Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Just a little FYI, Chief. Come on. Let’s hump.”
Oakley removed his tactical blade from within his boot and flipped it open. He’d kill for a machete right now, but something was better than nothing.
Sawyer allowed him to take the lead and followed him closely, this time without having to be told. And when he swatted at wasps and nagging mosquitos, he didn’t holler out or curse.
Good. Oakley hated complainers.
After a couple of hours, Oakley paused when he came across several bushes of Ageratum. He cut a decent-sized palm tree leaf, used some of the thinner strands to wrap chunks of the bright-lavender powder puff flowers around it, and gave it to Sawyer.
“Here, use this to swat away the insects. It’s a natural repellent. It’s not as good as lemongrass or sage…but trust me, it works.
“I do trust you,” he whispered, taking the leaf with appreciation gleaming in his light eyes.
Oakley tried not to get lost in them.
Sawyer was turning out to be the kind of man he not only admired but was very attracted to. His liking for him surpassed the triviality of looks and body type and moved toward personality, strength, and capability.
They walked at a moderate pace—Oakley didn’t want to overwhelm Sawyer, knowing he wouldn’t ask him to slow down—for another half hour before he caught sight of a rainbow boa balanced on the wide root of a walking palm.
He’d been easy to spot with his multicolored scales shimmering like polished emeralds.
And here he thought they would have to eat snails or frog legs for breakfast.
“Chief, look south-southeast.”
Sawyer stopped waving his makeshift flyswatter and whipped around in the other direction.
After scanning the area, he muttered, “What am I looking for?”
“Do you see that colorful snake wrapped around that branch?”
Sawyer jerked backward before he hissed, “No. Where?”
Oakley rolled his eyes.
“Look farther out, ’bout a couple of yards.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened. “Man, that looks cool, but I’m glad it’s over there.”
“What it looks like is chow.”
“Oh. Uh.” Sawyer cringed. “Um.”
“You said you’re not picky. And believe me, it’ll taste better than that monkey you suggested earlier.”
“I’m sure,” he muttered, still appearing mortified.
“Don’t worry…it’ll taste like under-seasoned chicken. Maybe a bit gamey, but not a lot since it’s a young one.”
Oakley began to walk that way until Sawyer grabbed his forearm.
“I know boas aren’t poisonous, but they do bite, right?”
“They’ve got tiny teeth, not fangs. I do have to grab it by the head.” He shrugged. “But if I get bit, I won’t die or lose a digit.”
“Shit. Fuck that.”
“You wanna eat or not?”
Sawyer produced his own knife and snapped the switchblade around his wrist a couple of times until the six-inch blade was out.
“And what do you plan on doing with that thin-ass blade, huh? At least mine will—”
Sawyer narrowed his gaze at the serpent. And in a fluid motion, he raised his hand and threw the knife.
Oakley watched it slice through the air like a silver comet, spinning with purpose and precision. The blade struck and embedded itself with a faint thud into the snake. Not in its body or tail but in the dead center of its head.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped before the snake’s body went limp, slowly uncoiling before it succumbed to gravity, fell, and dangled from the branch like an odd decoration.
“Holy-fucking-shit.”
Sawyer gave him a nonchalant look as if what’d he’d done was as simple as beginners’ target practice.
“Don’t sound so shocked, Chief. We play a lot of darts, that’s all. Sometimes, we’ll see how far back we can go and still make a twenty-five-pointer. I won a thousand-dollar bet a couple of years ago, hitting a bullseye nineteen feet away. None of them thought…”
Oakley realized he was speaking in the present tense.
They didn’t say anything else as they walked toward their first meal in the jungle.
But not the last.
Chief Styles Sawyer
Sawyer was glad he wasn’t totally useless. At least he’d been able to catch their chow without Oakley having to risk a bite from a snake.
He sat on a bulging root and started a fire while he watched in fascination as Oakley skinned and prepped the snake, then skewered it on a thin stick he said was a bamboo stalk.
Every few minutes, he thanked the hell out of Oakley’s father—wherever the Army Ranger was—for instilling these life-saving skills into his son.
“You don’t think anyone will see our fire?”
“Nah, we’re far enough inland.”
Sawyer inched away from the flames, trying not to let his mind go back to the explosions and balls of fire that had erupted around him yesterday. Flames that’d overtaken his men.
“How are you feeling?” Oakley asked, his voice low and laced with comfort. “The burns, I mean?”
“Not bad…kinda numb. All the pain is in my feet and thighs.” Sawyer stretched his legs out. “Can’t tell you the last time I humped it so long. Probably was in BUD/S training.”