Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Launch myself up and over the edge where I hold my position to listen for additional movement.
Not receiving any, I ditch my flippers, keeping my knife ready in case there’s a need for an impromptu quiet kill. Next, I strip out of my other gear yet maintain my firearm along with ammo rounds for refilling.
I dispose of the passed-out guards’ guns into the water prior to using my knife to sever each of their brain stems in their facedown positions.
No witnesses.
And no revenge killing scenarios.
It’s bad enough that’s what all this shit is about now.
Blood seeps onto the deck pushing me to navigate around it to prevent creating the same crimson steps I envisioned earlier. Skulking along the exterior wall, I exchange my blade for my Berretta and cautiously peak my head around the nearest corner to verify a clear passage, something my second informs me of a mere minute later.
He motions with his weapon he’ll take the stairs leading upward leaving me to sweep the ones leading down.
Each step is steeper than anticipated from first glance and leaves no possible room for coverage. Being so vulnerable prompts faster movements, but the irregular rocking threatens to expose me to my targets too early.
Just as the ship shifts directions, the first door I passed suddenly opens causing me to abruptly change directions. From behind, one hand is quickly clamped over his mouth at the same time the muzzle of my weapon is wedged into his ribcage. The first shot clears a path for the second to successfully pierce his lungs. Gurgling sounds are attached to violent twitches that result in me squeezing the trigger twice more to swiftly end his suffering.
Not because he deserves it.
But because I know my clock has almost run out.
Letting his body drop rather than gingerly lying it down will alert Rosenkrantz – who I am banking is hiding below deck – to my presence and pull him this direction.
Away from Arley.
Away from the area she can get hurt.
And I know she’s wherever he is.
You don’t let your bargaining chip or successfully captured target out of sight.
Field ops 1-0-1.
“Threats eliminated,” Blu announces in my ear. “Ship acquired.”
With my weapon aimed at the door, I brace myself to take the shot I know I need to yet am completely surprised when a barrel curls around the edge to fire. Falling harshly at the knees has the bullet barely missing my torso and clumsily sliding across the wood. The loud thump not only tells the assailant which direction to change his trajectory to, it damn near gets me clipped between the thighs. Sliding out of the way in tandem with another hard rock from the ship knocks me into the wall once more modifying his shooting pattern.
I ignore the building pains from being thrown around against my will and scramble to the door where I grab a hold of the handle to remove the firearm from his possession by yanking it towards me. The gun goes off one last time prior to its descent. The shot barely misses my calf, and that little fact simply adds to the rage rushing through my fingertips. Slamming it over and over and over again continues until I’m convinced it’s broken or at least damaged enough to be less operable. At that moment, I relinquish my hold and deliver a heavy kick to the barricade, not wanting to shoot without awareness of my woman’s location.
For all I know, she could be smashed against the door as an additional line of defense.
Hitting her with the door isn’t ideal, but it’s damn sure more forgivable than putting a round in her.
My arrival in the guestroom immediately reveals to me the disoriented man I’m looking for and only him.
Where is she?!
Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?!
She should be here!
She has to be here!
Frozen by fear that he’s already done the unthinkable, that he did the unthinkable the instant he hung up the phone, that the love of my life is dead on her way to the bottom of the ocean, presents him with a chance to regain the offense. He reaches for my weapon bearing wrist, bends it, and squeezes the pressure points, forcing me to abandon my hold. His other hand automatically intervenes to catch it; however, mine immediately counters.
Knocks the gun away from both of us.
Causes it to skid across the recently washed floor near the open bathroom door.
My chest is left wide open and Rosenkrantz nails me in it using his injured hand. Fumbling backwards into the bedside table allows for the navy-blue vase to be picked up and smashed against his dark locks. He’s knocked literally sideways onto the nearby bed putting me yet again in an optimal position for ending this.
Him.
Kneeing him in the gut upon his first attempt to get up is followed by another blow to his face, this one courtesy of my fist, mania and mayhem soaring through my blood, demanding I do it again.