Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I like guns, but unlike my dad, I don’t like them for show.
I don’t have a collection to impress my colleagues the same as I do my golf clubs.
Every weapon I own has purpose.
Function.
I understand how it’s put together.
How it operates.
Its intent and the damage it’s capable of committing.
Weapons training didn’t cease when I retired my beret.
If anything…it became more crucial.
The last thing I would ever want on the job is for a child to become a causality in the pursuit of a rescue.
Once my magazine is emptied, I check the chamber to ensure it’s empty as well as to ensure there was no malfunction and completely disarm it. The instant I’m finished, I place the pieces down on the counter, step back, and motion my hand forward that it’s his turn.
“Yeah, I guess I should probably fire the thing to make this whole thing look real.”
“Affirmative.”
Seventeen nods, ditches his suit jacket, mimics the actions I took, and prepares to fire.
Surprise over the fact he can even properly hold the rifle pales in comparison to the shock that shoots through my system every time he successfully hits a target. It, of course, takes him longer to complete the same cycle I did; however, he still finishes.
And there are still an unpredicted number of holes close to mine.
He empties and disarms his weapon with a smug smirk prior to stepping back to be beside me. “Not too bad, huh?”
No.
But not too good, either.
And he’s lucky nothing was actually at stake here like someone’s life.
Or a seafood dinner.
Some of my retired frogmen contacts have had to pay for many of those for me.
I swallow the bitterness clogging my throat and force myself to state, “Better than I was expectin’.”
“Contrary to your belief, I know my way around a rifle, Wahl.” The folding of his arms across his chest is attached to a glare. “I grew up hunting geese and grouse with my father and grandfather in Vermont.”
Why am I not surprised?
“I wonder if Arley’s ever been hunting.”
My mouth twitches to reveal the answer when I realize I don’t honestly know.
Hm.
Not loving the increase in information I don’t know about the one person I thought I knew best in the world.
He searches my stare for a split second before grunting a laugh, “You don’t know, do you?”
Rather than reply, I step forward to reload my gun.
“Maybe when all this is over, I’ll fly the two of us up to my family’s lake cabin on a private jet to rekindle our romance.”
I tap the new mag into place.
“Do a little hunting.”
Tug it to check the chamber.
“Maybe some skinny dipping.”
Lift it to fire at the furthest target possible.
“Lick maple syrup out of her belly button again.”
Pulling the trigger silences him, yet not the voices in my head.
Not the ones reminding me he’s had her in ways I haven’t.
That he’s done to her things I’ve only fantasized about.
Most likely will only get to fantasize about.
When flying through the first magazine isn’t cathartic enough, I nimbly reload with a quick swap, tap, and tug to unload the fresh ammo into the same object, obliterating whatever pieces of it have the balls to still be standing.
This time after checking to make sure the gun is empty, I toss him a taunting grin. “Like that target down there, your romance with Arley is dead and done, Seventeen.”
My boss flashes me an equally obnoxious smirk at the same time he steps forward. “And like that target down there, your romance with Arley isn’t real, Wahl.”
Chapter 13
Slater
He’s not right.
It’s just…he isn’t entirely wrong either.
And I hate that.
I really fucking hate that.
And I hate that my little brother Kolby – biologically my half-brother – wanted to talk about my fake relationship with my very real best friend in grave detail over tamales and Tex-Mex potato salad post our joint workout session.
He meant well.
I know he did.
He was just doing the bullshit family does, especially when you haven’t seen them in a while.
And it was good to get to see him.
And spend time with him.
And I love the fact he got traded from Vegas to Dalvegan because that means we can possibly spend more time together, something we didn’t exactly get much of growing up.
It’s kind of what happens when your parents split over the pressure of a lost child and your father decides to move forward with his life.
Not that I resent him for that shit.
I mean he may have decided to continue living, but he never stopped paying people to find me.
In my book?
That counts for a lot.
Some people give up on their children.
Lose hope.
Stop searching.
I consider myself one of the fortunate ones.
And when you add in the fact that he, ma, and my stepmom Natasia all did whatever it took to co-parent a healthy existence for me upon my return home, I consider myself one of the extremely fortunate ones.