Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
But good might not come from this. Only blood waiting to spill if this Eloy lied to me.
18
LORENZO
I just lied to the Russian Bratva. Blood rushed in my ears as I strolled out of Vadim’s Gym. A hollow boom echoed inside my skull. That sound haunted me since Afghanistan. Mortars. Car bombs. Sometimes I swore I smelled sand and cordite even here in Los Angeles.
A blink washed it away. Just traffic on Venice, a jogger with earbuds, the slap of echoes on pavement. My chest heaved, though. I’d tricked Vassili Resnov. He had a way of pulling ghosts out of me, making me feel buried while I desperately clawed through dirt.
All because he took Louis “the Legion” Gotti from me. A fighter. A greater fighter than him. And my father. He took my family, my Italian roots! I had to learn all of this. The walk, the talk.
Beneath the disorder in my head, my plans remained steady. Solid. The Resnovs would discover what I wanted: The life of soldier Eloy Hernandez. Decorated, disciplined. Fort Hood. A base famous for the vanished, the forgotten, the dead. A place where questions weren’t common. A place where soldiers vanished, and life went on.
I smiled, pushing through the Venice crowd, imagining how buzzards had licked Eloy’s bones clean in the Texas wasteland I’d put him in. His family hadn’t gotten a single check from the VA based on his AWOL status. But Rain vanquished all traces of him going AWOL online. Instead, Vassili’s hackers would believe that Eloy had retired after minor hearing loss—a common occurrence for a soldier because of our environment. Bombs and the report of rifles necessitated ear protection. Sometimes we didn’t wear it. So, Vassili would find what we wanted him to. Nothing strange. Nothing that would ring alarms. A soldier scarred by war, yet he persevered. Reliable.
I reached the truck, slid inside the rusted shell of it, and started the engine. My fingertips found my lips before I even realized what I focused on … Natasha.
That kiss.
She’d pressed against me like she didn’t care who saw after we watched that rom-com. Her lips were soft. Warm. Sweet with the taste of orange soda and Mike & Ike’s. She’d laughed into my mouth, giggling as if my emotions were a game. Then she’d deepened it. Her heartbeat racing against mine. My hands drifted lower. Framed her hips—
“Watch it!” Two women in neon bikinis slammed their hands onto the hood. Their shrill voices snapped me out of the trance.
I blasted the horn. “Get outta the street!” My fists stayed pinned down until their curses vanished behind me. I veered hard from the lot, swerving toward PCH.
I dragged a hand down my face. What was wrong with me? Natasha didn’t want me. She wanted Lachlan. After the kiss, she told me she was in love with him.
And yet—she had kissed me.
She’d chosen me.
Those lips had been mine once. And they would be again.
I shoved the thought deep and turned inland, leaving the blue horizon for the grime of the inner city of Los Angeles. My truck rattled to a stop outside a cracked stucco apartment building, once a motel. Still smelled like one.
A frail staircase flanked each exit. I mounted the one toward the left, bounding upward toward the second floor.
Rain answered the door before I touched the knob, leaning against the frame in a yellow bikini strung around her bones. “We could’ve had so much fun on Venice Beach.” She pouted.
I brushed past her without a glance. Same skinny shape as the girls who’d cussed me out. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing like Natasha.
“Is my alias complete?”
“Meet any prized UFC fighters?” Rain threw a punch, eyes sparkling. She’d hacked jihadi servers and infiltrated networks most men wouldn’t dare touch. Yet, she fought the air in a cheesy attempt to force my smile.
Stop. Now. “Is my alias complete, Rainita?”
Her smile faltered. She was figuring out that the sudden inclusion of any variation of her name was dangerous. She perched at the edge of a small table with wires, a laptop, my alarm clock, and last night’s takeout cartons. “Yeah. You meet him? Resnov?”
The question rankled. I repeated, sharp, “I asked if my alias is complete!”
Rain sighed, tapping the keyboard. “Would love a chair,” she muttered. The laptop lit up, green code running. “Forget about the girl. You hate Vassili, snipe him from a mile away. Done deal.”
Patience thinned. My finger rubbed a circle over my thumb. Bad habit. A sign the rage was close. But I needed her. As she typed and pulled up another screen, my eyes bugged out. “What’s this, Corporal Rainita Howard?”
She lifted a shoulder and snorted. “Eloy got an infraction for driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit a week back. Get it. It’s a paper trail?”
I blinked. Even she didn’t know our friend was vulture chow. She had cried when he went missing.