Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“You go. I need to make sure Saint is okay. Take Princess with you.” He whistles, and the dog comes barreling around the corner. She practically knocks me down as she runs past me, and I slip on the steps, falling on my ass on the second-to-last one.
I’m thankful Iris is too busy helping Saint off the ground when I look back and they didn’t see it.
They embrace quickly, and Iris cups Saint’s cheek.
I don’t want to break them apart, but they do know our lives are at stake, don’t they?
I get back to my feet and enter the only door down here. I almost fall again when I see all the weaponry I could imagine, meticulously hung on walls like it’s a showcase …
I reach the table in the center of the room and do a spin. Every wall. Every surface. There are enough weapons and ammo to arm my entire squad at the DEA.
Iris steps into the room. “Impressive, right? Don’t just stand there. Start loading up.” He throws me a bulletproof vest and Saint as well, then puts a shoulder holster on with a handgun on each side and straps an automatic rifle to his back.
“What about you?” I ask and lift the bulletproof vest.
“I should’ve invested in more Kevlar, but you and Saint take priority.”
“No, wait—”
“This isn’t up for discussion. We don’t have time.”
As he says this, a sound echoes down the stairs, a loud thump like someone breaking in or dropping something heavy.
Iris fills his pockets with ammo, and now that Saint’s suited up, he joins Iris in covering himself with as many weapons as possible.
I think back to the night Trav and I escaped his ranch and feel the similarities. Yet, Iris and Saint work as if nothing is happening. Like this is an everyday occurrence for them.
And the fact I’ve been in Trav’s care for a short time and it’s the second time this has happened, I have to say, I think this is a usual workday for them.
“You’re gonna have to move faster,” Iris singsongs at me. “I’m not going to carry your ass out to the car, and if I leave you behind, Trav will kill me. So, move.” He pushes me aside and stands in front of the wall where there’s a … Is that a rocket launcher? “My baby,” he murmurs.
His dog nudges his hand with her snout, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t think he’s talking about her.
“Do you really need to take that?” Saint asks.
“What do you think emergency RPG means? If this doesn’t constitute an emergency, I don’t know what does.”
“Just … don’t blow up our house, okay?”
“I can’t make those promises. Let’s roll out.”
Shit. I still haven’t picked up a weapon. I grab the nearest one, a small P365.
“Bold choice,” Iris says. “Good to know our lives are on the line and you choose the smallest weapon I own. Then again, you’re in love with Trav, so logic doesn’t always have to make sense … I suppose.”
“Stop teasing the man, when—” Saint stops talking suddenly.
One of the stairs creaks, like under the weight of a foot.
Iris turns, gun drawn, and says to Saint, “Get Rodriguez and Princess out of here.”
How are we supposed to get out of here when those fuckers are closing in?
Saint drags me to the two barnlike doors in the opposite direction to the stairs and unlatches it as quietly as he can.
Do Trav and all his men have escape routes in their houses? I’m not even going to think too hard about why. Well, I don’t really need to. Exhibit A.
Iris shoots, and the sound reverberates in my skull.
“Go, go now,” Iris shouts at us.
“Stay behind me. We’re going to be moving fast, so keep up.” Saint looks down at his heels. “Princess Smooshy Face, heel.”
He swings the door open, and I don’t look anywhere else but at his back so I can follow him. He crosses the yard quickly, his automatic rifle lifted and ready to fire if he needs to. He leads me toward the back of the property, which is confusing until a door in the rock wall opens to reveal a car.
Princess follows orders until we get to a certain point and stops in the middle of the yard. Gunfire is coming from the house, and she turns and whines, no doubt wondering where her other daddy is.
“Princess Smooshy Face, heel,” Saint says again.
I take a quick look around and realize there are a lot of places these guys could hide on this large property, and we’re out here like sitting ducks because of a stupid dog and her loyalty.
Then she looks up at us with literally puppy dog eyes, ones that say she’s worried about her dad and wants to go back, and I realize she’s not stupid at all. She’s too smart for her own good.