Eye of the Hurricane (The Girl in the Box Book 49) by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2022-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“HELL YES!” Alannah shouted, bashing the guy with the eyebeams in the face with jawbreaking force. I know this because I could hear the jaw break as she punched him hard. His eyebeams arced into the ceiling, smashing through corrugated metal and sending a shudder through the warehouse that I felt in my bones.

“Make way!” Scott shouted, launching past me with a shield of water before him. It was some six inches in depth, and a green laser hit it and smoked a path through, sending hot mist sizzling past my face. He waved his hand and sent a blast of water sideways into a Hercules in a T-shirt, wrapping him up around his huge arms and legs and propelling him into a wall twenty yards to our left. Once more, the warehouse shook.

“Shit,” I said and flung a blast of light webs to my right, where three workers were girding themselves. One had hair that was snaking around (Medusa), another had a blue glow gathering at his hands (plasma), and the last–

Well, I don't know what the last was up to. But I pasted his ass to the floor with the other two viciously hard, and I heard their noggins crack solidly against the concrete. Their lights went out, hair returned to normal, and the glow faded.

“Establish a beachhead!” my grandmother shouted, sliding to the side on her knees. She made it behind a stack of drugs and then pulled a pistol and started laying down covering fire, shots echoing like thunder bolts landing inches from me.

“I'm all about the beach,” Scott said, widening his water shield and pushing it forward. The rich atmosphere of Houston and its current near-one hundred percent humidity offered fertile opportunities for a Poseidon, and Scott was happily exploiting them all. He charged, letting the water shield him like a battering ram. He caught three of the workers in its depths and kept walking them forward, trapped in its depths, struggling for breath, arms flailing.

“Who you callin' a bitch?” Alannah shouted, delivering another murderous punch to a cartel lackey who had blue energy lashes crackling from both wrists. She knocked him into a two-story shelf, which promptly collapsed, sending workers scrambling and drugs on pallets crashing to the ground with a hellacious clamor.

“Leash yourself, girl!” Brenda Greene charged into the breach, trying to catch her daughter, who seemed to be a tornado of violence. Alannah was attacking some poor bastard with green, glowing hands, grabbing him by the neck and ramming him into the concrete floor. Blood sprayed, and I didn't care much for his chances as she drove a boot into the back of his neck without the slightest inclination toward mercy.

A blazing blue, electric lash came toward me out of the corner of my eye, and then was sparked away by a crackling of electricity to my side. “I got your back,” Jamal said, lightning flashing from his fingertips. With a punch to the face followed by an elbow to the back of the head, he dropped the guy, sparks dying with one last effusive burst like a fountain.

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