Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I frowned. “You’re good.”
“I am.”
Danger pulsed in the air, coiled tight and waiting to strike.
The back door creaked open.
Song entered and his gaze fell to Leo’s hands on my arms. A disapproving scowl spread across his face. “Leo, we talked about this.”
I quirked my brows.
Sighing, Leo released me and stepped back. “She needed to be consoled. I had to help her understand the deeper meaning to all of this.”
That scowl remained on Song’s face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The heads are ready and in the bag.”
I edged away. “The heads?”
Leo nodded. “Of course. You can’t just walk in the tent and say hi. You will need a proper introduction. Remember. It is all about the illusion which deals with visuals and props—”
“Why are we talking about heads?” I held out my hands. “Like seriously, Leo. When are we going to just calm this night down a bit?”
Leo laughed.
I didn’t.
Leo shrugged. “You’ll take the heads into the tent. The heads belong to the men you killed at the targets. These men were the true monsters of Yan’s armies. Their friends.”
“Oh my God.”
“Now the tent is only full of a small group of leaders and mainly followers. So. . .you will walk in there with the bag of monster heads, empty them out in the center of the tent, and then yell something witty.”
My face was frozen with terror.
Song rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t need to say something witty. The heads are enough.”
I stood there, heart hammering, trying to absorb what I had just heard.
Leo wanted me to walk into a tent full of killers with a bag of severed heads like some goddamn trophy and then. . .what?
Say something witty?
My stomach churned and the air in the cabin grew heavy, oppressive.
Leo, however, seemed perfectly at ease, as if we were discussing something as casual as a dinner party.
“It’s all about theatrics,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “The right moment. The right words. The right message.”
Song shook his head, clearly exasperated. “She doesn’t need to say anything. The heads will speak for themselves.”
“But that’s boring.” Leo sighed, like a disappointed child. “This isn’t just about killing, Song. It’s about making an impression.”
I blinked, struggling to keep up. “An impression?”
Leo turned to me. “Exactly. You’ve got to let them know you mean business. It’s like Die Hard. Bruce Willis was always coming up with those one-liners. Remember?”
“Die Hard? What the fuck?” I was close to passing out.
His grin widened. “‘Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.’”
I blinked.
Song rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “This isn’t an action movie, Leo. It’s real life.”
“Real life needs flair, too.” Leo shrugged. “How about something like, ‘Hope you didn’t miss your friends too much. They’re already here.’”
I stared at him, absolutely dumbfounded. “You want me to throw severed heads onto the floor. . .and say that?”
Song uncrossed his arms. “It’s unnecessary. If she does her job, they’ll fall in line without needing jokes.”
Leo waved him off, undeterred. “It’s not a joke. It’s a statement. A declaration.” His voice took on that same persuasive hum, the one that curled around me like smoke. “Something sharp. Memorable. Hmmm. Maybe you can say, ‘Heads up, motherfuckers!’”
"Absolutely not.” I inched back. “And can we get back to my needing to carry a bag of heads in the first place. Can I get a break tonight? I already have to risk my life by going in there—”
“Heads up would be funny.” Leo grinned and this time it was a true grin. He was absolutely tickled.
“No more weed for you tonight, brother.” Song exhaled sharply through his nose. “This isn’t the time to play Bruce Willis. And yes, Monique. . .you deserve a break. But for now. . .just go in there, spill out the heads from the bag and start shooting immediately.”
I was close to pissing myself.
Song watched me. “Are you ready?”
“No. I’m not even close to ready.”
Leo nodded. “Still. . .let’s begin.”
Chapter fourteen
The Walk Up the Mountain
Moni
We walked for fifteen long minutes up the steep, winding mountain path.
My two loaded guns lay in their holsters at my sides.
My breaths came in short, ragged gasps.
So late into the night, the air was crisp and cool.
The moon hung high above, casting a pale glow over the uneven trail, turning the shadows of the surrounding trees into long, dark fingers that seemed to reach for me.
The mountain path wound ahead. Each step was heavier than the last, like chains were dragging behind me.
My shoes scraped against the loose gravel.
Song and Leo flanked me.
Their presence was a constant, oppressive reminder that this was no ordinary walk.
Behind us, a line of men followed, their boots crunching against the gravel, and the rhythmic sound grated on my already frayed nerves.
One of them carried the bag, the godforsaken bag of heads that stank of blood and something sour. Each time it shifted, the faint, nauseating slosh of what was inside made my stomach turn.