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)
Iris shoves Zeus so hard he falls off the bench.
Trav finally gets the fire started, which draws more people out here.
They mostly talk among themselves about jobs they’ve done and try to one-up each other on the badass scale, but I’m happy to sit back and listen to get a feel for everyone.
I’m getting the distinct impression that every single member of Mike Bravo is a show pony. And possibly slightly unhinged. They’re my kind of people.
The camaraderie between them is strong, and I get the sense I’m a big, bad outsider, but that always happens with each new unit you’re sent to in the military. This is no different.
Then Iris says something that makes me pause.
“Never babysit a pop star. It’s boring as fuck. And he kept making fun of us for being motherfucking badasses. I love Harley Valentine to death and would take a bullet for that guy, but still. Rude AF.”
“Wait … what did you just say?” I ask.
“I love Harley Valentine to death?”
“No, no, before that.”
“Uh, never babysit a pop star?”
“The motherfucking badass thing … That’s what Mike Bravo stands for, doesn’t it?” I can’t help laughing. “Shouldn’t it be Mike Foxtrot Bravo?”
“Motherfucking is one word,” Trav grumbles.
I laugh some more even though I probably shouldn’t.
“See,” Iris says, pointing to me. “Exactly like Harley. We should change the company name.”
“No, no. I love it. I can’t wait to be a …” I can’t keep a straight face. “Motherfucking badass.”
Chapter Five
Iris
I have to admit, seeing Saint laugh—genuinely laugh—is bringing back some memories. I may have been insanely jealous of the guy, but there has always been something about his dominating confidence that called to me. In the I hate you so much kind of way. Of course.
“Are you done yet?” I ask.
“Nope.” Then he tries to compose himself. “Uh, okay, I can do this.” His lips purse.
And okay, it is pretty funny. Poor Trav never hears the end of it. I can’t help joining in, just like the rest of the team, but Trav glares at me.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?” I squeak.
“I think you’re all forgetting who’s in charge here.” Trav rubs his chin. “I’m going to go adjust the training plan for the next few days. It’s been a while since any of you were put through torture training, hasn’t it?”
The laughter stops.
“He’s joking, right?” Zeus asks but doesn’t take his gaze off Trav’s face.
Trav goes full-on poker face. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Uh, what exactly does torture training entail?” Saint asks.
“Trav doesn’t let us use any torture tactic that we haven’t experienced ourselves.” I stare at Saint and wait for his reaction.
“You mean …”
“Sleep well,” Trav sings as he walks off. “Big day tomorrow.”
There are rounds of complaints, and everyone stands and makes their way inside to go to bed.
Atlas is the only one that remains. That is until he stands too and says to Saint, “Don’t stress too much about Trav. He was joking.”
“At least, you think he was,” I say.
“I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t make us torture a new recruit on day one.”
“Day two maybe,” I mutter.
Atlas slaps me over the back of the head. “Stop trying to scare the poor newbie.”
I make a pfft sound.
“Ignore Iris. The rest of us do,” Atlas says to Saint.
As he walks away, I call after him, “You know, you could really protect him from me by swapping places. I’ll gladly share a room with Zeus and Ghost.”
“Nah, I prefer a mattress.” Atlas disappears inside.
“Being stuck out here with me isn’t the worst thing, is it?” Saint asks.
“Could be worse,” I agree. “A mountain lion could be gnawing on my face.”
Saint’s expression falls, and he quickly glances around. “Are there mountain lions out this far?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but I mean, it’s possible. Maybe coyotes too.”
“Oh, fun. Tell me, why was the living room in that mansion not good enough for us to crash on the floor?”
Huh. “I … actually don’t know. This is just how it has always been done. A few years back, we all had to camp outside. The ‘ranch’ was a small cabin on the other side of the property. This monstrosity is fairly new.”
“The private sector pays that well?”
“Especially the last few years. Trav’s making a name for himself with big important people. Lots of top-secret stuff the government doesn’t want to get out. That means huge money. Then there are the private gigs for people who can’t exactly call the cops, if you know what I’m saying.”
“So we’re basically mercenaries?”
“Yes and no. Trav isn’t someone who can be bought. It has to be the right circumstances and needs to be in line with his code.”
“Trav has a code? Like in Dexter? He was a serial killer who could only kill serial killers, because you know, morals and shit.”