Seven Deadly Sons Read Online Free
Author: C. E. Martin
Sierra asked, looking at Jimmy.
"Like things you don't even want to know about," Jimmy said, standing. Alvarro and Harris flinched.
"Relax," Josie said. "Jimmy is in control now. He won't turn again."
"Turn? Like into a werewolf? He's an actual werewolf? Doesn't he need a full moon for that or something?"
"I've picked up a few tricks recently," Jimmy said. "But yeah—I'm a werewolf."
"And you work for..." Alvarro asked.
"Joint Interior-Defense Task Force," Pam Keegan said, walking in and closing the door behind her. She turned to Josie as she slipped on her own pair of tactical glasses. "Support will be here in a few to clean up."
"Clean up?" Alvarro asked, swallowing. He didn't like the sound of that.
"Kane. Keys," Keegan said, extending her hand.
Jimmy dug in the pocket of his torn pants and dug out a key ring then pitched it to Keegan.
"Where are you going?" Josie asked.
"Grampa needs some help," Keegan said, then walked back outside.
"Who's grampa?" Deb Harris asked.
***
Whoever the brunette was, she could drive. Her little convertible was a nimble car and in the hands of an expert driver was able to maneuver even better than a person on foot. Even a person able to run as fast as a car.
In a straightaway, Kenslir had no doubt the car could eventually outrun him—but not before he could leap and grab it. The mystery woman knew this too, and was weaving from side to side, around slower-moving traffic and taking last-second, ninety-degree turns down side streets.
Even with his superhuman pace and his ability to leap over the slower moving traffic, Kenslir just couldn't catch the car—he could barely keep up. It was getting really annoying. And every second, he was making more and more of a spectacle of himself as stunned passerby watched him sprint past faster than he should be able to. Most would just assume it was unusual, shrug and walk on. But inevitably, someone was going to video record the whole thing.
A screech of tires behind him caught the Colonel's attention. He glanced back over his shoulder and was surprised to see Pam Keegan racing up in the white panel van he and the others had driven to the crime scene in. Keegan was weaving in and out of traffic herself, blue and red lights flashing. And the side door was slid open.
Kenslir leapt into the van as Keegan passed him.
"Good timing," he said, grabbing onto a seatback to steady himself.
"You know me—always picking up strange men!"
Despite the fact that the van was larger and less nimble than the small convertible, Keegan was managing to keep up. Kenslir was impressed, even if the van was heavily modified for detachment use and had far more under the hood than it had when it rolled off the factory assembly line.
"We've got to end this, before someone gets hurt," Kenslir said. "Command, can we get a chopper up?"
"Look!" Keegan shouted.
The little convertible was running out of downtown now. The driver swerved onto an onramp and sent the car racing onto the freeway. She might be able to lose them now—what the car lacked in horsepower it made up for with its small size. It would be able to weave through traffic and leave the van behind.
"Pull me alongside!" Kenslir shouted.
Keegan nodded and gunned the engine. The van surged ahead, closing the distance then finally drawing alongside the tiny car.
The Colonel leapt from the van without any hesitation, landing heavily across the rear trunklid. He grabbed at the folded top, lowered in an accordion-like bundle. But the driver was quicker.
The tiny car's tires locked up, the driver standing on the brake pedal and jerking at the parking brake. Rubber screeched as the car slid to a stop, decelerating so suddenly that Kenslir was thrown forward, still clinging to the convertible rooftop. It tore free in his grasp, fluttering along after him.
But even as the Colonel landed roughly on the pavement ahead of the convertible, the tiny car was struck by another car that couldn't stop as
"Like things you don't even want to know about," Jimmy said, standing. Alvarro and Harris flinched.
"Relax," Josie said. "Jimmy is in control now. He won't turn again."
"Turn? Like into a werewolf? He's an actual werewolf? Doesn't he need a full moon for that or something?"
"I've picked up a few tricks recently," Jimmy said. "But yeah—I'm a werewolf."
"And you work for..." Alvarro asked.
"Joint Interior-Defense Task Force," Pam Keegan said, walking in and closing the door behind her. She turned to Josie as she slipped on her own pair of tactical glasses. "Support will be here in a few to clean up."
"Clean up?" Alvarro asked, swallowing. He didn't like the sound of that.
"Kane. Keys," Keegan said, extending her hand.
Jimmy dug in the pocket of his torn pants and dug out a key ring then pitched it to Keegan.
"Where are you going?" Josie asked.
"Grampa needs some help," Keegan said, then walked back outside.
"Who's grampa?" Deb Harris asked.
***
Whoever the brunette was, she could drive. Her little convertible was a nimble car and in the hands of an expert driver was able to maneuver even better than a person on foot. Even a person able to run as fast as a car.
In a straightaway, Kenslir had no doubt the car could eventually outrun him—but not before he could leap and grab it. The mystery woman knew this too, and was weaving from side to side, around slower-moving traffic and taking last-second, ninety-degree turns down side streets.
Even with his superhuman pace and his ability to leap over the slower moving traffic, Kenslir just couldn't catch the car—he could barely keep up. It was getting really annoying. And every second, he was making more and more of a spectacle of himself as stunned passerby watched him sprint past faster than he should be able to. Most would just assume it was unusual, shrug and walk on. But inevitably, someone was going to video record the whole thing.
A screech of tires behind him caught the Colonel's attention. He glanced back over his shoulder and was surprised to see Pam Keegan racing up in the white panel van he and the others had driven to the crime scene in. Keegan was weaving in and out of traffic herself, blue and red lights flashing. And the side door was slid open.
Kenslir leapt into the van as Keegan passed him.
"Good timing," he said, grabbing onto a seatback to steady himself.
"You know me—always picking up strange men!"
Despite the fact that the van was larger and less nimble than the small convertible, Keegan was managing to keep up. Kenslir was impressed, even if the van was heavily modified for detachment use and had far more under the hood than it had when it rolled off the factory assembly line.
"We've got to end this, before someone gets hurt," Kenslir said. "Command, can we get a chopper up?"
"Look!" Keegan shouted.
The little convertible was running out of downtown now. The driver swerved onto an onramp and sent the car racing onto the freeway. She might be able to lose them now—what the car lacked in horsepower it made up for with its small size. It would be able to weave through traffic and leave the van behind.
"Pull me alongside!" Kenslir shouted.
Keegan nodded and gunned the engine. The van surged ahead, closing the distance then finally drawing alongside the tiny car.
The Colonel leapt from the van without any hesitation, landing heavily across the rear trunklid. He grabbed at the folded top, lowered in an accordion-like bundle. But the driver was quicker.
The tiny car's tires locked up, the driver standing on the brake pedal and jerking at the parking brake. Rubber screeched as the car slid to a stop, decelerating so suddenly that Kenslir was thrown forward, still clinging to the convertible rooftop. It tore free in his grasp, fluttering along after him.
But even as the Colonel landed roughly on the pavement ahead of the convertible, the tiny car was struck by another car that couldn't stop as
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