Outriders Read Online Free Page A

Target and the security team. Slow breath. Vector stood.
    And as he was rising to his feet, he felt a hitch in his gut. Some warning instinct firing off that he’d learned long ago to trust. But he was in motion now, he couldn’t stop or slow or change direction. He’d have to figure it out on the fly. He paused and drained the last of his terrible coffee, buying himself a few moments to scan the environment. In that cursory sweep, he saw the Thug was standing now, a few paces closer to the thin security officer. Bad timing; Vector and the man had just happened to start moving at nearly the same moment. Any security worth half its rate would take that as a potential concern. And if either of the two men were preparing to leave, that was problematic. Security was always a little tighter, a little more aware in transitions. He would have preferred to act while the guards were settled, when they’d gotten comfortable in the space and thus, hopefully, complacent.
    There was still time to scrub the op. He could just walk out. Wait until another day. But no. The Woman’s timetable could absorb a few delays. She was too smart, too experienced to think anything would work out exactly according to her predictions. But she did have a timetable nonetheless. He needed to wrap this job, and get on to the next.
    Vector changed the plan on the move.
    “Kid, scratch that, scratch that. Take the shoot-through first.”
    “You sure?”
    “Roger, shoot-through, then spotter,” he said as he placed his empty cup on the table and started towards the exit guarded by the big guy. “On my action.”
    “Shoot-through, then spotter, copy. On you.”
    Vector kept his pace steady, casual. Just another morning. All part of the routine.
    Twelve feet from the big security guy by the door, Vector made eye contact with the man, gave him a nod then looked away. A brief acknowledgment; I see you, you see me, nothing to be concerned about.
    Six feet away, Vector glanced back over his shoulder as if he’d maybe forgotten something at his table, angled his body away from the security officer.
    “Kev,” he whispered, “Come on around.”
    “Copy, on the way.”
    Three feet. When Vector turned back, the gun was in his hand, the grip pressed tight against his ribs as an index. Held that way, he didn’t have to look at the gun to know where it was aimed. At least not at this range. He angled the pistol low. The big security guard’s face changed, hands flared up in reaction. Too late. The suppressed pistol coughed twice, sending rounds through the man’s pelvic girdle, folding him into Vector.
    “Help!” Vector cried, catching hold of the guard. The man struggled weakly, and Vector fired a third round point-blank into his solar plexus as he lowered him to the ground. “Help! This man needs help!”
    Vector crouched over the man, his pistol still held close to his body, swiveled on his heel and did his best to look helpless. The crowd sat frozen, unsure of what had happened, or what was happening. One man was caught halfway between sitting and standing as if he knew he should do something, without having any idea what that would be.
    “Gun! He’s got a gun!” another man shouted. Everyone looked, Vector included, and he saw the man pointing frantically at the thin security guard who was now moving towards the Thug. Vector fought back the urge to bring his own weapon up. Kid would handle it. After three steps, a puff of concrete burped off the exterior wall, and the security guard fell headlong into a table.
    That’s when the screaming started. The panic. The remaining patrons scrambled and clambered over one another in every direction, some towards the exits, others just away. To them, everything was happening too fast for comprehension, some lightning strike of utterly random and unpredictable violence, taking the lives of anyone who happened to be in its path. Only someone familiar with Vector’s line of work would have noticed the