Wilder, Jasinda - Harris by Jasinda Wilder

Wilder, Jasinda - Harris by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Suspense, Adult
Published: 2016-02-10T00:00:00+00:00


6

FUCKIN’ SNACKS

I’d been fucking lucky. Seriously fucking lucky. I was banged up, and had at least one bruised rib, but I had somehow avoided getting shot, and Cleo was unhurt. When that Jeep rolled, man, I thought I was done.

But my people came through. Puck covered us, Duke cut me free, and Thresh, Jesus Christ, Thresh had lifted the Jeep free so Duke could cut the tangled, trapped seat belt free. With a broken forearm. Fucker was inhuman.

And my baby. My woman. Layla. She’d disobeyed orders. Rushed through incoming fire, gotten Cleo, and rushed back with her. She’d taken down two tangos in the process. My girl was a badass. All the guys were eyeing her with renewed respect. And me? I was torn between wanting to ream her a new asshole for disobeying orders and being insanely proud of how she handled herself in a gnarly situation.

I took stock of my crew, examining all of them. Thresh was the only one hurt, miraculously, but he was seriously fucked up. A bullet had hit his ulna and shattered it, lodging in his bicep. Looked like maybe he’d taken another round to the shoulder, but with the way he was cradling his arm against himself, it was hard to tell. I knew from experience, though, to just leave Thresh alone. He’d survive, and wouldn’t let anyone help him. If he were conscious, he’d do what needed to be done. Even now, in the state Thresh was in, I’d still have chosen him to back me over just about anyone else on the planet—except maybe Duke. Speaking of whom, Duke was still on alert, watching out the window for pursuit, unconsciously toying with the safety of his HK, thumbing it back and forth. Dusty, dirty, and unfazed. Puck was driving.

And that was when I noticed it. Giving Puck a once over while he drove, I noticed two big black duffel bags on the seat beside Puck.

Two awfully familiar duffel bags. Full bags.

“Puck.” I kept my voice low and even.

“Yeah?” He didn’t turn around, kept his eyes on the…well, we weren’t on a road, but on the ground ahead.

“What exactly the fuck is that on the seat?”

Puck shot me a grin. “That, my friend, is fifty million dollars. And the girl.”

“How?”

“One of the fuckers on the dirt bikes had ‘em strapped to the back of his bike. I happened to see ‘em, and figured there was no sense in leaving fifty mil just laying around in the desert, you know?”

“Fuck.” I leaned my head back against the wall. “FUCK!”

Puck frowned at me. “What’s the issue?”

“I figured out who Cain is: Ledion Dushku. And he’s not just some minor league drug runner; he’s a major threat. Albanian by birth, former Russian Special Forces. Mercenary turned assassin, Mafioso, and all around bad, bad, bad dude. He and I crossed paths a few years back. I was with the Rangers, he was with Spetsnaz. My unit and his were supposed to be working together to take down a terrorist cell in Pakistan.



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