Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
That gaze was like a kick in the gut. They had each other and the eternal, binding love they shared. Trees had never thought he wanted that—until Laila. But the last twenty-four hours had proven that his heart couldn’t be trusted. He’d fallen for a temptress who used him for her own gain. And her lover’s. He couldn’t forget that.
But Laila had done one decent thing in helping to reunite two people who lived and breathed each other. In returning a loving mother to her young children. Sure, she had probably done that for some selfish reason he could only begin to guess at. But that didn’t matter in this moment. Kimber and Deke were back together.
Trees blinked, then the couple was gone, melting into the shadows together, her father right behind them.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Hunter insisted as he plastered himself to the shadows.
The boss didn’t have to tell him twice.
The four men crept through the dark spaces around the buildings until they reached the end of the row of stalls. They were feet away from a clean escape.
Suddenly, a man’s shout split the air north of them, something in rapid-fire Spanish he didn’t understand. But he’d bet someone had discovered the bodies they’d tucked away. Which meant he and the other three operatives were in a world of shit.
The voices coming from the north started blending with those of the reinforcements pouring in from the main house to the south.
“They’re about to cut off our fastest fucking way out,” Hunter growled.
He was right. That meant shit was the least of their problems. They were fucked. They had a split second to flee.
Trees scanned his surroundings. He needed perspective. The roof of the stables was accessible to someone of his height. “Stay hidden.”
“What are you doing?” Logan hissed.
Trees didn’t respond, just jumped up to grab the overhang, hoisted himself up, then slithered onto his belly. Lights flashed on. Two goons were hoofing it from the north end of the stables. A dozen reinforcements were charging from the south.
Geraldo Montilla was in the thick of the pack, gun in hand.
“Run north,” he growled into his comm. “Two tangos at three o’clock. A shitload at ten. Take out the pair to the north and keep running. You’ll be home free.”
“Get off the roof,” Hunter barked.
“Allí!” a reinforcement from the south shouted, pointing at Trees.
“They’ve seen me. Get out of here.”
“Without you? Fuck that,” Logan growled.
Trees pulled his gun from his holster. “Your father just got his daughter back. He doesn’t need to lose his two sons. You have wives and children. Go.”
Then Trees focused on the assholes surrounding the stables, aiming their guns his way. If he was going down, he was going to take as many motherfuckers with him as he could.
As the first shots rang out, he lifted his SIG, wishing he had Walker’s crazy accuracy. There was a reason everyone called him One-Mile. But Trees took out the closest thug. As the criminal’s head exploded, he turned his attention to the next guy, giving him the same treatment.
A bullet whizzed past his ear. He rolled to avoid another asshole’s line of fire and narrowly missed that shot, too.
Fuck, he was outnumbered and about to get tagged by a dozen different guns. If he bailed, they would come after him—unless he gave them a reason not to.
He gave it one last Hail Mary effort and took a shot at Geraldo Montilla. If the drug lord was going to make himself a target, Trees was going to aim for him.
His first shot missed. His second hit, ripping somewhere into the kingpin’s chest. Montilla went down where he stood.
Pandemonium erupted. Shouting ensued. Half the suits rushed to help their jefe.
The other half turned their weapons on him.
Trees thanked God for his long fucking legs as he jumped from the roof of one stable to the row north, crouching across shingles and tossing back potshots. If he could get to the last row, he stood a chance of escaping.
Just before he leaped, two guards climbed onto the next roof ahead and stood directly in his path, balancing on the pitched surface with sinister grins.
Trees’s gut dropped to his toes. He could take one guy out, no sweat. But the other one would blow his head off before he could fire again. Goddamn it.
But he didn’t have any other options.
He feinted and crouched, then zeroed in on the suit on the right, taking him out with a shot to the forehead. He moved as rapidly as he could, but by the time he aimed at the other guard, the goon had already locked him in his sights.
Fuck. He was a dead man.
As the thought zipped through his brain, another shot resounded. The gunman jerked and stumbled back. Blood splattered as he fell off the roof and plummeted to the ground, dead.