Unless by a while they meant all of about two seconds.
Vision blurred around the edges, Dillon gave the shooter fifty points for a body shot but then subtracted twenty since he wasn’t dead yet. Just as his senses were swimming back into focus, shots erupted behind him and the five men went down.
Uzi tucked securely against his side, Marco Sanchez appeared out of nowhere on Dillon’s left.
Hatred swelled, became huge, monstrous, merciless. For a split second each stared at the other. Dreena , Dillon thought. This is for the child I loved, you murdering fuck. And just as Marco’s fingers tightened, Dillon squeezed the trigger. He squeezed harder, crushing the trigger, ruthless, never yielding, crushing and squeezing until the automatic weapon was finally spent and Marco’s blood stained the walls, the floor, his body ripped into ragged pieces.
Dazed, Dillon felt himself being yanked and lifted, then dimly heard Shane’s voice asking, “Can you walk? Are you with me, Commander, can you walk?”
Dillon straightened, put some weight on his leg, and thought, oh shit . His leg didn’t want to cooperate and he pitched forward, nearly landing on his face.
Chase snorted. “Whoopsie daisy, sir.” Then he said to Shane, “Fuck it. Grab him and let’s go!”
They barely made it to the boat before more automatic weapon fire erupted around them. Leaves scattered. Birds burst into flight.
Doc had the boat revved and ready. Chase jumped for it. Dillon half dove, half fell, face first into the boat with Shane right behind him.
Bullets slapped into the water, hundreds of tiny explosions of spray. Chase yelled, “Go, go, go!” and Doc hit the throttle. The motor roared to life and the boat bolted forward, whipped by the spray of gunfire racing up the wake.
Dillon hunched against the side, head low, listening to the ping of bullets ricocheting off the transom. Eventually the sound faded and all he heard was the screaming motor driving them at breakneck speed up the river.
Once they pulled up beside the other boat with the remaining four men inside, Dillon signaled to Shane to call in their coordinates. “And get a chopper down here before we get our butts blown up.”
Doc took a look at Dillon’s leg and started to work on the bullet wound. “No arterial bleed and from what I can tell, no bone damage. Bleeding has slowed. I’m starting an IV.”
Good news, but still, a hole in your leg was a hole in your leg. Nothing there to really party over.
“Whoopsie Daisy?” Shane shook his head at Chase. “You keep watching chick flicks and I’m gonna think you got a v-a-g-i-n-a.”
“I have a thing for Julia Roberts. So?”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t the one who said it first. Hugh Grant did.”
“And how would you know if you haven’t seen the movie too?”
“Guys?” Dillon looked over at Chase and Shane. “They gonna follow us in that third boat?”
Chase answered, “Nope. Doug blew the engine to kingdom come.”
The expression on Shane’s face was odd. He looked like he didn’t know whether to puke or smile, and Dillon asked, “What? What aren’t you guys telling me?”
Shane answered, “You...uh…do know you shot the shit out of Marco Sanchez?”
Sanchez . The mention of the name triggered fury, the rage inside him snarled once again before Dillon forcibly pushed it back. His hands fisted and he sneered, “Yeah. Big brother Rafe isn’t going to be too happy about that.”
Shane and Chase shared a look that said huge understatement...
Hatred blazed back to life with soul-searing swiftness. Rafe was going to take this personally, hold Dillon solely responsible. Well, bummer for the drug lord. Dillon had nothing left for Sanchez to take. Or kill.
Remembered words haunted him like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“You fuck me and your life will be over. I will massacre everyone you love.”
“I
Vision blurred around the edges, Dillon gave the shooter fifty points for a body shot but then subtracted twenty since he wasn’t dead yet. Just as his senses were swimming back into focus, shots erupted behind him and the five men went down.
Uzi tucked securely against his side, Marco Sanchez appeared out of nowhere on Dillon’s left.
Hatred swelled, became huge, monstrous, merciless. For a split second each stared at the other. Dreena , Dillon thought. This is for the child I loved, you murdering fuck. And just as Marco’s fingers tightened, Dillon squeezed the trigger. He squeezed harder, crushing the trigger, ruthless, never yielding, crushing and squeezing until the automatic weapon was finally spent and Marco’s blood stained the walls, the floor, his body ripped into ragged pieces.
Dazed, Dillon felt himself being yanked and lifted, then dimly heard Shane’s voice asking, “Can you walk? Are you with me, Commander, can you walk?”
Dillon straightened, put some weight on his leg, and thought, oh shit . His leg didn’t want to cooperate and he pitched forward, nearly landing on his face.
Chase snorted. “Whoopsie daisy, sir.” Then he said to Shane, “Fuck it. Grab him and let’s go!”
They barely made it to the boat before more automatic weapon fire erupted around them. Leaves scattered. Birds burst into flight.
Doc had the boat revved and ready. Chase jumped for it. Dillon half dove, half fell, face first into the boat with Shane right behind him.
Bullets slapped into the water, hundreds of tiny explosions of spray. Chase yelled, “Go, go, go!” and Doc hit the throttle. The motor roared to life and the boat bolted forward, whipped by the spray of gunfire racing up the wake.
Dillon hunched against the side, head low, listening to the ping of bullets ricocheting off the transom. Eventually the sound faded and all he heard was the screaming motor driving them at breakneck speed up the river.
Once they pulled up beside the other boat with the remaining four men inside, Dillon signaled to Shane to call in their coordinates. “And get a chopper down here before we get our butts blown up.”
Doc took a look at Dillon’s leg and started to work on the bullet wound. “No arterial bleed and from what I can tell, no bone damage. Bleeding has slowed. I’m starting an IV.”
Good news, but still, a hole in your leg was a hole in your leg. Nothing there to really party over.
“Whoopsie Daisy?” Shane shook his head at Chase. “You keep watching chick flicks and I’m gonna think you got a v-a-g-i-n-a.”
“I have a thing for Julia Roberts. So?”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t the one who said it first. Hugh Grant did.”
“And how would you know if you haven’t seen the movie too?”
“Guys?” Dillon looked over at Chase and Shane. “They gonna follow us in that third boat?”
Chase answered, “Nope. Doug blew the engine to kingdom come.”
The expression on Shane’s face was odd. He looked like he didn’t know whether to puke or smile, and Dillon asked, “What? What aren’t you guys telling me?”
Shane answered, “You...uh…do know you shot the shit out of Marco Sanchez?”
Sanchez . The mention of the name triggered fury, the rage inside him snarled once again before Dillon forcibly pushed it back. His hands fisted and he sneered, “Yeah. Big brother Rafe isn’t going to be too happy about that.”
Shane and Chase shared a look that said huge understatement...
Hatred blazed back to life with soul-searing swiftness. Rafe was going to take this personally, hold Dillon solely responsible. Well, bummer for the drug lord. Dillon had nothing left for Sanchez to take. Or kill.
Remembered words haunted him like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“You fuck me and your life will be over. I will massacre everyone you love.”
“I
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