Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Why wasn’t Coach aiming—oh fuck. He’d been hit in his right shoulder.
Rage tore through me, and I hurried toward him. “Why didn’t you fucking tell us, Coach?”
“I got it—” He rammed into a guy with his shoulder first, grabbed his boot knife, and stabbed the target in the stomach. “Covered,” he panted.
Right then and there, maybe, but three men were coming in fast.
I shot the guy Coach had stabbed, then aimed at—
“Argh—” Son of a whore! I bent over and clutched my arm as searing pain spread throughout me. Ah, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Wasn’t the first time I’d been shot—wouldn’t be the last—but I’d never get used to that intense, mind-numbing, overwhelmingly sharp pain that sent ripples of fire from the wound. Fuck fire. It was lava. Lava and a…a…million wasps and fire ants. And jam a rusty nail in there too.
The air was sucked out of my lungs, and my only allies were rage and adrenaline.
I pushed past it. Or I tried. My aim was shit, but I could fight.
This was why I’d never hold it against Coach for not speaking up about getting injured. So that I didn’t have to either. Someone would fuck things up and drag me off the field.
A scrawny motherfucker came at me with a knife, at the same time as something was happening across the clearing. Everybody was shouting over one another on the comms, and combined with the rapid gunfire, I couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening.
Time ceased to exist. Life was a series of labored breaths and registered movements in the flames.
The guy looked so determined, but he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. When he lurched forward and tried to stab me, I grabbed on to his arm, twisted it, and stole the knife. He cried out, and I jammed the knife into his neck.
Heart pounding, flames raging, sweat pouring, eyes stinging from the smoke, I ran over to help Leighton fight off a man twice his size. I grabbed my gun with my left hand and pressed it against his ribs, then squeezed the trigger.
“Oh fuck,” Leighton panted.
I swallowed dryly and failed to fix my stare on anything. The edges of my vision became darker and blurry.
“Are you okay?” he coughed. “We gotta get outta here.”
I nodded once. At what, I wasn’t sure. I blinked and struggled to see past the flames and moving shadows. Coach and Max—I heard them in the distance, but they weren’t with us anymore. The flames were retreating after burning through the grass, all while they raged high in other places. I coughed too.
“Over there.” Leighton pointed somewhere. “I think Crew needs help. Come on.”
Christ. I coughed again and followed him across the torched grass that sizzled and rustled underneath my boots. Embers soared skyward, mingling with the smoke. But a second later, the embers became blurry and blended in with the darkness.
You’ve been hurt. Slow the fuck down.
My arm was…all right. I had time. But there was something else. The pain came at me in fragments, almost like in a dream where you only remembered flashes afterward. One second, nothing. The next second, excruciating pain in my leg.
“There can’t be that many left!” Leighton called over his shoulder. “Can you reach out to Hyatt? My headset isn’t working.”
Yeah, I’d get right on that.
Goddamn, I was tired.
CHAPTER 4
October 3rd, 2024
Leighton Watts
Something was wrong with him. I could tell. When we reached Crew and Ryan, I watched how Beckett sagged against the car they were using to shield themselves from ambushes from behind. His breathing was too labored, and he favored one leg.
“Kill them!”
“This’s gotta be their last line of defense,” Crew gritted out. “Two o’clock!”
“Don’t get captured!”
“I’m out of ammo!” I coughed as I inhaled nothing but smoke, and I drew my knife and sent it flying straight into a guy’s stomach.
“Leighton,” Beckett growled.
I sucked in a breath and glanced back at him quickly. Oh, thank fuck. He attached a new mag to his sidearm and extended it to me.
“I’ll watch your back.” He planted his carbine on the hood of the car, and he made a face that screamed of pain.
“They’re scattering!”
“You’ve been hurt,” I stated, panic rising within me. I couldn’t fucking afford panic now; it took all my energy to tune out screaming, gunfire, and people yelling orders in three different languages. The fires were getting to me too. Too much movement, all while the blinding light—and the heat—made it harder to spot enemies.
“I’m fine,” he slurred.
I shook my head and stepped closer to him after throwing a quick glance around. Ryan and Crew were handling things for the moment.
“Get…get to safety, pup. Get to safety.”
Without asking, I grabbed at Beckett, and I didn’t have to look long. I stared at my hand, seeing all the blood… He’d been shot in his arm? That was why he was struggling to lift his carbine? But his leg—