Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I breathe for you,” he says, kissing my tears away. Licking them gently. “I live for you.”
I know it’s true. I also know he won’t ever truly change. He’ll continue killing, even if I ask him not to. That’s just part of him, and I have to accept it.
But it won’t be because of me.
I’ll do what I can and stick to my morals.
My husband can stick to his.
Chapter 36
Cormac
Istare through the sight of my rifle down toward the trucking yard. It’s late, and the place should be closed for the night, but there are still half a dozen men lurking about.
None of them look like they work there.
“How’s your sightline?” Seamus’s voice crackles in my ear.
I lightly press the earpiece. “Clear as day.”
“We’ve got eyes on the truck. It’s about five minutes from your position.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
“You know, we should’ve started working together sooner.” I can hear the grin in Seamus’s voice. “This is kind of fun.”
I smile to myself and don’t respond. But he’s right.
Nothing better than an ambush with a high-powered sniper rifle on a quiet weekday evening.
I don’t have long to wait. I’m in a cramped position lying on top of a building at an angle to the yard down below. It took some tricky climbing to get up here, but it’s the perfect position.
My fingers itch to pull the trigger. I could take down the waiting guards in seconds if I wanted. But that’s not the plan, and I’m not working alone.
It’s strange. For so long, I called the shots, and I liked it that way. But it’s nice to be a part of a team for once.
“Incoming,” Seamus’s voice says, and I spot the headlights of the truck as it pulls around the corner and stops outside the fence.
The guards hurry to get it open. I can’t hear them and can only just feel the rumble of the truck’s engine as it slowly rolls into the yard. There are more men in the cab, and even more come out from the building. I count twenty in all. Those are serious numbers.
But we came prepared.
“They’re starting to unload,” I say to Seamus, watching through the scope. “Small arms. Mostly pistols. I’m not seeing armor.”
“Perfect. Should be easy. How’s the cargo?”
“Hard to say. The boxes are marked like they’re smart TVs.”
Seamus laughs, clearly amused. “Definitely nobody’s watching Game of Thrones on that shit. You tell me when it’s go time.”
“You’ll know. Move on my signal.”
“What’s the signal?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I find the foreman of the group. He’s a big guy, bald head. A mid-level enforcer in the Bratva, a man I vaguely recognize. He keeps shouting and gesturing, getting the unloading process organized. I wait until they have a couple of boxes out, just getting started, and squeeze the trigger.
My rifle bucks. The foreman’s head explodes into a shower of pink mist.
I cock the rifle and aim again. The other Russians haven’t even reacted yet. They’re staring in horror. I aim for another, going at random now, and another man evaporates as my high-caliber bullet explodes his skull into a paste of blood and meat.
“Guess it’s time,” Seamus says in my ear.
Our men boil over the fencing. They toss rugs over the barbed wire and climb it. Others rush in through holes they clipped along the backside. The Russians are realizing something’s happening now, and a few of the smarter guards begin to try organizing a resistance.
I kill them. Slowly, methodically, not missing a single shot. I blow holes in their heads, make my enemies disappear. It’s so easy from this distance, like deleting an unwanted photograph.
Point and shoot. Another corpse on my tally.
I kill and kill. The Russians fire back at Seamus’s square, but they’re terrified and in shambles. Their resistance only lasts a few minutes before Seamus drives them back into the trucking depot while a few of his trusted men get behind the wheel of the truck. They close the back and begin driving the shipment out of there.
The Russians don’t like that one bit. They try to mount a counterattack, but I keep them pinned down.
“Easy as pie,” Seamus says, sounding high on bloodlust. “Fuckers had no chance.” The truck rumbles back out the gate, swerving slightly and scraping against the poles, sending sparks showering into the air. The remaining Whelan soldiers retreat back over the fence as I kill a few more Russians stupid enough to poke their heads out of hiding.
What’s done is done. I pull back, packing up my rifle. It breaks down quickly, and a minute later, I’m scaling back down to the alleyway below. I don’t have long—the Russians will start sweeping the area soon—but they won’t catch me.
I hit the ground, adjust the strap of my gun bag, and start walking casually away.
“All good?” I ask through the earpiece.