again.
“Wait here until we clear the place,” Rory tells me.
I don’t listen of course and follow after them once they’re inside. The remaining guards are all dead, scattered about the lounge and kitchen.
And the guys find Quinn and Duke bunkering down in a safe upstairs.
Rory and Crow have them tied up and in the car before I can do any damage to them. And then they’re dousing the place in lighter fluid. Crow leaves a trail down the front porch and Rory hands me a pack of matches.
“Light it up and burn it down, baby.”
I light it up.
And burn it down.
Forty
Rory
Alexei provides us with sanctuary at his house.
He has a surgeon on call and loads of medical equipment, not to mention his own dungeon of torture.
Alexei is a private bloke, and he keeps his business separate from his family.
His wife Talia and their baby son Franco remain on the main level of the home while we take up residence on the third.
“The doctor will be here shortly,” he tells us. “Magda will help in the meantime.”
His housekeeper nods, bearing an armload of first aid supplies, and I instruct her to help Storm first while Dom tends to Conor.