Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
The targets.
Still lined up in the field, in the same spot where Kyle had taken her shots from the roof that day.
And just like that, it hit me. I knew exactly what Gauge was saying.
And more than that—I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Epilogue 1
Kyle
It had been a week since the cast came off my leg, and every day I felt a little stronger. The sharp ache in my ribs had dulled to a manageable throb, no longer making me feel like they’d explode every time I moved. Who would’ve thought busted ribs take longer to heal than a damn broken leg. But slowly, steadily, I was getting back to myself. Today, I’d even managed a walk with Jagger.
He’d been acting strange lately, distracted and edgy. I figured it had to do with the meet tonight with the 412’s. Satan had been pushing it off for weeks, but Preacher made it clear that tonight, there were no more delays. I hated that I wasn’t fit enough to help out, and it gnawed at me, but I knew they had the Ghosts backing them up. Besides, we had the upper hand. The 412’s had way more weaknesses than strengths, and this wouldn’t even be a difficult fight.
“What’s this about?” I asked, climbing the clubhouse stairs slowly behind Jagger. We’d just finished a slow lap around the perimeter when he’d suddenly said he had a surprise for me. I hated surprises. The only ones I’d ever had in my life had been the kind that knocked the air out of me had been painful and disappointing. But I trusted him, and damn it, I was curious.
“How are you doing on the steps, baby?” he ignored my question, turning to glance at me. I could feel the sweat forming at my hairline, my body still weak and healing. There was a hell of a lot of stairs, and I was cursing every last one of them in my mind. His eyes flicked over me, catching the effort it was taking. Without a word, he turned, scooped me up into his arms, and took the rest of the stairs like I weighed nothing.
My heart jumped into my throat. “If you drop me and I break something that isn’t even healed yet, I swear I’ll kill you,” I growled.
Jagger chuckled. “Not a chance.”
At the top, he set me down so gently that, if I were a different kind of girl, I might’ve cried. But I wasn’t. I really, really wasn’t.
Shit, don’t cry.
I was about to demand where we were going when he cut me off with the softest, slowest kiss. It caught me off guard—this kind of tenderness wasn’t something I was used to. Normally, I hated stuff like this, but with Jagger, it was different. Over the last couple of weeks, all we’d been able to do was talk and kiss. I never thought I’d enjoy that kind of thing, but with him, I did.
Jesus, tell me this isn’t turning me into a girly girl.
He pulled back, eyes warm with something unreadable. “Do you remember the day you showed us your sniper skills?”
A grin spread across my face at the memory. “You mean when I covered Preacher in watermelon?”
“That’s the one.” He tapped my nose playfully. “Well, I was hoping you’d teach me the basics.”
Most women wanted flowers, chocolates, or some romantic bullshit. Jagger knew me better than that. This was my version of flowers.
“Fuck yes.”
JAGGER
My heart pounded as she settled into position, adjusting the scope with steady fingers. The last time we did this, she had been at full strength, taking down targets without breaking a sweat. Now, she still moved with a little hesitation, her body not quite back to one hundred percent. That’s why I’d set this up carefully—I had the prospects place the targets just like last time, but I’d also brought up cushions from her room to soften the hard rooftop beneath her. This wasn’t supposed to be painful for her, it was supposed to be fun.
“Okay, you’re shooting from right to left,” I instructed, watching her closely. She needed to follow that order exactly, or this wouldn’t work.
“Right,” she murmured, already lost in the task.
She wasn’t even explaining what she was doing—this was instinct for her, muscle memory taking over.
“Can you notify people that we’re firing?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the target. I knew her ribs were still giving her hell, and shouting wasn’t happening today. Not that it needed to, the plan was for everyone to be inside.
“Live rounds firing!” I called out anyway. Better safe than sorry.
The sharp crack of the rifle echoed through the air as I tracked the shots through my binoculars. One after another, she took out the targets, each hit making my heart pound harder. The precision, the focus, she was fucking lethal.