Rogue clone Read Online Free

by his collar with my left hand and clipped the first of his bodyguards with my right. The goon was just getting to his feet, giving me a warning glare, and reaching for his gun when the heel of my palm struck the corner of his jaw. He gasped and fell to the ground. I instinctively knew that his jawbone had broken.
    The second goon stepped in my way. I brought the edge of my foot down on the instep of his leg, pressing hard against his knee. The man’s kneecap snapped like a dried branch. He made a faint whimpering noise as he fell to the ground and wrapped his arms around the knee, cradling it against his stomach.
    “Harris, you speck! What the hell do you think you are doing?” Callahan shouted. Muscles or no muscles, the man followed without a fight. I tugged and he came running.
    “Real tough boys you’ve got there, Callahan,” I said to myself in a whisper. Behind me, the first explosions showered the street with fire, glass, and smoke. Pausing for less than a second, I caught a glimpse of flames bursting out of a distant storefront.
    “What the sp . . . ?” Callahan asked as I pushed him forward through the door that lead from the outdoor terrace into the restaurant.
    “Hey,” someone yelled from a nearby table. I did not notice if it was a man or a woman.
    “Move it, asshole,” I said to Callahan, as I continued shoving him.
    Behind us, the next set of explosions tore into the street. They sounded closer and more powerful. This was the trap. The first bombs, at the far end of the curving boulevard, sealed us in so that no one could escape. The only thing we could do was sit and watch as the explosions moved toward us. Only I didn’t plan on cooperating.
    The noise and percussion from the next set of bombs shook the restaurant. People jumped from their seats but the panic had not yet sunk in.
    By this time, I had made my way through most of the restaurant, with Callahan stumbling ahead of me. The shock wave from this blast knocked glasses and silverware from the tables. The doors to a wine cabinet flew open. Bottles of fine wine crashed to the floor and bounced like bowling pins. Rubble from glass and china crunched under my shoes.
    The sounds of panic started to waft across the restaurant. A woman shrieked. Someone yelled something about calling the police. Most of the people headed to the terrace for a closer look at the action. The explosions happened in ten-second intervals. Even with smoke and dust filling the air and the explosions getting close, people still crowded the terrace so they could watch. I stole one last glimpse of them. Then, with my back hunched and my right arm bent around the top of my head to shield my eyes, I shoved the stupefied Jimmy Callahan through the swinging doors and into the kitchen. The big room was empty. Steam and froth boiled out of five-gallon pots along the stove.
    “What’s . . . What are you doing?” Callahan screamed.
    The final explosion erupted from somewhere back in the restaurant. The sound was booming and short, a brilliant clap of thunder that rattles the world then leaves a vacuum in its wake. The entire building seemed to leap from its foundation and slide backward. A large metal table in the center of the kitchen flew in the air and landed upside down. Five-gallon pots flew from the stove, splashing scalding soups and water across the floor.
    The force of the blast sent me sprawling. I did not know if I was flipped into the air or if the floor dropped out from under me. Callahan landed face first beside me. “God almighty,” he screamed as he sat up like a baby waking from a nap. Blood gushed from his forehead and nose. “My boys!” he half moaned. “Tommy! Eddie!”
    I stood up and pulled him to his feet. I could see in his eyes that no one was home. I saw panic, not thought. The mark of my kind was that chaos gave our thoughts a warm kind of clarity and it irritated me to see Callahan so out of it. I spun him around and launched him face first