Break Maiden (Chrome Horsemen MC Book 3) Read Online Free
Author: Carmen Faye
Tags: dpgroup.org, IDS@DPG
looked like twin 9mm, "Didn't lose your cannons, did you?" he asked, heading back to the kitchen to pour Brian a cup of coffee.
"No. Truth is I don't normally wear them. I use them at the range and I was planning on going to the range that evening before everything went down. They are custom-built and designed .600s, and were made by my grandfather. He was a gunsmith and designer for Smith & Wesson all his life. He made those by hand. Machined every part, dyed every screw, and even the casings are his. So, they aren't really the things you want to use on a daily basis," Brian explained.
"Wow," Cole breathed and passed him his cup. "So grandfather was obviously into you learning to shoot."
"I was firing a .22 by the time I could ride a bike. Started competitions at twelve and won my first the following year," Brian agreed and added, "My dad, though, he was the battle and strategy lover. He had these, well, hate to call them toys, but that's what they were. Anyway, he would create and recreate scenarios over and over. I would watch him play his war games in the garage for hours, and around the time I was competing as a marksman, I was pointing out things my father missed in his strategies."
Cole studied him, "So, young start and then what? Special Opts? Military?"
"College and then Langley," Brian replied.
"Seriously? CIA?"
Brian smiled, "Seriously. CIA, SAD/SOG and black opts. Five year contract."
"So, um, what happened? If you don't mind me asking."
Brian smiled and nearly laughed, "Nothing. The contract ended and I never really got into it, so I didn’t sign another. I mean, it was never going to be what I wanted to do with my life. It just wasn't. So I spent basically five years training and retraining, and then training some more for some seriously intense tactical operations. And then I was done. I came back to Chicago and now I'm riding with you."
"No wonder George put you on the security list so fast," Cole chuckled and then added, "So all that stuff about it being the lifelong commitment and shit is just shit."
"Only in the action movies, which I see you watch quite a few of," Brian agreed, looking over Cole's stacks of DVDs.
"Hey, that's where I've learned some of my best tactics, so don't knock them," Cole said with mock offense.
"With your memory skills, I don't doubt it, actually," Brian suggested.
"Yeah, well… so what is the favor?" Cole asked, changing the subject.
"I'm making a local drop, North East, up the coast, about three hours from here. The group is a regular of the club and this is a regular drop. Three kilos. But, it’s my first time. I was hoping you wouldn't mind riding win?" Brian asked.
"Or," Cole suggested, emptying his cup and washing it out, "You decided that since all I was going to do today was mope around the house, wallowing in depression that you would get me into the wind before it really got ahold of me."
"Well yeah, that, too. But it really is my first time," Brian confessed with a smile.
Cole came back out of the kitchen, "For future reference, use the I'm nervous about the run line before telling the mark you've been a death-squad protégé since puberty."
"Yeah, that might be more effective. Thanks," Brian agreed, "but you're coming anyway, right?"
"Yeah, I'm coming anyway, because you're right. That's exactly what I was going to do today and being in the wind along the coast sounds much better. I'll wallow tonight at the club," Cole told him.
"I'll wallow with you. Might pick up some good techniques for future use," Brian told him.
The wind blew out the remaining lead fuzz from his dreams last night and cleared his mind of everything -- even her. Not the pain and not the hole, but the thoughts and, for Cole, that was more than expected. He doubted if the hole was going to fill. Ever. She was it. She was everything. And now there was nothing where she once was.
Brian and
"No. Truth is I don't normally wear them. I use them at the range and I was planning on going to the range that evening before everything went down. They are custom-built and designed .600s, and were made by my grandfather. He was a gunsmith and designer for Smith & Wesson all his life. He made those by hand. Machined every part, dyed every screw, and even the casings are his. So, they aren't really the things you want to use on a daily basis," Brian explained.
"Wow," Cole breathed and passed him his cup. "So grandfather was obviously into you learning to shoot."
"I was firing a .22 by the time I could ride a bike. Started competitions at twelve and won my first the following year," Brian agreed and added, "My dad, though, he was the battle and strategy lover. He had these, well, hate to call them toys, but that's what they were. Anyway, he would create and recreate scenarios over and over. I would watch him play his war games in the garage for hours, and around the time I was competing as a marksman, I was pointing out things my father missed in his strategies."
Cole studied him, "So, young start and then what? Special Opts? Military?"
"College and then Langley," Brian replied.
"Seriously? CIA?"
Brian smiled, "Seriously. CIA, SAD/SOG and black opts. Five year contract."
"So, um, what happened? If you don't mind me asking."
Brian smiled and nearly laughed, "Nothing. The contract ended and I never really got into it, so I didn’t sign another. I mean, it was never going to be what I wanted to do with my life. It just wasn't. So I spent basically five years training and retraining, and then training some more for some seriously intense tactical operations. And then I was done. I came back to Chicago and now I'm riding with you."
"No wonder George put you on the security list so fast," Cole chuckled and then added, "So all that stuff about it being the lifelong commitment and shit is just shit."
"Only in the action movies, which I see you watch quite a few of," Brian agreed, looking over Cole's stacks of DVDs.
"Hey, that's where I've learned some of my best tactics, so don't knock them," Cole said with mock offense.
"With your memory skills, I don't doubt it, actually," Brian suggested.
"Yeah, well… so what is the favor?" Cole asked, changing the subject.
"I'm making a local drop, North East, up the coast, about three hours from here. The group is a regular of the club and this is a regular drop. Three kilos. But, it’s my first time. I was hoping you wouldn't mind riding win?" Brian asked.
"Or," Cole suggested, emptying his cup and washing it out, "You decided that since all I was going to do today was mope around the house, wallowing in depression that you would get me into the wind before it really got ahold of me."
"Well yeah, that, too. But it really is my first time," Brian confessed with a smile.
Cole came back out of the kitchen, "For future reference, use the I'm nervous about the run line before telling the mark you've been a death-squad protégé since puberty."
"Yeah, that might be more effective. Thanks," Brian agreed, "but you're coming anyway, right?"
"Yeah, I'm coming anyway, because you're right. That's exactly what I was going to do today and being in the wind along the coast sounds much better. I'll wallow tonight at the club," Cole told him.
"I'll wallow with you. Might pick up some good techniques for future use," Brian told him.
The wind blew out the remaining lead fuzz from his dreams last night and cleared his mind of everything -- even her. Not the pain and not the hole, but the thoughts and, for Cole, that was more than expected. He doubted if the hole was going to fill. Ever. She was it. She was everything. And now there was nothing where she once was.
Brian and
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