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)
My hand wraps around metal. “Bingo.”
It’s not another rifle but a Glock. One like my service weapon. I check that it’s loaded and then get up onto my knees.
A quick look around the room shows Trav out of sight behind the table and a dead body on the floor. There’s a gaping hole where Trav’s Hampton-style windows used to be.
The assailant’s not in tactical gear or anything. It’s a dude in jeans, a T-shirt, and a bulletproof vest. When I think it’s over, that there was only one guy, another appears from down the hallway to Trav’s left.
Trav doesn’t see him at first, so I lift my gun and fire, but without proper time to aim, I hit the guy in the leg instead of anywhere lethal. Hey, at least I got him.
He staggers and is distracted long enough for Trav to catch up to what’s happening, but when Trav turns and fires, he’s out of ammo.
“Yeet.” He throws the empty rifle, and it hits the guy in the head.
This time, when I aim, I shoot to incapacitate, not kill—putting a bullet in each arm.
It finally makes him drop.
Trav’s gaze flicks to mine. “I thought I told you to get to safety.”
“I decided saving your life was more important. Though, I don’t know why when you said the word ‘yeet.’ I should’ve left you to defend yourself. How old are you?”
Trav shrugs. “Felt right in the moment.”
The air settles and is quiet around us.
“Think that was it?” I ask.
“Dunno, but I don’t want to hang around to find out.” Trav stands and moves to the guy I shot. I think he’s going to take him out just like the other man lying in a pool of his own blood, but he doesn’t. He kicks his weapon away and then grabs him by the ankle and drags him toward me. “Move. Get in the panic room.”
This time, I do as he says, ignoring the cries of pain from the guy bleeding all over Trav’s carpet as Trav brings him with us.
Once we’re over the threshold, Trav hits the button, and a large metal door slides out from the wall, slamming shut.
Mechanical locks click in place.
“Now what?”
Trav doesn’t answer me. He turns to the guy on the ground. “Who do you work for? Walker?”
The guy, shivering from shock, grits out, “Who?”
“You really don’t want to play that game.” Trav puts his foot above the bullet hole in his left arm but doesn’t press down. “Who do you work for?”
“Private …” His breathing is stilted. “Contract…or.”
“Why are you here?”
He doesn’t answer.
Trav shifts his weight to add more pressure to his foot, and the guy cries out in pain. I want to tell Trav to stop, but it’s hard to keep my moral compass intact when this guy tried to fucking kill me.
His skin turns pasty white. “Bounty.”
“Who’s the target?” Trav barks. “Me or him.”
“The better question is …” he rasps. “Are we the only ones here?” He smiles when a loud crash sounds inside the rest of the house.
“I don’t even want to know what that was,” Trav says. “We need to get out of here. Let’s move.”
“What are we going to do about him?” I gesture to the guy on the ground.
“He can let himself out. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t fucking know. Give me a sec.” Trav walks over to his desk and kneels down, taking a panel off the side of his computer tower. He yanks out the hard drive and stands upright again. “So these guys can’t get any of my files. Now, to get out of here before they all get in the house.”
Gunfire starts up, and what sounds like bullets hitting the steel door echoes around the room.
“Sounds like they’re already in. How are we supposed to get out of here? Don’t we need to, you know, go out that way?”
“Oh, sweetie, honey. You’re cute when you’re confused, but no. That’s to keep them thinking we’re locked in here.”
I turn in a circle. “It looks to me like we are.”
Trav walks by me and pats my head. “This way.”
At the back of Trav’s walk-in closet, there’s a chest along the back wall, but when Trav moves it out of the way, a manhole just big enough for a bulky guy like him to slip through appears. There are metal steps descending into God knows where.
Trav gestures for me to go first. “Wait for me at the bottom.”
I turn backward and take my decline, landing on a cement floor in a dark hallway that brightens in fluorescent lighting as sensors pick up my movement.
We’re in some kind of basement or cellar with plain white walls, exposed pipes, and the eerie feeling of being in a secret lab where they experiment on unsuspecting DEA agents.
Trav drops a duffle bag at my feet, and instead of using the steps, he slides down the railing on either side.