Page 113 of Her Mercenary
I kept my head up, peeking between the seats at the windshield. The cloud of smoke grew bigger and darker, puffs of ink against the vibrant greens of the jungle canopy.
“It’s right around this corner,” Roman warned, braking.
I lifted up, peeking over the seat.
“What the ...” I frowned, blinking wildly, thinking that surely I was seeing things.
Three massive men blocked the road like sentinels, their arms crossed over their chests, a burning ball of carnage at their back.
It wasn’t until a gust of wind blew the smoke that I realized the burning object was a car. A black four-door sedan.
Conor.
“Who are they?” I whisper-hissed from the back seat.
Roman slowed, maneuvering into the ditch. “Friends.”
Friends?
I gaped at the three men, each more massive than the next. All three had the same menacing, intimidating, terrifying vibe that Roman carried.
Each was as handsome too.
“Stay here.” Roman turned off the truck and climbed out of the driver’s seat.
“Stay here,” I said to the children, following suit.
Roman glanced over his shoulder, smirking at my defiance, and I winked. He waited for me to catch up, then returned his focus to the fearsome men ahead of us.
“Talk about comin’ in hot,” he said.
“You look like shit.” The tallest man stepped forward, shaking Roman’s hand.
“Mack,” Roman said, then glanced at the other man. “Ryder. Thanks for showing up.”
The man he referred to as Mack was built like an ox with wide, massive shoulders that stretched the fabric of his army-green T-shirt. His short, unkempt brown hair matched the stubble on a square chin and thick neck.
Ryder, a few inches shorter than Mack, carried the same rugged handsomeness as his counterpart, but with a bit less unbridled, angry testosterone rolling off him. I noticed a wedding band on his finger.
Who’s this?” Roman nodded to the youngest of the group, but no less terrifying.
“New guy. Phineas Decker. A Farm recruit.”
“CIA?”
Phineas nodded, scanning me in a way that suggested the guy missed nothing. There was something in his stance that made me feel like he was ready to leap and rage at any given second. He was less muscular than the other two, with lean, shredded limbs. Less strong but thrice as quick, I assumed. Each man wore head-to-toe camo, a gun on their hip, and a knife secured to their thigh.
Roman jerked his chin to the blaze behind them, redirecting their attention.
Mack shrugged. “Your boy put up quite a fight.” He grinned. “He’s definitely your brother.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed on the flames.
Mack continued. “We blocked the road to intercept victim transport, as you instructed. Your boy came barreling around the corner like fucking Mario Andretti. We blew his tires, but the guy hit the gas and drove headfirst into a tree. Intentional, my guess, knowing he was at the end of his rope.”
“He in there?”
Mack shook his head. “Nope. Got him on the way out.”