Page 91 of Omega
He was already dressed, clean black BDU pants tucked into his calf-high lace-up combat boots, a black T-shirt, and the same hat I’d seen his guys wearing that night on the beach, A1S in scarlet letters on a patch sewn onto a black military-style ball cap.
“What’s A-One-S?” I asked, tying my shoes.
“My company. After I got Kyrie back and I sent her and Roth out on theEliza, I realized I’d need a lot of backup if I was going to keep them safe. So I started Alpha One Security. Technically, I’m a private security contractor hired by Roth, rather than working exclusively for him. The effect is the same, though, because right now I only work for him.”
“Alpha One Security?” I chuckled. “That’s…both clever and entirely unoriginal at the same time. A-One Security, basically, right?”
He zipped the bag and shoved two pistols into holsters on an elaborate system strapped to his torso. I counted two small pistols on his shoulders, another bigger one at his right hip, four knives, and six extra clips of varying sizes. He was loaded for bear.
“Yeah,” he said. “That was the idea. I was in a hurry to get it off the ground. I wasn’t real concerned with what the company was called, I just needed the LLC up and running ASAP so I could hire my guys. Originality was the least of my concerns.”
“Makes sense.” I stood up. “I’m ready. Now what?”
There was an assault rifle on the bed, and a pistol with a spare clip. He gestured at the smaller weapon. “Take that. Don’t use it unless I tell you to. We get in the Rover and drive to Rio as fast as we can. We should be there already, but we got…sidetracked.” A grin, eyes sweeping over my body and back up to my eyes. “I can’t say I regret the delay, but we’re gonna have to haul ass to make it up.”
He preceded me outside, rifle at his shoulder, barrel sweeping side to side, covering me as I got into the ancient SUV. He tossed the heavy bag of gear into the back seat where we could both get at it, apparently now more concerned with access to it rather than hiding it. He was in the driver’s seat within seconds and was backing up, the gate already opened.
We were twenty minutes away when I realized I’d stepped over the three dead bodies without even glancing at them, not so much as a flinch or twist of the stomach. I was getting used to it, it seemed.
I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that or not.
* * *
The drive to Rio de Janeiro was utterly uneventful. Could have been just another road trip with my boyfriend, except for the fact that we were in Brazil, and that my boyfriend was loaded down with enough guns to take on an army.
And that I had an actual, factualboyfriend.
Other than that, it was just any old road trip.
I was about to say something to that effect, but I never got the chance. The windshield exploded in a shower of glass, the front tire popped, and a hail of bullets riddled the body of the SUV. I ducked, covering my face, and Harris twisted the vehicle to the right. He gunned the engine, rounding a corner, the tail end sliding with a squeal of tires, the body swaying. I heard the chatter of machine guns, heard bulletsthunkinto the body. Harris cursed under his breath and hauled the vehicle around another corner. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, ducked down beneath the window, staying out of sight. He was completely focused, driving with one hand, jerking the shifter back with the other, glancing in the mirror. We were in the middle of downtown Rio, on a road that ran parallel to the beach. The sea was on our right, the city on our left, not a cloud in the sky. Another tire-squealing turn, and we were darting between the maze of buildings, flat tire flopping and the rim grinding.
I dared a peek behind us, and saw a small black sedan following behind us, and as I watched a dark head popped up from the sunroof, leveling a huge machine gun at us. “Shit!” I ducked back down, just in time.
The back window shattered and rounds thudded into the seats behind us.
“Shoot back, Layla. The driver, the shooter, the engine, doesn’t matter. Just return fire.”
I swallowed hard and grabbed my pistol off the seat between us, twisted in place and took aim over the top of the seatback. I aimed at the windshield, held my breath, and squeezed the trigger. The windshield spiderwebbed but didn’t shatter, so I fired twice more, and finally it broke with a spray of white glass shards. I saw a face, then, dark skin and a goatee. I ducked again as bullets hit the seat, passed through, and smashed into the dashboard. I popped up, fired twice, and ducked back down.
Harris glanced at me, a smile on his face.
“What?” I demanded. “What the hell is there to smile about?”
He jerked us around a corner, jammed on the brakes, and then floored the gas and spun the wheel to swerve around a slow-moving truck. Another glance at me. “You. You’re sexy, shooting my gun. Ducking down behind the bench like it’s going to stop a bullet. You’re just hot as fuck. A woman with a gun in her hands is kind of a turn-on for me, I guess.”
All I caught was the part about the bench not stopping a bullet. “So I shouldn’t duck, is what you’re saying?”
He shook his head. “Do you intentionally ignore the best parts of what I say to you?”
“Me not getting shot is pretty important, I’d think!”
“True, true. But ducking behind that bench isn’t going to do anything. Their shots have already gone through.” He reached to the side and fingered a ragged hole in the aged leather.
I sat up, realizing he was right. I took aim at the driver and fired, and this time I hit him. He grabbed his arm, and I saw red spray on the window beside him, and his car swerved. That was all it took. He lost control just long enough to slam into the back of a service van, the front accordioning and crunching under the rear bumper. I heard shouts and screams, and then we were around the corner and out of sight.
“I hit him! I got him!” I shouldn’t have been elated, but I was. “I’m a badass!”
Harris laughed. “You sure are, baby. Good shot.”