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)
The men pair off, half going to a second SUV parked behind the first one that I'm only noticing right now.
"Too much fucking heat," Jersey says from behind the wheel as we pull away. "It feels disrespectful to leave her just lying there. If only they would've fucking listened."
"Locals are on the way," Hemlock says, looking down at his phone.
"And our cover in the community?" Lark asks from beside me.
"It'll stand," Hemlock says. "This will be written up as a traffic stop gone wrong."
"Too fucking close to the compound for my liking," Jersey mutters, taking a turn faster than I would've, but the vehicle handles the demand with ease.
"We'll be fine," Lark assures him. "The mountains have a way of muting all sorts of shit. I doubt they heard any of it."
"What the fuck is going on?" I demand again, but the vehicle screeches to a stop in front of a small warehouse.
No one answers me as we wait for a massive door to roll up.
The inside of the building is a flurry of motion. Men and women I don't recognize swarm around, body armor and tactical gear covering each of them.
The chest rigs they're wearing tell me this is bigger than I would've guessed.
FBI, DEA, and ATF are represented. Even Homeland Security is here.
"It's a joint federal task force," Hemlock says.
"We set this in motion?" I ask, knowing there's always someone Cerberus has to answer to, especially on domestic soil, but we've always been more of a Black-Ops group.
"She set this in motion," Jersey says, pointing in the direction of a woman barking commands to those around her.
I pull in a breath of relief when my eyes land on a familiar face.
Melody.
The waitress from The Garage.
"I thought she was dead," I say, more than a hint of awe in my voice.
"I don't think she can die," Lark says, sounding a little in love with the woman.
"Clementine Monroe," Jersey explains. "She leads the FBI HRT Unit."
"Hostage rescue team?" I say. "That's unusual."
The cross-training required to lead that position and also to go undercover is damn near unheard of.
"She's an unusual woman," Lark whispers. "She goes by Zero."
"We can gossip and fawn over federal agents at a later time," Hemlock says as he shoves open the passenger side door. "We have shit to do."
I climb out, my head fully in the game and unwilling to think of any other outcome than getting Zayne out safely and taking these horrific people down.
"She escaped the clutches of one of those pieces of shit," Lark says as we walk forward. "But not before his high-as-a-fucking-kite ass revealed all sorts of secrets about the group."
"Zayne?" I ask.
"We haven't heard from him," Lark says, worry in his voice. "But he's a badass, too. I'm sure he's fine."
"Zeus," the woman running the show says as I approach.
There's a look of respect in her eyes, and it makes me wonder if she had witnessed me losing my shit fifteen minutes ago, if she would still look at me in the same way.
"Clem—" I begin, switching gears when she narrows her eyes at me in warning. "Agent... Zero."
She dips her head in appreciation, then quickly turns her attention to another guy who has the brass balls to chuckle. She is nothing like the woman she portrayed at the diner, and I bet she'd give Nyx a fucking run for his money the way she's looking at her teammate.
The man clamps his lips closed and takes a step back as if even the assault rifle strapped to his chest couldn't protect him from a woman like her.
"She's amazing," Lark whispers.
"Time is not our fucking friend right now," Zero yells, and the entire warehouse takes notice, giving her the attention she demands. "Let's get the show on the fucking road."
As she speaks, issuing her expectations, Hemlock hands me gear. Within ten minutes of entering this building, each of us knows what we're responsible for and is ready to take the world by force.
I can only hope that when the gun smoke settles, Zayne is alive and able to participate in the victory.
Chapter 37
Zayne
The taste in my mouth is off.
The sharp, coppery tang coating my tongue is in direct opposition to the euphoria coating every inch of my skin.
I float, the weightlessness of my body allowing me to picture my world as if I were a witness rather than a participant.
Angels flap their wings around me, the gentle thump of sound they create is disjointed from the things my eyes are witnessing.
My vision is blurry, and the connection between what I feel like I should be able to see and what my brain is attempting to process feels severed.
Soldiers file into the room, their grumble of voices and commands drawing my brows together. I open my mouth to tell them that they're ruining everything, but no sound comes out.