Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“This is how things will go. I plan to inform law enforcement that I’m a member of the FBI Fly Team. That I was activated as an embedded asset by my former CO—Colonel Smith.”
“Fly Team?” Jordyn murmured.
“It’s the fed’s small group of counterterrorist investigators. Some of them are ex-special forces like me. I called Smith when we—”I glanced at Jordyn—“sat at that homeless encampment in LA, waiting for the cover of dark. He’s got a friend. A Fed who’ll vouch for me and Lorenzo.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Enzo said, stepping into the living room. “I was about to start sweating bullets after you told me to add the stiff’s body to the pile of Russians.”
“The stiff?” Mam asked.
“Rocket. Long story short, he didn’t think with his brain last night.”
“Must’ve already had this on your list,” Jordyn added, shaking her head.
“COME OUT!” Another order came from the bullhorn.
“We got time before Big Bear PD requests SWAT. But let’s make this quick. As far as the police need to know, Chelomey made me. Chelomey blew my cover when he came to my family’s vacation home. So, the Feds will vouch for me and Ferri. They’ve wanted Chelomey’s head on a platter. None of their agents could get close enough to the Bratva to arrest him the right way. That’s the story. The rest of you are just civilians.”
Brody snorted through the pain. “Aye. I’m just a civilian who almost got his beard blown off. And Justice is gonna bite me head off for getting shot. Thanks a lot.”
Yesterday, it took hours for Dad and the rest of my brothers to breach all the yellow tape the chief of police placed around the cabin. The chief had a vein ticking from his head when I explained the Feds had operated in his backyard without prior authorization. He’d viewed the scene while waiting for my CO’s guy from the Feds to arrive.
Later in the evening, Jordyn and I checked into a hotel so the authorities could process the cabin, my family headed down the hill—taking my precious Rebel with them as Camdyn had shared too many selfies with himself and the dog. All my nieces and nephews wanted to nurse Rebel back to health. To make matters worse, my shy Rottie was now a social media star. I was gonna slug Rory.
Enzo disappeared sometime in the night, but I’d given him explicit orders to meet at my family’s house today for a barbecue.
Now Jordyn and I had stopped at a breakfast joint tucked away in Lakewood. An understated restaurant in the small town near Long Beach.
I approached the cashier to clear out the tab. As I signed the receipt, I added extra to the tip. While we were eating, the server had given us mimosas that she hadn’t put on the tab. She’d said she loved “BWWM love.” Whatever that meant. Jordyn winked with her but left me in the dark. Women stuff, I guess?
I glanced at my watch—10:20 a.m. We’d make it to my parents’ house too soon. Yesterday was the last day of school before the holidays for all my nieces and nephews. Maybe I’d take Jordyn to the pier and rent beach bikes for the day? Get her prepared to meet the rest of Clan MacKenzie. My cousins would be there, too, no doubt. I’d marry Jordyn tonight like I promised. That was if she’d have me.
I glanced back at the table. Jordyn had stood but grabbed her Orange Creamsicle mimosa and downed it.
She smirked. “I have whipped cream on my face.”
“Nae.” I reached over and licked the creamy splotch from the cute smile crease at the side of her mouth. And I vowed that the carefree laugh she let out would be the only laughter allowed in the life we were about to make for ourselves.
Hand in hand, we stepped into the sunlight. As we started through the small lot, Jordyn looked at me, brow furrowed.
She let go of my hand and pushed me.
“What’s that for?” With a staggered two-step, I pretended that she had the skills to carry out such a bold act.
“I smell mango. You used my hair grease!”
Here we were in the parking lot of the best, underrated restaurant ever, and she was arguing over hair grease. A seagull snipped a french fry in the parking space between us as I folded my arms. “I figured since you chose hair stuff over cramming more clothes into your backpack while we fled Santa Barbara, that—”
“No. Not hair stuff. Hair grease. My hair grease.” She stepped toward me. The spark in her eyes ruined what could have been a successful intimidation tactic.
“Okay, I own it. Do you want to hear my explanation?” I reached over to pat the top of her head.
Jordyn sidestepped me in the center of the two-row lot. “Alright, go ahead.”