Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“I do,” Marshall-Green haughtily shoots back. “And when Garcia doesn’t survive this little situation, you should reach out once more. I wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you again in other ways, Mr. Fiorenzo.”
Slamming my laptop shut occurs alongside a frustrated roar.
Forfuckssake!
Why is this happening?!
Why couldn’t this have been a simple problem I could click my way out of?!
One that I could manipulate the 1s and 0s of?!
Maybe one where keeping the people I love alive doesn’t depend on me dying?!
There has to be another way out of this.
There has to be another way to get to them.
To save them.
To fucking save us all.
Another round of frustration rolls over my shoulders pushing me to give the back of my hair a rough ruffle.
There’s gotta be something I can do.
A download I haven’t thought to make.
Some file I can’t see.
GPS guidance I haven’t considered seeking.
All of a sudden, the latter inspires me to grab my cell.
Dial a number I rarely do.
Silently pray to the tech lords he isn’t too busy to pick up.
The first ring is expected – he’s a busy guy, especially nowadays.
The next causes me to shift in my seat.
However, the third…the third tightens my lungs to point I’m not sure air could even reach them if it tried.
“This is Kipp Nolan,” comes from the other end after the fourth ring is cut in half.
“Zero.”
“My favorite hacker,” he warmly coos on a small chuckle.
“Such an overused term,” I mirthfully tease in return. “Given the shit I’ve done for you, my guy, I deserve something better.”
“Like the Ducati of the keys?”
Referencing back to a conversation we had during a major time of crisis for him gets me doing my best to grin. “Something higher.”
“The Aston Martin AMB 01 Pro of Programmers?”
“Flattered but still undervaluing my skills in comparison.”
“You think you’re rarer?”
“You know I am.”
“Than a limited-edition track only bike that they made a hundred of?”
“Eighty-eighty, my guy.”
“Fuckkkkk,” he practically groans into the device prior to caving, “alright. How about The Ecosse ES1 Spirit of cyber information procurement?”
“Now that,” the corners of my lips manage to curl all the way to the ceiling, “F1 engineers’ creation is much more like it.”
“The fact that you know that little F1 detail is one reason why I could never ignore your call.”
“I’m in the fuckin’ room, Rugrats,” Nolan good naturedly gripes. “Maybe act like it?”
“You gettin’ jealous?” Kipp lightly laughs again.
“Nolan,” I greet in between in their bickering.
“Zero,” he retorts before stating to his husband, “I don’t get jealous, Kidd.”
Small gurgles of an objection can be closely heard prompting Kipp to argue, “Our son here seems to disagree.”
“His mother probably would too,” I jokingly interject.
“Yeah,” Kipp snickers. “Likely.”
“I don’t get jealous,” Nolan casually repeats. “I know who put a ring on that dick.”
“Metaphorically or you pierced?” escapes me without hesitation.
“Don’t answer that,” huffs the older male.
“What do you need?” Kipp chortles, the sound of Diesel loudly babbling in the background both heartwarming and soul breaking. “Shop schedule? You wanna bring in that bike of yours?” Humor floating in his tone is impossible to miss. “Finally let me touch it?”
“You’re trying to make me jealous,” grumbles Nolan. “I see the signs.” All of a sudden, his voice gets closer. “And Papa,” there’s a minor shuffling sound in which I assume he transfers Diesel out of Kipp’s arms into his own, “does not appreciate that shit.”
“I thought Papa was a rolling rock,” goads Kipp.
“Papa is Sir and Sir is going to punish that ass as soon as we close up shop for the day.”
Post another round of chuckles, Kipp inquires, “Seriously. Whatcha need?”
“Advice.”
“Bike advice?”
“No.”
“Car?”
“No.”
“It ain’t legal,” Nolan tosses out. “That would be Garcia’s department.”
“Could be about him…” Kipp deduces.
“Kinda…” is practically whispered.
“Is this like dating advice?” There isn’t a pause long enough to insist otherwise. “’Cause we can go get Bunny.”
“Not quite.” Giving my hair another stressed out ruffle precedes me asking, “Shop clear?”
“Just us and our little man who…should not have a lug nut that close to his mouth, Nolan!”
“He’s fine,” brushes off the other male. “He’s not gonna eat it.”
“He is!”
“What type of advice do you need, Zero?”
“Life?”
“Why did that end in a question?” Grumps the oldest one in the garage. “What’s with your entire generation and endin’ everything in a goddamn question mark?”
“That ended in one,” jabs his husband.
“That’s because it was an actual question.”
“An actual question or a rhetorical one?” Kipp pokes once more.
“So hard,” hungrily grouses Nolan. “Gonna punish that ass so fuckin’ hard.”
“Oh, the promises, Sir…”
“How far would you go to protect the people you love?” is sloppily spewed to prevent further flirty fighting.
“That distance is immeasurable,” Kipp replies without hesitation.
“Agreed,” echoes his partner.
“Would you…” my eyes fall closed, “shake hands with the devil?”
“I’d give him a fuckin’ reach around if it meant my family’s safety.”
Squeezing them tighter shut is attached to a choked, “Kipp?”