AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After a second chopper goes boom, a dude in a tracksuit sneaks out of the ferns. His gold chain catches rays, marking my target like it’s Christmas morning.
Kairo must’ve sent the Z-team.
The guy has one pistol, coke fingernails, and an obvious death wish.
Once, I held a funeral for a monarch butterfly that hit my bike tire. Bummed me out for days.
I have much more empathy for cute little bugs than for the human-shaped shit-sacks huffing and puffing to find my mate.
I aim, then pull the trigger.
When the guy drops halfway in the underbrush, my conscience pats me on the back.
Nice.
Now he can fertilize the earth and actually contribute to our planet.
I peer through the gable slats, waiting for a fresh target while explosions pop off in the distance.
Eventually, two Triad goons step out from the trees. A smaller guy drags a bigger one, who’s about to bleed out from the throwing knife buried in his throat.
Reese with the assist.
I line up to finish the kill.
But as my finger squeezes, my neck hair levitates.
I throw myself to the side.
Out of nowhere, a silenced bullet screams past my ear.
Fuck.
Didn’t see that one coming.
Explosions rain across the island.
I’m weirdly calm between booms, waiting for the firefight to find my hiding hole.
I’ve never been afraid of dying.
I’m afraid of being taken.
But more than anything, the SAS trained me how to wait. Lying flat in the rafters, I’m way more comfortable than I ever was scrunched in the back of Simon’s potato-mobile.
My scent glands fire, ready to unleash.
I ease my death-grip control, leeching perfume into the tight-sealed villa below me.
A bullet whizzes outside.
That’s close.
Reese is supposed to be guerilla-roving the jungle and working toward the north dock. The rest of us are hidden in strategic villas, far enough apart to blow explosives without risking friendly fire.
Pulse in my fingertips, I peel aside a tarp to check who’s here to visit.
A body splays across the path near my villa’s gate. The torso disappears in a patch of ferns. I can’t see its face, but SAS agents don’t go on missions wearing white shell-top sneakers.
