Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
And I keep thinking about Tank, Wraith and Nitro. Do they wonder what happened to me? Or have they even given me a second thought since the day that changed my entire life? Our lives have become intertwined, and they might not even know it.
With the blackened windows, I can’t tell if it’s noon or midnight, but I can hear the wind blowing, and the distant rumble of thunder. Occasionally it sounds like a branch scrapes against the glass.
I wait to hear rain, or the crack of lightning, but instead the rumble grows louder. Heart racing, I jump out of bed and put my ear against the window. It’s not thunder.
It sounds like motorcycles, and they’re coming this way.
“It’s not them. It’s not them,” I chant, afraid to let myself even think it for a second.
The Screaming Eagles aren’t the only people who ride motorcycles. I know that. We might not even be anywhere near their part of town. In spite of myself, a stupid, irrational hope is building inside.
The roar of engines only gets louder, until I can make out that there are several bikes. And when the sound cuts off, I rush into the living room to see if the cops are reacting. I want to be ready. For what I’m not sure, but something’s going to happen. I can feel it.
“Get back in your room,” Lancer snaps.
“I’m thirsty.”
Heavy footsteps thud outside the apartment door, carrying even through the thick metal. Is that the sound of motorcycle boots? Or am I just so far gone I’m imagining things?
“Back in bed!” Lancer orders again, pointing to the bedroom. “Whatever you think is about to happen, isn’t. We are your only way out of here.” He knocks on the door for emphasis.
There’s an answering knock in the same pattern, only louder. I know Harris’s knock, and that’s definitely not it.
“Shit,” Lancer growls.
Immediately, both Lancer and Anderson have their guns drawn. I run, stopping just inside the doorway to the bedroom and crouching down to see what happens.
“Wrong apartment, buddy,” Lancer yells through the door.
“Open the fuck up before we tear the whole damn building down!” There’s no mistaking Tank’s roar, and my heart soars.
“Good luck kicking in reinforced titanium. Our backup will be here long before you wear yourselves out trying to get in.”
“One warning, buddy.” It’s Nitro this time, his voice dripping with disdain. “Kaylee, if you’re in there, stay the fuck back!”
What is he—
And then the whole apartment wall explodes inward in a gray-black cloud of dust.
Someone screams. It might be me. I think I hear Anderson swear, but my eyes are full of grit and my ears are ringing. The debris cloud billows towards me, filling the whole room in a microsecond and I literally can’t see my hands in front of my face. Even still, I stumble forwards, towards where the explosion came from. If they got in, that’s my way out.
A massive shadow emerges from the cloud, hard to make out through my watery eyes. All I know is that it’s far too big to be Lancer or Anderson. Massive arms sweep me up, and the person cradles me close to their chest, a hand cupped protectively behind my head.
“Got her!” he shouts.
“Big fucking deal your fancy ass titanium door makes when the wall is fucking drywall, asswipe,” Nitro says with a harsh laugh.
A gun goes off, the muzzle flashing from the kitchen.
“Motherfuckers! Move!” Wraith orders, but I can’t tell if anyone was hit or not.
All I know is that two guns go off almost simultaneously right next to me and then Anderson screams. I don’t know if he’s dead or not, but if he never makes another egg, I won’t spill any tears over it.
“I can walk,” I start to say before coughing up what feels like gravel from my lungs.
“Shut up and don’t move,” Tank rumbles as they charge out of what used to be a wall and is now a gaping hole. “We need to have some serious fucking words, but not until we’re outta here. Until then, keep your head down and let us do the work.”
Ooookay. That’s not super friendly, but right now I’ll take sexy, angry bikers over sadistic, corrupt cops any day of the week.
Lancer stumbles into view. The explosion must have really thrown him around, because there’s blood gushing down his front, and I’m not sure his glassy eyes are seeing us. He gurgles and collapses on the floor. I whimper and press my face against Tank’s chest. If I had anything to throw up, I probably would.
A fire alarm goes off in the apartment, and then all the connected alarms in the hallway start to wail. I can hear doors opening and people yelling as they carry me out. Tank throws me on his bike just like Wraith did the first night and wraps a strong arm around me, firm as a steel bar. The bike fires to life beneath us and lurches forwards as he turns the throttle, pressing me even closer to his broad chest.