Page 92 of Omega
“Am I bad person for not even feeling bad?”
He shrugged. “I’m not really the best person to ask, I don’t think. My perspective is kind of skewed.”
“I guess you’re right.” I glanced at him. “So when you say a woman with a gun in her hands is a turn-on, do you mean that literally, or…?”
Harris shot me a look as I posed for him, holding the weapon in both hands out in front of me, arms straight, hair blowing in the wind. “Baby, if we weren’t running for our lives, I’d stop and show you how literally I mean it.”
“So do you have any fantasies regarding me and guns?”
He shifted on the seat. “Um.” A glance in the mirrors. “Yeah, actually. But I’m going to save that one for when we’re out of this.”
“Come on, Nick! Just tell me what it is.”
He blew out a breath. “Let’s just say it involves you wearing nothing but a bandolier of shells, with my M4 in your hands.”
“I can see how that would be sexy. It’d have to be a big bandolier, though.” I smirked at him.
He pulled out his phone. “The point, Layla, is that the bandolierisn’tbig enough to cover everything.” He handed it to me. “Call Thresh. He’s in the contacts under his name, obviously. Tell him we’re coming in hot.”
I found the contact entry, touched it, and held the phone to my ear. It rang twice. “What’cha got, boss?”
“It’s Layla, actually. I’m with Harris and he says to tell you we’re coming in hot. Whatever that means.”
“How hot?”
“I don’t know what that means. I mean, I knowI’mpretty hot, both literally and metaphorically—”
“It means you’ve got pursuit,” he interrupted, sounding both irritated and amused at my rambling. “Bad guys after you. In danger.”
“Oh. Yeah. There was one car behind us, but I shot the driver and they’re dead now. Or probably dead. I don’t see anyone else right now, but they have a tendency to show up when you least expect it.”
“Youshot the driver?”
“Yep!” I sounded proud of myself, because I was.
“From a moving vehicle?”
“Well, it wasn’t a headshot or anything. I just winged him, as Harris would say. He crashed.”
“Nice. Okay, well, tell Harris that I’m on the runway, engines idling, ready to go. I’ll be in the cargo hold, ready to cover your approach. Got it?”
“I’ll tell him.”Click. I glanced at the phone, and then handed it to Nick. “What is it with you men and not even saying ‘bye’ before you hang up? It’s rude!”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a guy thing, I guess. Or maybe it’s a military thing. We don’t waste time with pleasantries. No point and no time.”
“Anyway, Thresh says to tell you he’s on the runway, engines idling, and that he’ll be in the cargo hold ready to cover our approach.”
“Perfect.” He gestured at my pistol. “Reload.”
Turns out I didn’t need to reload, because there was no one else behind us and we arrived at the airfield a couple minutes later. We got out of the SUV and ran up the ramp to the cargo hold of a massive, twin-engine aircraft. The scene actually reminded me of that scene from the cartoon movieRio, where the awkward American girl and the gumpy Brazilian bird guy are in the Carnival float, chasing the birds onto an airstrip. Except, there were no birds on the airplane, just all seven feet of Thresh—and holy Moses, St. Peter, Jesus, and Mary herownself…Thresh was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off cargo shorts, the ends frayed and ragged. He was the most heavily muscled man I’d ever seen, easily rivaling both Arnold Schwarzenegger and Dwayne Johnson—and I’d say Thresh probably had the advantage. I stumbled as I passed him, gawking openly. I mean, that kind of build didn’t do it for me, sexually speaking, but it was still a hell of an impressive sight.
He winked at me. “Take a picture, sweetheart. It’ll last longer.” He had a massive machine gun in his hands, the kind of gun you usually see mounted on the sides of helicopters in Vietnam war movies.
“Don’t call my woman ‘sweetheart,’ you big asshole,” Harris snapped. “I’ll kick your ass.”
Thresh glanced from me to Harris. “Your woman?”
“You fucking heard me.”