Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Oh, shit. Is Atlas any good?” Atlas has to win. I don’t even want to think about the name Iris would give me.
“No one can beat Iris.”
“I don’t suppose Shit-for-brains is already taken and can’t be used, is it?”
I must be louder than I expect because Iris throws looks my way.
“Don’t worry. I have another name in mind.”
My gut sinks because I know what’s coming. I throw back my entire drink, and Zeus promptly gets me another.
“You might need this, brother.”
“Thanks.” I take a swig.
I’ve never been so invested in a game of pool before.
Iris goes first, lining up his shot, but at the last second, he glances up at me and still manages to sink two on the break. I’ve never seen Iris more confident than he is in this moment, and that’s saying something.
While I was practically dying and clutching his hand so tight trying to convince myself he was really there, he was cool, calm, and collected. Right now, he’s a predator stalking his prey.
Me.
He doesn’t even let Atlas have a shot. He sinks the balls one after the other, each time throwing that smug look my way and letting me know my fate is in his hands.
“Is a code name a necessary thing?” I squeak.
“Nonnegotiable,” Trav says.
“Great.”
I am going to be spending however long I work for Mike Bravo known as—
Iris sinks the eight-ball and sends me a wink. “Welcome to Mike Bravo, Saint.”
I let out a loud breath. It’s better than Asshole, but it’s exactly what I thought he was going to name me.
“Saint?” Zeus asks.
“It was what all the other recruits called me during basic,” I mumble.
Iris leans on the pool table. “Mr. Goody Two-shoes over here never stepped out of line. Acted like a saint. The name stuck. I figure if I’ve had to keep the name you came up with for me, it would only be fair that you use your name from back then.”
If I’d known the Iris name would have stuck with him outside of the military, I probably wouldn’t have said anything.
Maybe.
I dunno. He really suits his name.
Trav claps my shoulder. “Then it’s settled. Welcome to the team, Saint.”
Okay, so I know I’ve been out of action for a few months, but I can’t keep up with these guys. I’m not even talking about the training that’s still to come. I’m talking about the partying.
After my name is made official with drinks—a lot of drinks—each of the team members slowly introduces themselves throughout the course of the night. After learning all their names, I’m not so upset over Saint. I fit right in with the weird and sometimes embarrassing ones. Like Atlas because he’s been known to get lost even when he has a map. Scout because he has a weakness for Girl Scout Cookies. Ghost because his first name is Casper. The only one that has a cool meaning is probably Angel. Angel of death. That’s badass. Oh, and Zeus, because he can tell people it’s because he’s a god. Though, I find out later that it’s actually because he fucks anything that moves.
They ask about my recovery and make me feel welcomed into the group, but when they joke about me being bulletproof, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t feel like surviving my ordeal had anything to do with me. And if my drained energy after only a couple of hours is anything to go by, I’d say I’m not immune to the effects of being shot, even now months later.
These next few days are going to exhaust me more than any type of training I’ve been put through to date.
The regime GenNex put me through after they recruited me is said to be tougher than any other special forces training. I know for a fact I wouldn’t pass any of their requirements as I am.
I have to keep reminding myself I’m here for a reason. This gives me a purpose.
After mingling awhile, I start to flag, so I excuse myself from a conversation with Atlas about DC versus the MCU and make my way outside to get some fresh air. The sun is setting now, an impressive pink sky settling over the desert.
I sip my beer and enjoy the moment of peace because I get the feeling these moments will be few and far between, which is the way I usually like it, but lately, something has been niggling at me. Ever since Mike Bravo rescued me, I’ve had this gut feeling that I’m missing something.
Along with rehab for my physical body, I’ve also had some therapy about what I went through, but it’s kind of pointless because my memory of the whole op is still fuzzy.
It was the type of situation that causes grown men to see ghosts, but I’ve got … nothing. Which I guess I should be thankful for, but it niggles at me all the same.