Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Chaos reigned as Jonas and Jackson returned fire and the wind hurled itself at the shooters on the buildings across from the tea shop. The wind was so forceful that debris from the street was flung up onto the roof. Signs shook loose from chains and flew like Frisbees, spinning up and over the roof, seeking targets like missiles. They were faster than they should have been, hurling through the air at incredible speeds, going straight for the shooters.
One of the snipers flung up his arm to deflect a thick board coming at his head. A shot rang out, and he rolled across the roof to the very edge, where he hung half on and half off, upside down. The third shooter crawled toward the back of the roof away from the street side. Jackson was up and running toward the alley between the buildings.
Master swore and pried Ambrie’s hands from his shoulders. “You cover this boy, Ambrielle. Don’t let him squirm out from under you, no matter what he does. No matter what kind of fit he throws.”
She caught at his vest, trying to hold him to her. “Don’t go. Where are you going?”
“Jackson has no backup. Jonas went around the other side of the building. He’s got Maestro with him.”
“You don’t have a gun.”
“Can’t carry. I’m a felon.” He’d already extracted himself from her clinging hands and forced her arms around the boy.
It didn’t matter that Master was a big man, he was light on his feet, up and running in a crouch after the deputy, sprinting fast to catch up with him before he emerged between the buildings and out into the open.
“Coming behind you, Jackson,” he warned.
“Damn it, Master. Leave this to the cops,” Jackson snapped, looking over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed.
“Jonas went around the other side. No one has your back. I’m not engaging unless I have to, Deveau, so shut the fuck up. You think I want to save your ass?”
“You can’t have a gun.”
“I don’t have a gun. I have a pocketknife.”
Jackson laughed as they ran out from between the shops into the open area. The wind hit their bodies hard, tearing at their clothes as they made it halfway across the street. Bullets sprayed across the asphalt right in front of Jackson’s boots, and Master knocked him sideways out of the line of fire.
The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs, but both rolled onto their bellies, Jackson’s gun extended toward the shooters, firing steadily. Master landed half over the top of the deputy, partially covering his body.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the deputy demanded.
“Taking a nap, what do you think I’m doing?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have asked.” Jackson hadn’t taken his gaze from the upper-story window of the small studio apartment where the shooter had taken refuge.
“Your wife is paying me big bucks to guard your ass,” he said drolly. “You ever heard of a personal protector?”
Jackson laughed again. “I can see that pocketknife of yours is going to come in really handy.”
“I’m damn good with it.” He was. He’d killed several men with knives much smaller. “The shooter’s hanging back in that room, about five feet from the window. Can you take the shot?” Master asked.
“Can you actually see him?” There was worry in Jackson’s voice. “A kid lives in that studio. Donny Ruttermyer. Doesn’t look good for him if there’s a sniper in the kid’s home.”
“Savage sponsored Donny to a cooking camp for kids with special needs. Seychelle and Savage took him there last week,” Master assured Jackson. “If you can make the shot, you’re clear.”
Jackson steadied his hand on his wrist and squeezed the trigger without any further hesitation. Correcting his angle by a hair, he did so a second time instantaneously, so the sound blended into an easy one-two reverberation.
“He’s down, and he’s not going to get back up,” Master said, sliding easily off Jackson to allow him up.
“You’re a little insane, Master.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
Master sat up slowly, cautiously, his body still shielding the deputy from the building. There were several shooters. Jackson had killed one of them. Where were the others? The wind shrieked and moaned. The sound of a gun being fired twice in the distance told him someone was shooting at Jonas and Maestro.
He hurt like hell. Everywhere. Not just down his throat, in his stomach, but everywhere. Every muscle. His bones. His skin hurt. He was bleeding in a couple of places, but he wasn’t about to check them out in front of Jackson. The man would start asking questions he didn’t want to answer.
He just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. That was after he had a long talk with his new wife and laid down the law. Damn her anyway. What the hell did she think she was doing, leaping onto his back in the middle of a gunfight? He didn’t understand women, and he never would. It was one thing for him to protect the kid and Jackson, but for Ambrielle to use her little body to try to cover him was sheer lunacy. He swore under his breath. He’d nearly had a heart attack when she’d attached herself to his back like a second skin.