Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
His mouth curved into a grin that made me even more aware of how attractive he was, which only irritated me more. “You always this friendly to people trying to keep you alive?”
“I’m friendlier to people who follow directions.”
He looked entirely too entertained by that, but he did as I asked without questioning me further. Just far enough that his boot cleared the paint, but I was inordinately pleased that he didn’t challenge my authority.
His gaze dropped to the radios on my belt. “How many people are you talking to at once?”
“As many as the job needs.”
“Multitasking.” The grin edged wider. “Dangerous habit. You might miss something important.”
They hadn’t distracted me from him, not even a little bit. “Don’t you have security work to do?”
His gaze slid over me, slow enough to send a shiver of awareness down my spine. “Doing it.”
Before I could retort, the opening notes of the recorded display soundtrack rolled across the field. That was my cue, so I dragged my attention away from him and pulled one of the radios from my belt. “T-minus five minutes until the opening shell. Clear the blast radius.”
I felt his stare between my shoulder blades as I focused on the firing board. I ran the last checks before speaking into my radio again, “Board live.”
Len replied, “Launch area clear.”
Everything was in order. “Display authorized.”
As the crowd turned their attention toward the launch area beyond the southern drainage cut, I pressed the button that sent an electric current down the circuit to ignite the black powder lift charge, launching the first shells into the air. They went in the order they were supposed to with clean climbs before red, gold, and white broke open over the canyon.
I focused on the firing panel as the crowd cheered, only looking away for a moment to peek at the biker by the barricade. I was a little disappointed that his attention wasn’t still on me, but I couldn’t afford to think about how ridiculous that was in the middle of a show. Although I did wonder why he wasn’t looking at the sky when the second barrage launched into the air.
My hand stayed near the emergency stop as I watched the next volley streak through the sky. But then the fourth ignition went a half beat too soon, and one of the supports on the rack tore free, tilting the tubes sideways. The muzzles were now aimed toward the meadow where the audience was sitting.
My palm slammed the emergency control to stop the firing sequence, but when I turned toward the firing line, I saw flame spitting from the tube. Then the biker who’d held my attention all evening somehow got there in time to drive his boot into the steel frame, knocking the assembly toward the empty drainage wash just as the round launched.
It tore low across the dark before bursting beyond the far ridge, away from the crowd. The boom was loud enough to rattle most people, but I barely noticed it while I ran through emergency protocols in my head.
Luckily, we’d dampened the ground in that area ahead of the show to prevent stray sparks from igniting a ground fire. It also helped keep the launch area cleaner and improve visibility for the crew members monitoring the site because the powerful downward blast of a heavy black powder lift charge could kick up clouds of dirt.
Unfortunately, the wet ground wouldn’t do any good to stop the fuse that was hissing inside the damaged rack. I lunged toward it, but the biker who’d saved the day lifted me off my feet and carried me backward.
“Put me down,” I demanded. “There’s another live shell in that tube.”
“Exactly why you’re moving.”
I tried to twist in his hold, but he was too strong.
“I know that system better than you do.”
“I know explosives better than you know me.” His glare when he set me behind the concrete barrier dared me to argue, but I was too busy wondering what he meant by that. Then he pointed one finger at the ground near my boots and demanded, “Stay.”
2
GHOST
Iturned back toward the damaged rack, the hiss from the live tube cutting through the ringing in my ears as I started across the scorched ground. Smoke drifted low over the launch field, while the Black Crowns took control of the chaos beyond the perimeter. Fragments still ticked against the dirt as they settled.
The club’s doctor and any brothers with battlefield medical training—which were quite a few since former or current military service was required to patch with the Black Crowns—were working through the people nearest the blast to make sure there were no serious injuries.
Some brothers and prospects guided families and children toward the northern exit, while others widened the perimeter and locked down equipment access, as well as the approaches along the drainage cut. My earpiece carried clipped reports from the security teams.