Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
"Which one?" Rooster asks, his smile just as wide.
"What?" I snap. "There's more than one?"
"Two," he answers, holding up the same count of fingers. "And the pool is not only heated for the winter months, but it also has a cooling system when the summers get really hot."
"We're not here for the pool and hot tub," Bandera snaps.
I curl my upper lip in his direction. "Don't be such a buzzkill."
"It's kind of awesome that we get to live in a place like this," Twisted adds.
"Don't forget why we're here," Bandera says, making it sound like a warning to all of us.
"I could never fucking forget," Twisted says with a snarl, his chest expanding as if he's on the verge of losing his shit on Bandera.
I don't have a clue what Twisted has been through, but I wouldn't want to find myself on his bad side when he decides to work that pain and aggression out.
"Should we hit the town together?" I ask, hoping to distract the two men who are glaring at each other as if they could come to blows any second.
"We're working alone, so we shouldn't start our time here by being seen in a big group," Bandera says, taking a second longer to scowl at Twisted before turning his eyes to me.
"It's a big city filled with tourists," Rooster offers. "I doubt anyone you run into tonight will be someone you see again."
"If that's the case, then we aren't utilizing our time correctly," Bandera argues. "I'm hitting the strip."
"Which part?" I ask.
"Starting at the bottom and working my way up until I find something worth focusing on," he says as he walks out of the room.
"That guy's a total asshole," Twisted snaps. "Later."
Both Rooster and I are left in the massive living room, staring toward the front door.
"I get the feeling this place isn't going to be anything like New Mexico," I mutter.
"Agreed," Rooster replies. "There's no one here to keep any of them in line."
"What are your plans?"
Rooster pulls in a deep breath. "I still have to get my system up and running. After that, I'll have no less than two hours of diagnostics. I have a call scheduled with Max at midnight."
"Why not do that tomorrow?"
"Because I need to be operational in case someone finds something. I know they said we could reach out to either Casper in Tennessee or Max in New Mexico, but I'd like to pull my own weight sooner rather than later," he explains.
"Sounds good," I say as I spin in a circle, looking around the elegant room once again.
"That leaves you with the shopping," Rooster says, smacking my chest.
When he pulls his hand away, a long list flutters into my hands.
"Seriously?" I ask, holding up the massive list and finding it difficult to read the chicken scratch handwriting on it.
"How did I get elected for this shit?" I hold the thing by the corner, as if it's more offensive than any old innocuous grocery list should be.
"Because you opted to take a nap on the flight rather than participating in creating the list. That means everyone's requests are on there but yours," he says with a quick and easy smile. "Also, don't forget enough toilet paper for all eleven bathrooms."
He walks away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room.
I had a lot of ideas about how my first night in Vegas was going to go, and grocery shopping didn't even register as one of the choices.
Instead of arguing the point, I decide to be the best team player, knowing that once I complete this trip, the other four will have to do one before it rolls around to my turn. Maybe by then, we'll have even more Cerberus guys here, making my next turn even further away than as it stands right now.
I grab a set of keys from the wall, walking through the vestibule toward the detached garage. Half a dozen identical SUVs are in the garage to the left, while all of our motorcycles are to the right. As much as I'd like to feel the mid-fall wind in my hair tonight, riding a motorcycle and expecting to make it home with enough groceries to feed a small nation just isn't practical.
After opening the garage with the remote inside the vehicle, I pull up the navigation screen. Typing in "grocery store," my options are rather limited as far as nearby stores are concerned. We've been urged to keep our routine stuff as close to home as possible because we never know where our jobs will take us in the city and nearby places. I tap the tiny icon for The Main Street Grocery Store, wondering why it's named that since it's on Gorman Avenue.
The drive is easy, mostly right turns from the long driveway of the villa, and it only takes me ten minutes with traffic to pull into the parking lot.