Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I watch in horror as a man falls to the ground, blood blooming on his chest.
“There!” Cash snaps, the muzzle of his gun pointing toward the far side of the field.
My blood runs cold. It’s the same direction Devyn walked a few minutes ago.
Another gunshot echoes, only this time it’s the gunman who falls, his knees hitting the hard earth and the jolt ricocheting up his body until he slumps forward.
Before I can feel relief, more shots are fired, making it obvious that there is more than one shooter.
I can’t tell who’s hurt and who has hit the ground in an effort to stay safe. I lift my gun to fire at one shooter I’ve spotted but people are running everywhere. Firing without a clear shot could lead to me hitting a civilian. My mind is racing, unable to decide which is the lesser of two evils—to let him hurt someone else or shoot him on the risk of hurting an innocent myself.
My head isn’t right, my fear that Devyn is hurt and bleeding somewhere, possibly dead, is jumbling everything up in my mind. I don’t know how Aro and Slick work together and stay calm when they have to be worried about each other.
“Three down,” Cash yells. “Do you see any more?”
I look around the area. The gunmen were decked out in all black clothing with masks pulled over their faces as if they thought they could come shoot up a fucking wedding and walk away without being caught.
People are still screaming and running. Children are hollering out for their parents. Several guests are injured, possibly dead or dying.
“I’m calling for more help,” Hayes says, his face ashen white. He’s a local firefighter I met last night at the bar.
My eyes continue to scan the crowd, looking for Devyn, but also keeping an eye out for Jinx. He’s the highest-ranking member, the only Cerberus person here other than us newer guys. My military training urges me to find him because he’ll have the answers. Before I can lock eyes on him, someone tugs my arm.
“Please,” the woman says, her hands coated in blood. “Help him.”
She grabs my arms, dragging me toward the man I first saw go down.
“Henry!” she screams as she falls to her knees, her hands covering the wound in his chest.
He’s gone, and there’s a good chance he was deceased before he hit the ground, but I won’t be able to convince this woman that her efforts are useless. I know what it’s like to try and save someone who can’t be saved.
I rip off my suit jacket and drop to the ground with her.
“Apply pressure here,” I tell her, wadding up the jacket and pressing it to his wound.
I’m not a medic, but the limited training I’ve received tells me the lack of active bleeding from the wound means his heart isn’t pumping. She needs this. She needs to know she’s done everything she could.
“Help is on the way,” I assure her, my heart breaking for her loss.
I stand once again, the painful pleas in her voice begging him to hold on, telling him that someone will be there soon to help him.
I swallow against decade-old memories, looking down at my clean hands to prove that I’m not in the Middle East with my hands coated in my best friend’s blood.
“Devyn!” I scream, but I know it just gets lost among all the others who are searching for their own loved ones.
A little girl is standing alone, screaming, although her cries don’t reach my ears. On instinct, I move and scoop her up, holding her tighter when she realizes she doesn’t recognize me.
I realize I’m running, holding this child to my chest like a lifeline. Others are more cognizant of their surroundings, helping the wounded, and organizing a sort of triage area. From the looks of it, the town has undergone some sort of catastrophe training. A woman is directing others on where to go, her voice too calm for her not to have had some sort of formal training and experience with emergency protocol.
“I found her crying,” I say as I approach. “I don’t know who her parents are.”
The woman takes the child, cooing to her. “Sweet Reina, let’s find your mommy.”
Relief washes over me when the little girl drops her head to the woman’s shoulder, her sobbing ebbing to hiccups.
I spend what feels like an eternity looking for Devyn and coming up empty. I walk the entire area more than once.
“She was right there with me,” Oracle says. “I shoved her down, told her to stay behind the tree since the bullets were coming from the other side. I took down the one shooter and was maneuvering to get a shot on another one. When I looked back, she was gone.”
He’s shaking, the tremble in his hands matching the beat of my heart, unsteady and out of control.