Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
As we near the exit to the hall, there’s an unmistakable sound, one I’ve become acutely aware of over the course of my life. Assault rifles. We’re under attack.
“Fuck.” I snatch Rage by his shirt collar and drag him with Jaime as we round the corner into the hall, a series of shots following us, coming from the other side of the warehouse. Rage and I exchange a look, and though my griping at him before was justified, I’m also not an idiot. Now isn’t the time for I told you sos.
We retrieve our guns from our holsters, peeking into the warehouse, where two guys in clown masks have already downed five of my guys, including Klyde. Clearly these bastards found the blind spot in our security and slipped in through the other entrance or a window on the other side of the warehouse. The sort of worst-case scenario I feared.
As gunfire rains down on them from our guys on the upper level, they use the crates as shields.
Fuckers.
The gunfire continues for what feels like forever, my mind flashing through the ambush with Old Terror, the day I lost him, my mom, and four of my siblings. I held his hand as he pulled me close, his face covered in the blood of his best friend and personal bodyguard, his chest loaded with bullets. “You…take care of your siblings, you hear me?” he told me when he still thought more would survive.
“Of course.”
“And the Wildes are our family too, you understand that?”
“Yes.”
At the time, I didn’t understand why we held this allegiance. Hell, some days I still don’t.
“You’re gonna be fine,” I told him, though I knew it was a lie.
He smiled. “Of course I am. I’m fucking Old Terror,” he said because he didn’t mind lying either.
Those were the last words I heard my father say.
The assault-rifle shots cease, which is concerning as fuck since I haven’t heard any more fire from our guys. Rage and I exchange another look, Jaime covering our backs as Rage rushes to the other side of the exit and I brave a peek around the corner. One of the masked guys is on the move, rifle pointed up, searching the second story for survivors, meaning he’s confident he got everyone. I don’t have time to worry about that, though. I take the shot, nailing him, blood splattering from his skull before he drops like a sack of stones to the ground.
“Got one,” I manage to tell Rage before shots drill into the hall from the other attacker’s automatic.
Rage signals with two fingers downturned like a claw. “Raptor”—our good ole-fashioned safety plan, just like Old Terror taught us.
“Don’t you dare,” I mouth.
“You better have my back, bro.”
Motherfucker!
Before I have a chance to argue, he pulls out of his safe space, rounding the corner and shooting into the warehouse. As I hear rounds unloading, Rage pulls back just in time, and I’m not about to waste the opportunity. I come around the corner, see the guy and take two shots, getting him in the chest, his gun flailing as he tumbles over.
“Who’s alive?” Rage shouts.
A few groans come from the warehouse, giving me hope, but damn, this was a bloodbath.
Krychek appears from the other side of the warehouse, where the attackers came from. “There were two more. Snipers. One nailed our two sentries outside, and the other was standing back there to take out the guys upstairs.”
Fuck.
Krychek, Jaime, Rage, and I assess the damage while making sure there aren’t any more surprises.
Klyde is down, holes in his shirt, fresh blood, and wide, still eyes.
“I’m counting seven dead,” Rage says from a quick glance.
“Who’d we lose?” I spit out, approaching the guy I nailed in the chest. Rage and Jaime list off our losses as I kneel next to him to make sure the bastard’s dead. When I’m on my knees, his eyes pop open, and he sits up fast, his arm coming around. I figure he’s gonna hit me, but as I raise my arm in self-defense, I see the shine of a blade before feeling it pushing into my arm. “Dammit!” I call out just as I hear a gunshot.
I’m a dead man.
Just like Old Terror himself.
Like father, like son.
But the attacker’s back on the ground, blood spewing from his skull, and Rage is sporting a smile. “See? We make a good team.”
“Maybe I’ll appreciate that more when I recover from being stabbed.”
*
I’m still shaken as Jaime and I return to Rothguard. It took a few hours for the guys at the Center to tend to our wounded men, and we have cleaners erasing our traces at the warehouse. We searched the four attackers for anything that could link them to whoever hired them, and while some tokens pointed to the Raiders, it seems too easy. I’ve been around long enough to recognize a setup. I’m not worried, though—finding whoever’s responsible is only a matter of time.