Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry. What was that?” the captain snarled.
Day didn’t repeat himself.
Wes was sitting to his left, no doubt vibrating with the urge to bolt.
Captain Hart stood beside God and spoke up for the first time. “I back God as well on this, cap.”
Their captain waved Hart off. “Oh, please, you always back God.”
“Only when he’s right,” he answered. “If we’d had these two on that Decatur raid last month, half of my men wouldn’t’ve needed burn care. With experts, we can eliminate chemical retaliation.”
“Exactly,” Syn said. “Meth ops are evolving. These aren’t your basic criminals. Some of these fuckers have chemistry degrees and their enforcers are smart. We’ve encountered wired entryways, generators rigged with trip explosions. We’re engaged in chemical warfare that requires more than just guns, Cap. Wes and Law are our best chances to learn how to fight back. We need them.”
Law’s chest warmed at that. He wouldn’t admit it to Wes, but it felt good to hear he was needed again.
“All right,” Captain Murphy warned. “You’re on a short leash on this ask, God. They better not get hurt. You have enough liabilities with your own crew.”
“Their training will be extensive.” Syn’s voice grated on his skin like barbed wire. “They’ll report to me, and Hart and I will be overseeing the ops. I’ll keep the enforcers in check and ensure Wes and Law don’t blow up the city.”
Wes tensed again. Law wanted to rub his thigh and tell him they were going to be okay, but he refrained.
Later.
“You can guarantee that?” the captain asked, standing as though the meeting was over.
“No.” Syn chuckled. “But I can guarantee I’ll make them useful.”
Law already liked Syn.
The captain pointed right at him. “You really think you can handle this? You’ve got more fuckups on your record than my rookies.”
Law didn’t miss a beat. “We got this.”
The captain nodded toward Wes. “Your partner sure is quiet.”
“Silent but fearless.”
“Stop fuckin’ lying,” Wes snapped, turning back to the captain. “I’ll be the biggest liability you’ve ever had to deal with. I start fires just to see who’ll run the fastest.”
Captain Murphy jerked his head back. “Wow.”
Law narrowed his eyes, laughing nervously. “He’s joking. He’s very responsible. He always puts’em out before anyone gets burned.”
Wes flipped him.
The captain headed for the door. “Like I said, gentlemen, very short leash. If one civilian goes up in flames, you’re on your own with IA.”
Once he was gone, God turned to Syn with a simple instruction. “Get ’em ready.”
Law clapped his hands together once. “When can I get a gun?”
“Fuck off. That’ll be never,” God walked out of the door with his husband on his heels.
Hell yeah, Law was going to like it here.
This was a kickass place to strut his stuff until he made amends and Hollywood came crawling back.
Law turned toward Wes—furious, brilliant, sex-starved, Wes—the only man he’d ever trust to do this with.
There was nothing he couldn’t accomplish and excel at with Wes by his side.
Wesley (Wes) Drake
Next day...
Wes slammed his assigned locker door hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Everything he’d just seen still bit at his skin like static electricity.
They’d been confined to the task force briefing room all morning. Just them, Syn, Ronowski, Steele, Free, and Hart, and hours of grainy, adrenaline-laced body cam and drone footage from the past three years.
Closed case files, confession videos, tactical break-ins. Insane raid after fucking raid.
It wasn’t just violence and mayhem. It was cinema. The kind Hollywood wished they could replicate with stunt choreography.
God and Day moved like warriors that shared the same soul—coordinated and ruthless. Day would breach low, and God high, and the moment the target went for a weapon, it was as if the world paused to give them both the perfect opportunity to execute.
One shot, and they never missed.
Even through computer screen speakers, God’s guns firing sounded as though Hell had a voice, roaring through flesh and bone.
Then the enforcers. What in the actual fuck?
Ruxs and Green were straight-up untamed animals. No plan, no fear, just raw instincts.
Wes’s mouth hung open when Ruxs dropkicked a suspect through a plate glass window, laughing the whole time as another guy jumped on his back, kicking and screaming. Green swung a crowbar at the man’s head, knocking him unconscious as he slid off Ruxs’s back and hit the ground.
That footage was from two years ago, and Wes could guarantee the guy was either dead or still in the ICU.
And Steele—holy shit—he was a one-man wrecking crew, except he wasn’t. Tech was always close by him.
Steele walked calmly into danger, a Swisher Sweet cigar sticking out the side of his mouth and four of his fingers wrapped around a wicked knife handle. He barely used his gun as he sliced at tendons, muscles, and ligaments with surgical precision.
Wes had suspected Syn, the commander of the team, hung back and managed the situation from a nearby unmarked van, but Syn was right there in the thick of it, coordinating the attack through a comms system they were all wired to.