Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
"Get down!" he shouts back, already moving.
I drop to the catwalk just as a burst of bullets tears into the railing inches above my head. Metal shards spray across my face. I crawl forward on my stomach, heart slamming against the cold grating. Banks is laying down suppressive fire, calm and lethal, never wasting a single round. But there are too many of them. Six, maybe seven armed men now moving with purpose.
I make it halfway down the metal stairs when rough hands grab me from behind. A thick arm wraps around my throat and yanks me backward so hard my feet leave the steps. The cold barrel of a gun presses hard against my temple.
"Drop your weapon, Hawthorne!" a man shouts, voice rough with triumph. "Or I put a bullet in her pretty head right now!"
Banks freezes on the catwalk above, pistol still raised. His eyes lock on mine. I’ve never seen that look on his face before—pure, raw terror mixed with rage. Time seems to slow. The warehouse noise fades to a dull roar in my ears.
"Langford wants her alive for questioning," the man holding me sneers, tightening his grip until I can barely breathe. "But I don’t mind killing her if you make me."
Banks doesn’t move. His jaw clenches so tight the muscle jumps. I know what he’s thinking. He could take the shot. He’s good enough. One clean bullet and the man holding me would drop. But if he misses, if anything goes wrong, I die right here in front of him.
His eyes meet mine again. I try to tell him with a look that it’s okay. That I understand. That I love him even if this is how it ends.
Then Banks lowers his pistol.
He drops it.
It clatters loudly on the metal grating below.
The man holding me laughs, an ugly sound right next to my ear. "Smart choice."
But Banks is already moving. He vaults over the railing like it’s nothing, dropping ten feet to the floor and rolling smoothly to absorb the impact. Before my captor can react, Banks is on him. A brutal elbow to the face. A knee to the ribs. The gun flies from the man’s hand and skids across the concrete. I drop to the ground as they fight, scrambling away on all fours while punches land with sickening thuds.
Banks ends it with a vicious punch that drops the man cold. He grabs me, pulling me to my feet and shielding me with his body as more gunfire erupts around us.
"You okay?" he asks, voice rough, hands running over me quickly checking for wounds.
"I'm okay," I gasp, even though my arm is burning from where a bullet grazed me earlier. "Who’s attacking?"
Banks’s eyes gaze over my shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.” He grabs my hand, his eyes focusing back on mine. “But we need to get Langford’s computer. I’m sure he’s got something on his drive we can use to expose him.”
We run together toward the center table. The meeting has completely fallen apart. Langford is shouting orders, trying to grab the hard drives and a small black recorder. Banks fires twice, dropping the two men guarding him. I snatch two external hard drives and the recorder from the table while Banks covers me, his body between me and the incoming fire.
"Go!" he yells.
We run for the exit. Bullets chase us, sparking off the floor and whining past our heads. A sharp pain burns across my arm again as a bullet grazes me, but I don’t stop. Banks keeps firing behind us, calm and precise even while running full speed.
We burst out a side door into the night. The river is close, dark water glinting under the moonlight. We sprint toward the fence line where we left the truck. Shouts and footsteps thunder behind us. Langford’s voice carries over the chaos.
"Let them go! We’ve got what we need!"
We reach the truck. Banks gets me inside first, then slides behind the wheel. Tires screech as we peel out. In the rearview mirror I see Langford standing at the warehouse entrance, watching us escape with cold fury in his eyes. He made it out. He got away.
We drive hard for ten minutes before Banks finally slows down on a quiet back road. He pulls over, kills the lights, and turns to me. His hands are shaking as he reaches for me.
"Show me," he demands, voice tight.
I pull up my sleeve. It’s just a graze, bleeding but not deep. He exhales sharply and presses his forehead to mine.
"I almost lost you," he whispers. "When he had that gun to your head… I’ve never been that scared in my life."
I cup his face with both hands. "You chose me. You dropped your gun for me."
His eyes are stormy. "Of course I did. I love you, Anniston. When this is over, I’m keeping you. I don’t care how dangerous my life is. I don’t care about the risks. You’re mine. I’m yours."