Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Breach, breach, breach,” Johnathan growls out into the communication wrap that’s fitted snugly around his throat.
With those words instantly entering our ears, we all turn away from the blast zone and count down from three in our heads.
There’s a loud boom as the charges blow the door completely off the hinges, sending shrapnel flying into the room. I’m supposed to be the first guy into the building, but we have a strict protocol we follow.
So I toss a flashbang grenade into the room first. Then Andrew tosses a shrapnel grenade after mine goes off.
Disorientation and collateral damage are the keys to fucking these bastards up.
Shock and maximum carnage.
We didn’t have time to fully plot anything beyond our tactical squad order and just the roughest outlines of how the building is laid out. There simply isn’t any way to plan an operation like this without risking something bad going down with Meghan.
I can’t fucking allow that. Meghan is the one spot in my world that I base my sanity on. Without her by my side, I’m not sure I’ll be able to function. I fucking hate that I’ve put such a dependency on her.
But that’s what happened.
Somewhere between her pulling the trigger on me in the church, to when she got shoved in the car by Alexei, I’ve grown to need this woman with my very fucking being.
She’s mine. Mind, body, heart, and fucking soul.
Loving her makes me feel human again.
Knowing that Alexei has dared laid a hand on my fucking woman, on my fucking salvation, has my damn mind shutting down to a narrow fucking focus.
“In on three… two… one…” I say as I quickly move through the door with my M4 raised up to my shoulder and my finger already on the trigger.
“Following,” Johnathan says quickly behind me.
“Targets moving through the building,” James comes over the comms as I quickly aim my rifle at a staggering man.
“Hostile One down,” I say after a burst of three shots from my rifle.
“Hostile Two and Three already down on the floor from the explosives,” Johnathan reports.
Andrew grumbles into the comms as he follows us in, “Couple of shots for good measure.”
Six suppressed shots snap loudly in the room as he puts a hole in the heads and hearts of each downed target.
Nasty business that, but it ensures that we won’t have any sneaky fuckers getting up and shooting us in the back.
“Front office clear,” I say, and quickly move to the door that has a stairwell exit next to it. “Entering stairwell. Flashbang only.”
Pulling a second flashbang grenade off my vest, I wait for Johnathan to open the door before I toss the grenade inside. Pushing the door closed, we wait outside for the bang and ultrabright flash before yanking the doors open.
Finally hearing it go off, I look in and up to see if I can spot anyone. Empty.
“Stairwell empty,” I report.
“Got two guys coming up on the roof. Looking to see what they’re up to before—Holy tits!” I hear him shout before there’s a loud bang and the front of the office implodes on us.
Brick and metal shrapnel explode all around us as we rush into the stairwell for cover.
“What the fuck was that?” I yell into the comms strap around my neck.
Fuck me, I can feel a large chunk of something lodged in the back of my right shoulder. Lodged and fucking burning a damn hole in me. Pressing myself up against the wall, I pant for a moment, trying to center my mind away from the wound.
“RPG took out your car, Gabriel,” James says before I hear him start to snicker loudly in his mic. “Both targets down. Shot one in the pecker first, though, before I got a good headshot on him.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hear Simon grumble into the comms chip in my ear.
“Get extraction vehicles out here if you can, Simon,” Johnathan says into his mic.
“Already on their way,” Simon says.
“Michael and I are fifteen minutes out,” Lucifer says into the mic.
Well, fuck me. Big man’s getting involved.
“Yay! Lily let you come out to play with the rowdy kids!” James cheers into the mic like a fucking kid.
“Shut up, James,” Lucifer says with laugh.
James isn’t as old as most of us, only a couple of years younger, so I’m guessing the fucker gets to be the fucking baby of the family. Lucifer treats the immature shit as if he’s another one of his sons anyway, from what Johnathan and Andrew say.
“I’m telling mom,” James taunts before his voice snaps into business mode. “They’ve got another guy coming up on the roof. Shooting in one… two… three. Target down. Searching the building for heat signatures.”
“We need to fucking move,” I growl into the mic.
I don’t have my brother’s fucking eloquent words or fucking analytical mind. I’m the brute fucking force. I smash through the fucking walls. I don’t sit behind and fucking work on a fucking keyboard. I’m the fucking hellhound. I’m not paid to think. I’m paid to fucking move and hurt.