Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I highly doubted whoever owned it was diligent about keeping shit locked. Kids probably used the basement to get drunk and high all the time.
"I'll go. You... charge a-fucking-head," I sighed as she rushed out from her crouched position, and made her way toward the door, reached down, and yanked one of the doors open.
Not entirely trusting her not to leave me stranded in the alley while she was safely tucked into a basement, I darted across the alley as well, charging down the steps after her, then reaching up to yank the doors closed, blanketing us in complete darkness as I fumbled for some sort of lock.
"It's right here," Danny said, pushing my hand out of the way as she moved in behind me, sliding something loud and metallic into place.
"It won't hold if someone is determined to get in here."
"No shit," Danny agreed, reaching for her phone to turn on the flashlight. But one look around said there was nothing to use to barricade the doors. "Well, at least we will be the ones with the shooting advantage if someone tries to follow us in," she said, tone casual. "Plus, cinder block walls are pretty decent protection, depending on the type of bullets they're using."
She sounded way too calm about the whole thing.
How many shootouts had she been a part of in her life?
Had she been shot?
Had she shot anyone?
It wasn't my business to wonder.
But I was wondering.
"What are you doing?" she asked as I reached for my own phone.
"Texting my men to see who is sober enough to come out and investigate," I explained, shooting a text to my father, making sure it was clear that—for the moment—I was unharmed, knowing my mother would worry. "Not texting yours?"
"At this time, I imagine only one is sober enough. I guess I should tell him anyway," she mused, shooting off a much shorter text than my own. "For the record, don't you ever put your hand over my mouth like that again," she said, resting her phone on a ledge to give us the barest amount of light, just enough to allow us to see each other's faces. "Unless you want me to break it," she added, chin angling up.
"You're welcome, by the way," I shot back.
"For what?" she snapped, rolling her eyes. "You're not riddled with holes, so you didn't actually protect me from anything."
"I pulled you off that fence," I said, voice raising. "What the fuck were you even thinking?"
"Oh, gee, I don't know. That staying in a dead-end alley with an active shooter pinning us in was maybe more risky than climbing a puny little security fence?" Danny said, voice getting louder to match mine. "I don't know what kind of white-gloved training you got, Little President, but it clearly didn't prepare you for a real-life shootout."
"Cut that shit out with the name-calling, Danny. I've had e-fucking-nough of it."
"Yeah? Well, how do you think you're going to stop me?" she asked.
And right then, right that very moment, that was when I lost my motherfucking mind.
Because I figured out how to stop it.
With my mouth.
On hers.
Chapter Three
Danny
I'd be damned if I let Fallon know that I'd been scared. Practically pee my pants scared.
I mean, I was getting to know the town. But it took a lot longer when you didn't grow up somewhere to learn all the intricate ins and outs. It left me at a distinct disadvantage during an emergency sort of situation. Which left me doing the unthinkable. Relying on Fallon to guide me.
Though, apparently, it was the clueless leading the clueless because he got us into not only one, but two, dead-ends. It was actually kind of impressive, to be honest.
But, yeah, I'd been freaked.
And because I learned a long time ago to cover any soft emotion with something harder, I did the only thing I knew how to do in that sort of situation.
I lashed out.
It was my default setting.
Distract, deflect, and deal with it later.
Unfortunately, Fallon wasn't one of my men. He didn't just have to take it, or try to make the situation better.
No, he could lash right back out.
And to be fair, the man had some points.
I hadn't been using my most rational brain right then.
When it came to survival instincts, my scales were more heavily tipped toward fight than flight. But when your attacker was invisible, just a shadow in the night, you had no choice but to default back to your only other option.
Flight.
It wasn't a rational move by any means to climb that fence. But it was the only way out that wasn't running directly into a spray of bullets.
And as much as I hated to admit it, when Fallon grabbed my waistband and yanked me off the fence, well, it had sent a shot of desire through my system. It wasn't that I liked being manhandled per se, but I tended to like aggressive men. The alpha in me responded to the alpha in them, I guess.