Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
U.S. Navy?
I can't fucking imagine the shit that'll come down from messing with the actual government. We've handled cops, the mob, the occasional crime lord, but fuck, if the National Guard comes rolling to the club, that might be it. There are fucking limits even for us.
But if Rory's in there, we have to at least try, consequences be fucked.
The roar of the bikes echoes off the buildings like a pride of hungry lions, but that can't be helped. It’s well past office hours, so hopefully we won’t catch too much attention too quickly. Tonight we're showing in force, rather than in stealth. We pull around to the back, looking for the entrance to the courtyard. I check the gun in my belt. Fuck, if anyone's hurt her…
Shrapnel’s riding bitch behind me, and I’m never going to let him live it down, but any of us would do the same if the choice was that or sitting out the rescue. He’s wiped off most of the blood so at least his face doesn't look as fucking ruined as it did when we found him, but it’s not pretty and neither is his mood. He obviously blames himself for losing Rory back there, and we gotta make sure he doesn't fuck himself up by doing something dumb to make up for it.
Diesel's right next to me, keeping an eye on my roughed-up passenger, with King on the other side. We’re taking point since we know Rory best, and Shrapnel might recognize the fuckers that took her away. And following are at least three dozen members, all ready to show these fuckers what it means to mess with the Screaming Eagles, or their women.
The two fuckers guarding the door are looking real damn shifty. No fucking way they are actually military. They don't even fucking try to fight us off. Just look at each other, then put their hands in the air while keeping their backs to the wall. Shrapnel dismounts, wincing and with a hand on his ribs. The rest of us are right behind him.
“Remember me, motherfucker?” he snarls, stomping up the stairs with just a hint of a limp.
The closest one backs away as we approach, but he can't back through the building and I have long fucking arms. Grabbing him by his collar I pull him right up to face me. Which means his feet aren't even touching the fucking ground. “Where the fuck is Rory?”
“I—I don't know who you're talking about.”
Diesel has his gun out immediately, pressing it against the guard's temple. “You sure you don't know? You really fucking look like you might know, and I'm running real fucking low on patience, so I'm gonna ask you exactly one more time. Where the fuck is the girl?”
“Just remember,” Shrapnel says almost happily, looking fucking grotesque with his broken nose and a bloody grin, “that you are one of many, so unless you can help, you’re completely fucking expendable. If you don't talk, I bet your buddy will after he sees what we do to you.”
“Inside! She's inside!”
I give him a shake. “Believe it or not, we figured out that much. What floor? Which door? Who's with her?”
“I don't know. I swear I don't! I haven't been inside. We're just guarding the door! Please, please, don't—”
Yanking him close, I slam my skull into his. He goes quiet immediately, knocked out. “Fuck, he was getting annoying. How about you? You got something to add?” I drop the knocked-out guard to the ground and lock eyes with the other one.
“No! No, he was telling the truth. We haven't been inside. They locked themselves in right after we got here.”
I leave him be, pulling my iron instead. He whimpers, thinking his time's come, but I focus on the door. Someone in there has to have fucking noticed that we rolled in and are waiting for us. Me and Diesel take up positions on either side, while Viking and Badass shoot open the lock.
Knock, knock, motherfuckers.
The door slams open, and then me, Diesel, Crash, Devil and Bear chase Viking and Badass in, giving them cover until they run outta momentum. “Everyone down on the fucking ground.” Diesel's voice cuts through the noise like an angry drill instructor. “Anyone makes a move, and we're gonna put so much lead in them they can be used as a fucking pencil.”
By the time we've got the hall full of members, the three guards that were waiting for us are all down on the ground, their arms zip-tied behind their backs and their weapons confiscated. Didn't even put up a fucking fight.
And that's when I see the soldiers, fucking stacked behind the reception desk. I check the one on top, but I'm not fucking surprised when she has no pulse. These motherfuckers need to be taken out back and shot. It’s one thing to die for your country, another to get taken out just ‘cause someone got greedy.