Read Online Girls Just Wanna Have Guns by Toni McGee Causey - Free Book Online
Authors: Toni McGee Causey
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Hummer out of his way. He couldn’t see where the sniper hid in the rampant overgrowth of reedy grasses and thick green brush.
“We’re done,” John said, checking his sights on his rifle scope. The crazy bitch had dropped below the bridge railing. And this was after she got out of the shitty car in time. He hadn’t had the supplies to do a fancy remote detonator. He hated this fucking job; he coulda been done earlier if they’d just let him pick her off in the first place. One quick shot to the head on her way into work this morning and
bam,
he woulda gotten his payoff. Instead, he was belly down on this Godforsaken bank of a bayou, up to his ass in bugs and mosquitoes and probably snakes. At least there was so much muddy crap growing out here, he coulda had a party and no one woulda seen ’im.
“Ah, but you missed,” Otto, his Italian partner said, low and annoyed. “Like the other sniper. You try again, no?”
The fucking other sniper, whoever the hell he was, couldn’t hit a drunk in a bar. Fired too wild. Stupid amateurs. John checked his sights again. “Too many people. I told you we shoulda taken her out from the beginning.”
“This is not what the buyer wanted,” Otto said, and it gave John a helluva lot of satisfaction that the man had been forced to crawl in the mud in his expensive clothes. Why in the hell would some asshole wear leather pants in the South in summer? “He only want,” Otto continued, “to say
go away
.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think she’s big on listening.”
John had tried to tell ’em that. But now he was going to make her wish she had.
----
From: JT
To: Simone
The bridge? Her car blew the bridge? And there’s a sniper again? How many people hate this woman?
----
----
From: Simone
To: JT
Apparently, a lot.
----
Relief flooded Bobbie Faye when she heard the motorcycle. She pushed up, her face just inches off the hot asphalt that burned her hands, small pebbles biting into her palms, and she looked down the length of the bridge where two men held guns on the cousins. Damn, she’d wanted to do that all morning. Trevor wove past the Hummer and then the hole and the debris, stopping between her and the direction the sniper bullet had come from—a bullet that was way too close for comfort. She was still shaking from it.
“Get up,” he barked at her. He was in character, Bobbie Faye realized, for Francesca’s benefit. She hoped. Because that look on his face? Scarier than the fact that the sniper was apparently still determined to finish her off. And strangely, a lot better shot than he had been at the store. Unless there were two snipers? Noooo . . . not even . . . damn! Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was some sort of sniper contest going on.
“Get on the bike,” he ordered. When she didn’t stand up immediately (Brain:
move now
. Legs:
fuck you
.), Trevor pulled out his SIG, pointed in her direction, as his expression hardened into murderous. “Get on the bike.
Now
.”
“Where are you taking her?” Francesca demanded, standing, her hands on her hips, her toe tapping in her stiletto as if he wasn’t frightening enough to make Satan feel insecure in his job description.
It surprised Bobbie Faye that Trevor paused to answer.
“I’ve got a message for you from your dad,” he told her at gunpoint as Francesca’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Stay out of it. She,” he angled his head back toward Bobbie Faye, “is working for him now.”
Of course she was
. Because having four psycho cousins, three crazy hijacking groups of morons, a sniper,
and
a sneaky FBI guy wasn’t quite enough insanity for one day.
Cam waited at the foot of the bridge, watching as the fire department prepared to douse the remains of Bobbie Faye’s car. Most of the car had blown up and forward, landing on a section of intact pavement; there was a gaping hole in the bridge behind where the car currently burned. Parts
“We’re done,” John said, checking his sights on his rifle scope. The crazy bitch had dropped below the bridge railing. And this was after she got out of the shitty car in time. He hadn’t had the supplies to do a fancy remote detonator. He hated this fucking job; he coulda been done earlier if they’d just let him pick her off in the first place. One quick shot to the head on her way into work this morning and
bam,
he woulda gotten his payoff. Instead, he was belly down on this Godforsaken bank of a bayou, up to his ass in bugs and mosquitoes and probably snakes. At least there was so much muddy crap growing out here, he coulda had a party and no one woulda seen ’im.
“Ah, but you missed,” Otto, his Italian partner said, low and annoyed. “Like the other sniper. You try again, no?”
The fucking other sniper, whoever the hell he was, couldn’t hit a drunk in a bar. Fired too wild. Stupid amateurs. John checked his sights again. “Too many people. I told you we shoulda taken her out from the beginning.”
“This is not what the buyer wanted,” Otto said, and it gave John a helluva lot of satisfaction that the man had been forced to crawl in the mud in his expensive clothes. Why in the hell would some asshole wear leather pants in the South in summer? “He only want,” Otto continued, “to say
go away
.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think she’s big on listening.”
John had tried to tell ’em that. But now he was going to make her wish she had.
----
From: JT
To: Simone
The bridge? Her car blew the bridge? And there’s a sniper again? How many people hate this woman?
----
----
From: Simone
To: JT
Apparently, a lot.
----
Relief flooded Bobbie Faye when she heard the motorcycle. She pushed up, her face just inches off the hot asphalt that burned her hands, small pebbles biting into her palms, and she looked down the length of the bridge where two men held guns on the cousins. Damn, she’d wanted to do that all morning. Trevor wove past the Hummer and then the hole and the debris, stopping between her and the direction the sniper bullet had come from—a bullet that was way too close for comfort. She was still shaking from it.
“Get up,” he barked at her. He was in character, Bobbie Faye realized, for Francesca’s benefit. She hoped. Because that look on his face? Scarier than the fact that the sniper was apparently still determined to finish her off. And strangely, a lot better shot than he had been at the store. Unless there were two snipers? Noooo . . . not even . . . damn! Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was some sort of sniper contest going on.
“Get on the bike,” he ordered. When she didn’t stand up immediately (Brain:
move now
. Legs:
fuck you
.), Trevor pulled out his SIG, pointed in her direction, as his expression hardened into murderous. “Get on the bike.
Now
.”
“Where are you taking her?” Francesca demanded, standing, her hands on her hips, her toe tapping in her stiletto as if he wasn’t frightening enough to make Satan feel insecure in his job description.
It surprised Bobbie Faye that Trevor paused to answer.
“I’ve got a message for you from your dad,” he told her at gunpoint as Francesca’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Stay out of it. She,” he angled his head back toward Bobbie Faye, “is working for him now.”
Of course she was
. Because having four psycho cousins, three crazy hijacking groups of morons, a sniper,
and
a sneaky FBI guy wasn’t quite enough insanity for one day.
Cam waited at the foot of the bridge, watching as the fire department prepared to douse the remains of Bobbie Faye’s car. Most of the car had blown up and forward, landing on a section of intact pavement; there was a gaping hole in the bridge behind where the car currently burned. Parts
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