Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Covering our pretty little arses,” Savage says, as Aaron turns me to him, cupping my face. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. How are you even here? I thought you left. I thought you were gone.”
“I had a gut feeling. I stayed close and called in backup.”
“How did whoever did this find us?”
He eyes Savage over my shoulder. “Someone in your operation is behind this.”
“No fucking way,” Savage replies. “My men, my people, they don’t betray each other. Ever.”
“Bullshit,” Aaron says, turning back to me and kissing me. “This isn’t going to work.” He releases me. “Stop the vehicle. We’re getting out.”
“Do not stop this fucking vehicle,” Savage orders.
Aaron releases me and pulls his gun, aiming it at Savage. “If you think I won’t shoot, this ends with you dead.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the guy who doesn’t give a fuck, but you should. Someone has your number. That means they have hers. You need me. If you won’t trust my team, trust me. Come to my home. Stay with me, and we’ll figure this the fuck out.”
“Why would I trust you?”
“I get that you CIA guys have a hard-on for doing things yourself, but, my man, I’m here to tell you from experience, that shit gets difficult.”
Aaron’s jaw clenches, seconds ticking by, before he says, “Your place is the first place someone looking for us will go.”
“I also get that you CIA agents think the rest of us don’t do shit right and take precautions. But guess what, asshole, I do.”
“I’m not CIA, not after this, never again. I’m not stupid.”
“Cool, cool. We can be not stupid together. We didn’t betray you. We can, however, help you figure out who did.”
“At the very least,” Aaron says, “You asked too many damn questions. You exposed us.”
“This isn’t us fucking you,” Savage says. “And in case you don’t remember, despite living this shit, you were getting bent over without even a slather of Vaseline before you met us. And we, voluntarily, bent over with you tonight.”
“Six months,” I interject, wiping ash from his face or trying to unsuccessfully. “Six months on the run, Aaron. You need help. We need help.”
“My place is wired like Fort Knox,” Savage adds. “No one is getting in or even out, for that matter, if I don’t make it happen. At least come with me until you can figure out what comes next.”
Aaron cuts his stare, and it takes him a good minute to lean in, kiss me and then look at Savage. “On foot. Stop the vehicle. We go on foot.”
“All right,” Savage agrees. “I haven’t gotten in a good cardio kick today, so, yeah, man, we walk.” He leans forward and taps the driver’s seat. “Pull us over.”
I’m not sure if Aaron is planning on us leaving with or without Savage, but he gets what he wants. The driver responds instantly and maneuvers the vehicle to the curb. Savage opens the street-side door, and Aaron urges me to follow him, which answers my question. We’re going with Savage, and this delivers a burst of relief. We need help, and I trust Walker Security enough for both of us. Savage motions to the alleyway to our right, and we head in that direction.
“Watch where you are,” Aaron reminds me, pulling me under his arm, as the two men sandwich me between them again. I take it all in, looking for people, looking for escape routes, learning this new life, leaning into it, because that’s what it’s going to take to survive. There’s a part of me that could panic at the idea that from this point forward, I will always have to look over my shoulder. But there’s another part that is oddly comfortable in this new life. The high of running, surviving, and winning driving me forward is surprisingly exhilarating. I want to be as good as anyone chasing me. I want to train. I want to learn.
It takes a good fifteen minutes before we enter a high-security building, and Savage leads us past the elevator to the stairs. “You do know the stairs will torture my smoke-filled lungs, right?” I ask.
“That’s my thing,” Savage says, opening the stairwell door. “Torturing people.”
The scar down his cheek has me wondering if someone tortured him, but I don’t have much time to consider how that might have shaped the life of the man we’re trusting with ours. Aaron steps into the stairwell, scans and then catches my hand and pulls me inside with him, but off to the side to allow Savage to join us. “Elevators are small boxes where you could be trapped and killed,” he explains. “Stairwells let you go up or down or even over a railing.”
Trapped and killed.
I’m now living a life where everything is a potential place to be trapped and killed. On that thought, Savage joins us and starts up the stairs. Aaron positions me in front of him, and with him at my rear, we start what turns into a ten-floor climb.