Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He’s a man, not a king or a god, but some people become leaders because they were given a title, and others could never be anything else. Eagle-eye is the second kind.
He glances over to the meeting table where two of the officers are sitting, Ripper and Quickshot. “Any news from Kozlov?”
“We caught one of his guys selling in our borders and put the fear of God into him.” Quickshot’s grin is razor sharp. “But we haven’t heard anything back yet.”
Quickshot’s the newest of the officers, and the youngest. From what I’ve heard, though, he was practically still a kid when he joined up and he’s definitely put in his time. Zero has a little hero worship when it comes to Quickshot. They met on the firing range, and he’s the one who stood for Zero when he was a prospect. My biggest concern with him is that his old lady is Sandra’s sister, and I don’t know how he feels about us showing up with her on the back of a bike.
Ripper leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. His right arm ends in an inked out stump. “He thinks he’s playing a fucking game.”
“Because he’s a fucking nobody,” Eagle-eye snarls. “I’ve talked to Giordano who put out some inquiries. Kozlov is a wannabe bratva whose only talent is talking a good game. He’s got no connections and his family comes from motherfucking Albany or some shit. He tried to run for office, failed, and decided honest crime was easier. Now he’s our fucking headache. Without the support of the local gangs, he doesn’t have the manpower to do shit. I want to find out who he’s talking to, and more importantly, who likes what he’s selling, and who’s just going along to save their own skins.”
Piston steps forward. “I’m a few years out of date, but I still have some connections I can look into.”
“Good. Do it.”
“We’re on it, Prez.” I throw him a sloppy salute that woulda gotten me ten on the floor back in basic.
Eagle-eye grins at me. “I knew you were solid when you ate pavement and went to fucking jail with me, and still stood up and accepted your cut. Now it’s time for you boys to make a name for yourselves and get your hands dirty.”
I can’t help but grin right back. Sometimes I can still hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me I’m useless. And worse, that all I’ll ever do is drag other people down with me. He’d fucking hate it if he saw me now, but he can rot in Hell as far as I’m concerned. Maybe he already is. My first family threw me out, and my second stopped giving a shit when I took off my uniform.
But this one? The Screaming Eagles are for fucking life.
Eagle-eye’s phone rings. A picture of a pretty brunette pops up. “What’s up, Faith? Yeah, meeting's over. Oh, for fucks sake. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Trouble?” Ripper asks.
“I need to go rescue my angel from the hell spawn.” He sounds pissed off, but he looks more amused than anything. “Apparently Damien has decided that Jupiter is big enough to ride and Charlotte has had enough of her miniature uncle.”
Ripper laughs. “Come on, old man, I’ve got your six. Faith could probably use a break. She’s been tired lately.”
The Screaming Eagles compound is a walled-in city block surrounding a heavily expanded and modified warehouse that serves as our headquarters, and the primary living quarters for most of our members. Our common room is the original warehouse floor, broken up into different open plan areas. It’s great for parties, and complete with a bar, couches and even a TV and pool tables. Eagle-eye's office looks out over the room, and is accessible only from an open staircase that leads from the ground floor of the common room up to the second floor. His personal quarters are behind the office, but I’ve never been in there to see.
We all head downstairs, where Eagle-eye's daughter Faith is reading a book with her four-year-old daughter curled up next to her watching something on TV. Damien, his very determined three-year-old is trying to convince Jupiter to get out from under the pool table. The boxer was fully grown when I first met him, and is getting gray around the muzzle at this point, but still seems pretty spry even if he’s currently over Damien’s shit. It's a tribute to Jupiter's patience that his response to getting pulled at is to just pretend to be asleep.
Piston laughs. “That kid needs a puppy. I know a shelter.”
“Bad enough with this demon,” Eagle-eye grumbles. He grabs Damien by the legs and gently hauls him out from under the pool table.
“Daaaaaaaaad, nooooooo,” Damien whines, but he giggles when Eagle-eye swings him up and over his shoulder.