Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Questions and questions float through my mind as I try to figure out what the fuck happened with Ivan. How the fuck did he get past our noses? How the fuck did he get back into the country?
He shouldn’t have been able to with the no-fly Simon had slapped on him.
Fuck. None of this makes any fucking sense. Especially when I think of how he figured out where Abigail would be at. That’s worrying me.
How the fuck do we do anything right now? Was he watching the school after the first strike team was taken out? What the hell does he know? Motherfucker is going to fucking die, I swear.
I’m going to beat him with my own fucking hands.
“Simon,” I say as I fall even further back. We’re getting out of the busy areas and slowly moving through the less crowded areas of town.
“Fall back a mile or so. I’ve got them so far, he’s on a phone call. As long as he doesn’t shut his phone off completely, we’ll be good.”
Easing my foot off the pedal, I try to tell myself that charging in isn’t the way to handle things. I know in my head it isn’t.
But my Amy is in that fucking car, and my Abigail is fucking… somewhere.
The dark sky is as clear as I’ve ever seen it in the last two shitty months. The moon nowhere to be seen. It’s going to get cold tonight, no cloud cover for us.
“They’ve pulled into a house on your left-hand side. Two miles ahead of current position. I would suggest you do not proceed until we have a team there. We’re twenty minutes out.”
“Fuck you, Simon,” I say with a smile. “Tell the boys I’ll leave the lights on for ‘em.”
Pushing disconnect on the phone, I toss it to the passenger seat.
I drive past the house for half a mile before finding a side road. Dumping my car into a culvert, I quickly grab the weapons I have in the car. Two .45’s with silencers, full clips.
It’s not much but from the lack of presence at the house I passed, I don’t really see needing more than what I got.
It’s a quick jog from where I left the car to the house, and during that time I’ve got a plan slowly formulating in my head. It’s one of two choices—I go in guns blazing or I try to be stealthy about the whole thing.
Finding no sentries in the field around the house surprises me somewhat, but not really. They’re cocky that they got Abigail and Amy without being caught.
The first guy I come across is lazily leaning against the black Lincoln I saw earlier. It’s one of two cars in the long curved driveway.
Moving up to his side quickly, I slap a hand over his mouth as I put the barrel of my gun to the side of his head.
We both stand still as statues before my lips finally get close to his ear.
I murmur quietly, “How many in the house if you want to live…”
He shakes his head and I can tell he doesn’t want to talk, stupid fuck. Pulling the trigger slightly, I say, “Okay, I’ll ask the next guy.”
Just like I thought, he starts talking behind my hand.
Pulling the hand slowly away, I say, “Be quiet. How many in the house?”
“Three. Two guys and the boss.”
“Where are they in the house?”
“Two in the front room, boss in the back room with the girl. Upstairs is the little one.”
“Thanks.”
Pulling the trigger, I hear blood explode loudly out the side of his head.
I lied. Fuck him.
Going to the front of the house, I try to walk as casually as I can. Very gently, I test the front door handle.
It’s unlocked.
I have to shake my head at the whole situation now. It’s damn typical of how things are in real life. People just don’t prepare themselves like they do in the movies.
Opening the door, I poke my head in.
In the living room I see the back of two guy’s heads lounging on the couch. They’ve got their eyes focused on some shitty action movie. If I didn’t have to kill them I would have suggested they take notes on how bad guys protect themselves.
Walking around the couch, I would say something witty but… fuck that. The last thing they see is me stepping in front of them, lifting both pistols in the air.
Firing with both hands, I put holes through their chests then their heads.
Three men down, one to go.
A loud scream floats down the halls from the back of the house and rips my heart from my chest.
It’s Amy.
I can hear her pain. I can hear the bellows of a man I can only assume is Ivan as I slowly make my way past the staircase.
Heading down the long hall, towards the back of the house, I try to make sure every room is clear. It won’t do to finally get my hands on the bastard only to have some Russian cock-smoker shoot me in the back.