Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
On the other hand, however, if the lessers had been called home to the master? Well, then wasn’t that the lottery win they hadn’t expected.
Of course, L.W., who had the impulse control of a handgun with no safety, just wanted to reach out and touch the targets. But this was the agreement the three of them had made: No hotdog bullshit. Logic over emotion, always—and they always stayed together.
And so they ran. Quietly.
As the rows of shitty walk-ups changed to better housing, and then stores, businesses, and restaurants, he had no fucking clue where they were headed. Until he caught an inkling. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when he realized where they might be going—except his brain just refused to work the coordinates because, really, what were the chances.
And then, as the lessers made the turn off Market, went down another couple of blocks, and linked up onto Lincoln…
Their targets passed right in front of the apartment building they’d all fought behind just the other night.
That was when he started to get worried.
A quick look at Rhamp’s face, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. L.W. didn’t seem to care either way—at least until the slayer rounded the corner to the rear of the address and entered the parking area that was still marked with CPD evidence tags and yellow tape. Then even he seemed to catch on.
They pulled up short behind a pickup truck.
At that precise moment, up on the fourth floor, a set of drapes opened and a window sash lifted, without any visible hands moving things around. But the magician shit wasn’t what he was worried about.
“Oh, fucking hell,” he muttered as a figure stepped into view.
There was only one person in the world who had long blond hair like that—and then Lyric jumped back in alarm. As her arms raised over her head and shock distorted her face, he had a really bad fucking feeling about all this.
At that moment, Rhamp shot forward—
L.W. grabbed him and held him hard. “Let me go in—”
“She’s my fucking sister—”
“And that’s why I’m going in—”
The pair of them got right into it, aggressions misdirected. Meanwhile, Shuli stared upward and just froze in place. Every drive in him was screaming that he needed to get to Lyric, he needed to save her, and meanwhile, that pair of lessers they’d been tracking headed for the back door into the building—
Lyric screamed.
Instantly, the dam broke. L.W. up and dematerialized, and Rhamp—too distracted by emotion to be able to ghost out—leaped forward into a run and started shooting at the lessers up ahead. His suppressor killed most of the noise, but his aim was crap. As bullets pinged off all kinds of things, Shuli hauled his own ass and added some lead of his own.
He managed to drop one slayer, but the other hit that rear door with a key and a panic scramble.
Into the lowest level of the building it went.
As Rhamp rushed up on the downed lesser, the male had the presence of mind to palm one of his daggers, and do a dispatch on the move. Then even before the flash of light and burst of sound faded, the guy was at the back door—
Shuli yanked him away by jumping on him. “You don’t know what’s in there! We need to call for backup—”
“Lyric is in there,” the fighter spat. “You remember, the female you’re in love with. Get with the fucking program—”
Rhamp settled the argument by shooting the back lock and ripping open the steel panel. Left with no choice but to protect his buddy, Shuli jumped through the jambs and covered left, while Rhamp covered right.
The slayer who’d penetrated the entry was wounded, but still up on its feet: Little drops of foul-smelling black oil dotted the concrete floor, disappearing into the elevator.
Rhamp didn’t even blink. He wheeled around and took the open stairwell.
Shuli followed again.
In perfect coordination, they hit the steps two at a time, bolting around each landing as they hit ’em. And Shuli told himself this was going to be fine. They’d dealt with shit like this before.
Really—
Fuck.
When they got to the fourth floor, there was no question which way to go. He could scent a lesser, but there were no drops of blood on the carpet. Didn’t matter. Lyric was the point; they could get to the wounded slayer later. Clearly of the same mind, Rhamp took off running once again, and as he let out a whistle—
From out of nowhere, something stepped into their path.
A little old lady in an apron with a tray full of food.
Rhamp nearly mowed her over, and then, as a chaser, he pointed a gun at her head.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Shuli barked.
Just as L.W., for reasons that couldn’t be explained, came down the stairs from up above, even though he’d no doubt tried to dematerialize into the apartment itself.