Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“You go,” I hear Danny say.
I turn, seeing him checking the magazine of a Beretta. “What?” I stand tall, ready for the fight. “No.” There is not a fucking chance in hell he’s going back, not without me.
“Go,” he grates, his face lethal.
Couldn’t give a fuck.
There’s always been one rule between Danny and me—never leave the other behind. Ever. He’s not only my cousin, he’s my best friend. Plus, I have the added bonus of promised death from his wife if I ever go home without him. Unlucky for Danny, I’m more afraid of Rose than I am of him. So yeah, not going anywhere.
I take a step and meet some resistance, something grabbing my hand and holding me back. I look down.
Red.
Her green eyes are scared. Lost. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I promise her, flexing my fingers in her hand, her hold tight. I manage to break away with some effort, collecting a rifle as I head back to Danny, ignoring his lethal expression. I check the chamber as I pass. “Say one word,” I warn him, “and I’ll fucking shoot you.” This dickhead—my cousin—has developed a habit of taking senseless risks. It started when he took Rose Cassidy from the enemy as collateral. Fatal. Since then, he’s made some really stupid fucking decisions. Can’t lie, I’ve become rather attached to Danny’s now wife. I quite love James’s other half too. They’re like sisters to me. So, yeah, I’m invested.
Getting on the jet ski, I wedge the rifle between my legs and start it up, making the engine scream as I roar away from the shore. I follow Danny around the cove, bouncing across the waves. “I’m out,” James yells when he sees us racing toward him, tossing his guns aside and forcing his weight back into the door. I look at Danny turning his ski, giving James the rear end, and then turn my eyes back onto James, seeing he’s got the gist. “Fuck me,” I breathe, locking, loading, and aiming. “So we’re stuntmen now, are we?”
James eases off the door, telling me not to miss. I laugh. He runs. And I fire.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
I watch as each of my targets catapults back, until I’m firing . . . nothing. I’m out. James sprints toward the sea, launching himself off the edge of the rocks toward the back of Danny’s jet ski. I toss the gun into the water and scan the vicinity, circling my jet ski, making sure we’re clear before I slam down on the throttle, catching up with Danny at the next curve on the coastline. But James isn’t on the back of his jet ski. Fuck. I search the jet stream for any sign of him, looking over my shoulder through the spray of water, hearing nothing but the roar of engines.
My body jolts.
“Fuck.” I cough, losing my grip of the handlebar, a wicked pain shooting through my shoulder. I frown and look down, seeing a perfect hole in my wetsuit by my collarbone. And when I slow down, I look over my back. Another hole. I puff out my cheeks, swallowing, gritting my teeth. Jesus fucking Christ.
I blink my vision clear, slowing, and the moment I see Danny’s panicked eyes scanning the water, my stomach falls into my ass. I start searching with him, my pain forgotten. Where the fuck is he?
“We go back,” Danny yells, taking the words out of my mouth.
I turn my jet ski, still searching the water, damning the stupid fuck to hell and back. Jesus Christ, I do not want to be in Beau’s path when she sees James isn’t with us when we get back to the boatyard. “Come on,” I whisper, searching the ocean.
“Dan—”
A surge of water rises, and James breaks the surface. “Motherfucker,” he bellows, shaking the water from his eyes, as I fold over the handlebars of my jet ski in relief.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
“Were you worried about me?” James asks, casual. Unaffected.
“Fuck you,” Danny wheezes, mirroring my pose, slumped over the handlebars, exhausted, relieved, and everything in between.
Couldn’t have said it better myself. Yes, I was worried, and I won’t lie and claim it’s because I don’t want to explain his death to his girlfriend who will likely shoot me for losing him. Fact is, I care about the murdering sicko. Since the day he walked into my club and told me my best friend wasn’t actually dead, I knew James Kelly would be around for a long time. I also knew Danny would be resurrected and shit would fly far and wide. And it has. It’s been nothing but fun and games.
I laugh, rubbing at my forehead, gritting my teeth, as Danny helps him onto the back of his jet ski.
“How many are left?” James asks me.
“I saw three drop.” I roll my shoulder.