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)
Dick in your pants, Iris.
I’ve never crossed the no-fraternizing line with anyone in Mike Bravo before because even though I totally would if it wasn’t against the rules, I’ve never seen any of them worthy of risking my job.
For some reason, Saint doesn’t have that barrier. Whether it’s because I knew him from before Mike Bravo or what, I’m not sure. But I need to get a handle on this infatuation before I do something that will get us both in trouble.
Zeus and I get to the outdoor range, and Trav’s already there, showing Saint the ropes.
One by one, we’ll take turns running through the course and scoring as many points as we can on the paper targets that are pinned to barricades, mannequins, and boards in the distance.
We don ear protection and safety glasses and watch as Saint shadows Trav. Trav gets low to the ground and does a roll, taking two P320s out of his holsters strapped to his sides and taking his shot, hitting his two targets—one in front of him and one to his left. He continues through the course, jumping over obstacles, crouching to shoot through an empty frame, making his way to the end, where he has to kick open a door and fire up into the hill at three targets strategically placed to make it more difficult to hit from his position.
Then he stands upright and turns to Saint. We can’t hear from where we are, but I assume Trav is asking if he got all that.
“Ten bucks says the new guy chokes,” Zeus says.
I try to suppress my excitement when I remember how good Saint is with his marksmanship. “Even after yesterday? He took me out in twenty seconds.”
“Yeah, that’s you. Not that impressive.”
I hold my hand out to shake his hand. “I’ll take this bet, then.”
“I want in on this,” Atlas says from where he’s watching.
“You for or against?” I ask.
“Against.”
“I’m for,” Angel says and slaps a tenner down on the table in our observation deck.
We all put our money in, each person choosing for or against Saint to choke.
“Wait, what classifies as choking?” I ask. “Coming in dead last?”
We debate back and forth until we land on him ranking bottom half of the pack to make it fair. Fifty-fifty split.
I think our side is getting ripped off because beating any of these guys, let alone six of them, is going to be hard to do.
When Trav and Saint make their way back to us, I take the money and shove it at Atlas because he’s the most dependable one.
“That better not be what I think I see,” Trav says in his stern voice. We all give him a derisive glare because we know what’s coming. “At least not without me getting in on the action. What’s the bet?”
“Saint,” I say.
“Bet?” Saint frowns. “About me?”
I grin. “No pressure to do well today or anything.”
“Let me guess, you bet that I’ll miss.”
“Actually,” Zeus says. “He—”
“Of course I bet against you,” I cut in. “I told you this morning I was going to beat you today, didn’t I?”
Nothing will motivate Saint faster than competition. The dude used to thrive on this shit.
“Who’s up first, then?” Trav asks.
“I’m cool with going last,” Saint says. “I don’t mind making these guys wait.”
“Oh, I’m so on Saint’s side of this bet,” Trav says. “How much?”
“Ten,” Atlas says.
“Whoa, don’t break the bank, guys.”
“Says the bottomless pit of money,” I say.
“Heard that,” Trav sings.
The course not only accounts for accuracy but time as well. Our times aren’t recorded. We just have to beat the five-minute requirement. Everyone could hit their targets if given enough time to ensure accuracy, but the point of this obstacle range is to try to mimic real-life situations where it’s kill or be killed.
Real missions move fast. Sometimes the adrenaline barely has enough time to flow before it’s all over, which means you suffer from a massive adrenaline spike when you’re supposed to be winding down.
Each target has a point system. The closer to the middle of the target, the higher the points. The head of a mannequin is worth more than in the chest. The chest is more than an arm or leg, and so on and so forth. The more fatal the shot would be in real life, the higher the points. The leaderboard changes with nearly everyone who goes through.
Unsurprisingly, Angel takes top spot, but I’m sitting pretty in second by the time everyone’s done.
And then Saint steps up to the plate. Right before he starts, he stares at me over his shoulder and smiles.
Oh yeah, he’s got this in the bag.
He moves swiftly and with ease, and I don’t think he misses once. He not only goes for the head on the mannequins but the chest and legs too. He hits nearly every available target and obliterates all of us. Including Angel.