Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
I run a mental analysis over my body, trying to determine whether the wounds I have are life-threatening.
Zayne's weak smile, filled with concern and sadness, flashes in my mind.
It feels like a goodbye.
It would be my luck that I'd die in a car full of dopehead racists and bigots rather than in the Middle East, where at least I could be remembered as a hero.
My life to this point feels like a waste. I could've done so much more with the time I have been given. I could've made different choices.
I could have accepted who I am so much sooner.
I could've been happy rather than spending so much time worrying about what others might think of my choices.
Regret fills my body, pouring out of me alongside the blood from my wounds.
Maybe I'll die with a little more clarity, but what a fucking time to be given that gift.
"Zeus!"
I shake my head, swallowing down the need to cry for the man I could've been.
"Zeus!"
It takes all the effort I can manage to swivel my head on the seatback to look in the direction of the voice.
Nyx glares at me, and the sight of his sneering face seems like the perfect fuck-you to my already wasted life.
The back door is tugged open, rough hands grab me by my shirt, and drag me from the car.
"Blood check!" another voice demands just as hands roam over my entire body.
I barely register the cool air hitting bare skin when my shirt is lifted. Hands roam down my legs, and I have no idea how I can even stand as I'm dying, but the strength calms me a little.
There's no shame in how a man chooses to greet death. If he does it with his chin held high, or with his head bowed in begging to go home to a place where he was nurtured and safe, that's not a journey anyone has the right to judge.
I take pride in the fact that even as I'm seconds away from greeting the devil at the gates of hell, I can do it standing on my own two feet.
Pain radiates from my cheek, my brain taking only a second longer to register Nyx in front of me with his hand still suspended in the air as if he's more than prepared to hit me again.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" he snaps. "Get your shit together."
"Maybe it's shock," someone else mutters. "Have we called an ambulance for the officer?"
I glance down, noticing the cop splayed out on the ground, and I'm hit with another wave of guilt. Her empty stare and the red pool growing around her tell me all I need to know.
"There's no need for an ambulance," Jericho says as if he's reading my mind, and I feel a little more at ease knowing I'm surrounded by my brothers in these last moments of my life.
"I swear I'll fucking hit you again," Nyx snarls, the scent of mint gum on his breath.
"One still alive in the car," Jersey informs.
I watch, still a little dazed, as Nyx takes a step away from me, points his rifle toward the driver's seat, and pulls the trigger three times.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hemlock snaps. "That's not how we operate!"
A sinister smile turns up the corner of Nyx's mouth, just as my brain starts to come back online.
He turns that look to me, speeding up the process, if only for survival instincts.
I hold my hands up, warding him off.
"I'm good," I assure him.
He frowns as if he wanted the chance to hit me again.
"Fucking Mozambiqued his ass," Ace mutters.
A Mozambique drill is one where many operatives are trained to shoot a person's center mass twice before putting a third bullet in their chest. The first two are aimed at the largest target area of the body to stop someone from coming toward them, and the third is just in case they're wearing body armor and are still a threat.
"You good?"
I look over at Ace as he directs his eyes away from the dead men in the car toward me.
"I'm not hit?"
"No, you fucking pussy," Nyx growls before turning to walk away. "King of the Gods, my ass."
"The fucking paperwork," Hemlock mutters. "Don't fucking touch her."
Jersey stands from his crouched position beside the dead cop, a look of distress in his eyes at the idea of leaving her there.
"We've got to go," Ace says, tugging on my arm and pulling me toward the SUV parked behind the cop car.
"I fucking told them this was a bad idea. Getting the fucking local cops involved was a terrible fucking choice," Hemlock growls. "Can you handle what happens next?"
I nod, my brain still not operating at full capacity.
"Care to tell me what the fuck is going on?"
"You'll be briefed when we get to the command center," Hemlock snaps. "Get in the fucking vehicle."