Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Shh. They’ll be fine.” Fox knelt in front of him and took Bull’s face in his hands. “Hey. Look at me. I need you to stay calm, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to your family or the ranch.”
Bull nodded stiffly, and Fox checked his watch, noting it was a little after ten, and hit the keypad sequence to connect him to Free, but he was already on the line.
“Fox, you got incoming,” he said, and Fox could hear him clicking away on his keyboard.
Fox pulled a sleek black, four-foot-long case from under his bed and punched in the code to unlock it. “Free, I can see three targets, can you confirm?”
“What’s that?” Bull asked with his wide eyes on the case.
“It’s my violin,” Fox whispered as he raised the lid, revealing the components of his coal-black beanbag launcher. His mind slipped into a familiar state as he clamped the wide barrel to the receiver, his eyes staying on the monitor. This was who he was and what he excelled at. He kept his breathing in check, but he was furious because these assholes had picked the wrong motherfucking time to disturb him. “It’s about to make some beautiful music… just wait.”
He heard Bull gasp when Fox snapped on the rotary drum of his ARWEN37. He understood its size and design could be rather intimidating, but he tried to relay with his eyes for Bull to trust him.
“Free, you remember the plan?”
“Roger.”
“Is the ghost in there with you?”
“Already in position,” Steele’s gritty voice responded.
“Perfect. All right, let’s do this,” Fox muttered, then went to the window and raised it midway, just enough not to hinder his aim.
“You got three coming at you, Fox; one lookout posted on the fence. No visible weapons. You got four bogies. Confirm, four targets.”
“Four targets confirmed.” Fox got down on one knee in front of the window with his shotgun tucked firmly against his shoulder and one eye staring down the front sight, waiting for these bastards to fall right into his trap.
A fucking SWAT mission was going on right now under his own roof, and Bull felt as if he was going to pass out. Shit had just got very real. His heart pounded against his rib cage as he watched Fox assemble one of the deadliest-looking weapons he’d ever seen in three clicks all while he masterminded with one the world’s best hackers and someone called “the ghost.”
Fox was in a sniper’s position, and Bull started to panic at the thought of bullet-riddled bodies all over his front yard. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Even the thought of that damn thing firing in the small room had him putting his hands over his ears. Maybe he should go and wake his dad and Amelia so the bang didn’t frighten them half the death.
Fox cast a quick glance his way. He shook his head slowly, pointed at the gun, then put a single finger over his lips. “Silent,” he mouthed.
“Copy that… run the facial recognition… gimme one without a jacket, Steele.” Fox’s voice had dropped to a hushed whisper as he stared out of the window and communicated with his team. Bull didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he did trust Fox. “Two hundred feet and closing… copy… I need a target anytime now.”
Fox appeared unbelievably calm with what he was doing, as if this was just another night on the farm. His chest wasn’t rising and falling as if he were being administered CPR, like Bull’s. Instead, he looked at peace. This was when Fox was at his best and feeling the most fulfilled. Not when he was playing security guard at night and ranch hand during the afternoon. Mandel Tucker was too good for that.
“One hundred feet,” Fox muttered. “Come on, Free… roger… confirm black skullcap, gray hoodie… copy. I’m gonna send him to the hospital, dislocated right shoulder… Ghost, you stay on the driver, let me know where he ends up. Ten-four, on my mark.”
Bull held his breath, and it was as if everything slowed to a crawl when he saw Fox lean in a fraction and curl his finger around the trigger. “Ninety feet… eighty… seventy feet. Two, one… mark.”
Bull clenched his teeth, preparing to feel a boom that was sure to rattle his bones, but the moment Fox squeezed the trigger, all he heard was a swift pop of air. A split second later, the sound of yelling and the deep, panicked voices of his trespassers reached his ears. Fox narrowed his eyes and fired some more, the butt of the shotgun jerking into his arm each time, but he controlled it like a boss. Bull raised his head and glanced at the monitor that showed the front lawn. One man was writhing on the ground clutching his right arm that dangled uselessly at his side.