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Chapter 1
“Give us your money,” a voice demanded.
Myles froze in place. He stared at the ATM in disbelief. It was a little before seven in the morning, and he was about to get robbed while taking money out.
Who goes out to rob people this early?
“I don’t think you want to do this,” he murmured. A deep breath escaped him as he drew his hand back from the machine.
“But we do. How much did you take out?” another voice asked.
“A hundred.” Something hard pressed into Myles’s shoulder.
The barrel of a gun.
His muscles grew tense. He wasn’t sure about the men standing behind him, but Myles was highly trained in the deadliest of combat. With Myles having served his country, Uncle Sam ensured he was an elite soldier.
“That will be a start. Go ahead and put your card back in and take out the max, old man,” the first voice said with a sarcastic chuckle. “We’ll even let you live.”
He bit back a growl.
Fuck this.
They ran up on the wrong old man today.
He stood to his full height and turned around. He glared at the two young punks who dared pull a gun on him.
Really? This was who was attempting to rob him?
The one holding the weapon didn’t even have fuzz on his damn chin, and the other one had short brown hair standing up on end.
They both stepped back.
Myles took notice of their gazes dropping down to the badge hanging around his neck.
“You’ll let me live?” Myles growled. He took a step forward, using his size alone to intimidate them. He had about a good foot and almost seventy-five pounds on each of them. He was used to towering over people. With his size and build, most were afraid of him.
“Oh shit. A cop,” Spikey Hair exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.
“Now, if you want this one hundred dollars, you are going to have to take it from me.” Myles’s lips curved up into a crooked grin—he decided to have some fun with them. He held his hand in the air, showcasing the new bills.
He dared them.
Hell, if they could get the cash from his hands, he’d give it to them freely.
“Ummm…” The gunslinger’s hand shook with the weapon in it.
Doubt filled his face, and Myles almost felt bad for him. Almost.
“On second thought, I’ve changed my mind.”
Shit, they’re going to shoot someone, and it sure as hell won’t be me.
“Changed your mind?” Myles scoffed. Sliding the bills into his pocket, he walked forward. “Why don’t you give me this before you hurt someone.” He whipped his hand out, taking the gun before the robbers could blink while brandishing his own service-issue Glock. He aimed it at them, his hand steady. “Now, I’m feeling generous right now because I don’t want to be late for my meeting. I’m going to let you go and not have a few friends of mine come pick you up. Don’t let me catch you on these streets again.”
“Yes, sir,” they both echoed in unison with their hands raised, palms facing Myles.
“Robbing a police officer at gunpoint is a serious offense, boys,” Myles announced. Unlike them, he was very familiar with a gun. Most of his career in the Army had called for him be holed up in the most unforeseen areas for hours where it was nothing but him and a rifle.
