Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
He might look like a tough motherfucker, but I can see the blankness behind his bloodshot eyes. We both know he put a bullet in one of our guys, and short of a miracle, he’s not walking out of here. Blood from a stab wound in his upper thigh is soaking his jeans. I’d give him credit for holding out this long, but I’m pretty sure he’s loaded up good on something and not feeling much pain. I glance outside the cell. Skyhigh and Blackout are playing cards with Ghost.
“What are you thinking?” Ghost asks, looking my way. He’s a cold bastard, but good at what he does, which is exactly why he’s training me.
I wait to see if my conscience has anything to say. Not sure what it means for my chances in the afterlife, but it doesn’t.
This asshole has too many grays in his greasy hair and deep lines in his leathery skin to plead innocent. He knew the score when he got on his bike and decided to fuck with us. The only reason he’s not holding his own guts is that Lash took the hit to his shoulder and not his chest. “I think that if he’s not willing to talk, there’s not much point in keeping him around.”
Studying his cards, Ghost nods.
Knowing exactly what that means, Blackout’s gaze flicks over and then back to the game. He’s merciless in a fight, and wouldn’t lose sleep over killing someone who needed putting down, but he doesn’t have the temperament for interrogation.
Skyhigh’s expression is grim. He puts his cards down on the table and strolls over to the cell. He looks relaxed, but I can see from the way he’s holding himself that he’s ready to strike if he has to. Down here, surrounded by the stink of piss and blood, he’s a different man from the laid back joker of our team. One that was forged in the trenches of a useless war thousands of miles away, and that his recent promotion to officer has forced him to call on.
He looks down at the guy and nudges him with his boot. “Any last words? Tell us whose bright idea it was to get in our way and maybe we’ll let you live.”
He bares his pink-stained teeth. “Bullshit.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Skyhigh agrees. “But maybe your buddy can walk away.”
Staring out of the bars of the cell across from us is a scrawny, terrified kid from the same group. He looks barely old enough to shave, but we stripped a gun and several knives off him when we picked him up. I’ll fuck him up if that’s what it takes to keep my brothers safe, but I’m hoping to soften him up by letting him watch us break this asshole. It’s not a pretty job, but it’s necessary sometimes.
“End it,” Skyhigh says, blue eyes flat and cold.
Hearing the order gives our prisoner one last rush of energy. He wrenches himself to his feet and shoves Skyhigh out of the way. I have no idea where he thinks he’s going even if he makes it past us, but he’s operating on pure instinct, not rational thought. I tackle him before he makes it out of the cell, slamming him into the wall and shoving the barrel of my gun into his temple.
“Go to hell,” he spits out.
“You first.” I pull the trigger.
The kid screams almost as loud as the gunshot as it echoes off the walls, but I don’t look away. Not until the body shudders one last time as his systems shut down and slumps to the floor. I close my eyes for a second, adding the weight of his death to my soul, what of it I have left. I have no regrets, but this pile of dead flesh was born with the same potential for good and evil as the rest of us, and ending up here like he did is a waste.
A retching sound pulls my attention away. The kid is leaning against the wall with one arm under his forehead, his face the color of an unripe tomato. He shies away from the door when he sees Skyhigh heading his way.
“Ready to play?” I call out. “I can do this all fucking day.”
“No, please, I don't—ask me anything. Just… don't.”
Skyhigh unlocks the cell and reaches in, hauling the kid out by the back of his shirt and pushing him my way. “What we do is up to you, asshole. If you’re smart and tell us what you know, maybe you won’t end up like your friend.”
He shudders, letting out a soft whimper. Close up, I’d say he’s no older than twenty. “Harry wasn’t my friend.”
I grab his shoulder and slam his ass down into a chair only a couple feet from Harry’s body. “Yeah, then you don’t owe him shit. What’s your name, kid?”