Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
My vision grew blurry, and I sniffled and buried my face against Blake’s hair.
That had to be Blake one day. It had to. She had to recover.
“That’s closure, Joel. You don’t get it from watching a piece of shit suffer or dragging out the moment he dies. You get it from watching that li’l girl of yours grow up and live life.”
“Christ,” I exhaled. I sniffled and cleared my throat, my chest feeling all fucked up. Tight with worry one second, expanding with relief the next. “Someone ever tell you you have a way with words?”
He grinned and stubbed out his smoke.
Adrien Mercier
So Marines truly could sleep anywhere, at any time, couldn’t they?
Crew had zonked out with his head on my shoulder five minutes after we were airborne.
Two rescue helicopters had taken us away from Spanish firefighters who’d wanted to detain us until law enforcement arrived. Bless them. Our authorities could work swiftly at times, and now we had clearance to get out of Spain without facing problems from their end.
Having experienced Spanish authorities in the past, I knew they just wanted to be rid of us. They didn’t like it when foreign problems landed in their lap.
I took a deep breath and did my best to release all the tension from tonight. It was over. Within thirty-six hours, I’d see my son again. I was done in the field. We’d taken down the entire Blanco cartel, and… Hell. I’d met someone who’d already changed my life.
A reckless Marine. A loud, young, reckless Marine from New York. A loud, young…complete fucking sweetheart.
I was screwed.
I couldn’t even shift his head to the side when my gunshot wound started hurting. A gunshot wound he had given me. Some romantic trip we’d had in Italy.
I shook my head to myself and glanced at the others. Darius, Gray, Javier, Marisa, and ten released hostages were in the other helicopter—with two criminals. In here, we had Elliott, Joel, Blake, the three Tenleys, Ryan, Crew, and me. And the remaining hostages, primarily the children. A six-year-old boy had passed out in Reese’s lap, an eight-year-old had cried herself to sleep in Ryan’s arms, Elliott held the youngest of them all—that boy couldn’t be more than three years old. The others were in their own seats, and I wasn’t looking forward to figuring out their identities when we arrived in southern Spain.
I’d spoken very briefly to the eight people—seven women and one child—who were Mexican citizens. They’d be flying out first, heading straight to Mexico City, where local authorities and two of my colleagues were waiting for them.
It was over, I kept reminding myself—but was it ever? There would always be innocent people who needed rescuing.
What was I supposed to do now?
All I knew was how to be a federal agent.
Well, first and foremost, I was going to be a better dad. Jack was way too forgiving and lenient. Sometimes, I wished he’d scream at me. I deserved it. I’d missed out on so much.
Crew had already tried to reason with me—that I was no different from soldiers who spent months away on deployments, and he had a point. But those soldiers didn’t make promises to come home after a few days, only to go back on their words and extend their absence repeatedly. I didn’t have twelve months there, twelve months here. I had guesses. Tasks that were estimated to take however long. And when shit went sideways somehow, I’d had to call Jack and let him know I’d be a while longer.
But no more.
I’d worked my last case. I’d never be Rafael Delgado again.
I just had to figure out who the fuck Adrien Mercier was.
I knew who I wanted to be. An attentive father who never missed another recital or spelling bee. A loving partner to the young punk next to me. A devoted son who bitched at his old man to take it easy.
Then I looked into the eyes of the terrified children who were desperate to be reunited with their parents.
I still needed a job.
I suppressed a sigh and looked down at my notepad. My work wasn’t quite over. I had to get everyone’s names and details. Weeks of submitting reports would follow. I didn’t have the luxury of a PMC who could walk away and move on to the next contract.
Crew shifted in his sleep—never mind, he was waking up. He blinked drowsily and yawned, and he linked his arm with mine.
“Get some more rest.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve only slept an hour.”
“Mm, in a minute,” was his groggy reply. He yawned again and sat up straighter.
It seemed no matter what he did, yawn or laugh, sleep or yell—I had to marvel at the sight of him. He was so full of life and energy. Criminally gorgeous, endearingly oblivious at times, incredibly skilled and sharp. Eager to learn, eager to push himself, eager to be there for others.