The Jerusalem Creed: A Sean Wyatt Thriller Read Online Free

in four numbers and hit enter.
    He snatched a set of keys from a board containing more than twenty key chains, all with different keys attached. He grabbed a helmet from a workbench and strapped it on as he hurried over to his Triumph T1oo special edition cafe racer. He had faster bikes, but top-end speed wasn’t what he was looking for. The current situation required a little more maneuverability and agility on the tight streets of North Atlanta.
    Sean hopped on the bike and slid the key into the oddly placed ignition near the front forks. He turned the switch and hit the button that started up the throaty motor. His right hand twisted the throttle as he released the clutch, and the bike lurched forward, shooting out of the garage. He wound his way down the path in the back that led to the secret entrance to his property. In a side mirror, he saw the flames lashing out of his first- and second-story windows. The dark smoke looked paler against the hazy black backdrop of the sky.
    He reached the rear gate and hit the remote he’d affixed to the handlebars of all his bikes. The gate slowly rolled open, allowing him to keep rolling through it and out onto the street beyond. He stopped by the sidewalk as the gate automatically closed. Tall shrubs and hedges rolled on a track with the gate, effectively concealing it as an entryway and giving it the appearance of just another piece of the fence surrounding the property.
    Sean gazed up at the top of the hill. His home continued to billow smoke into the air. The familiar sound of sirens blared in the distance. His alarm would have gone off, alerting the local authorities of the blaze. By the time they arrived, there would be nothing left. Truthfully, he didn’t keep many sentimental things in his home except for his motorcycles. A small piece of him said a silent prayer that the bikes would be okay. But he didn’t linger on that thought.
    His mind shifted to the aching bump on the back of his head. Someone had drugged him. The memory started coming back to him. There’d been a knock at the door, which was strange because he hadn’t rung anyone through the main gate. When he looked through the window to see who was there, secretly hoping Adriana had surprised him with a visit, someone had wrapped their arms around him from behind and shoved a rag into his face.
    Chloroform was old school. It was rare to even see the stuff anymore, but sometimes the best techniques were the old ones. In the struggle, something or someone had hit him in the back of the head. He remembered trying to fight off the faceless arms and hands when everything suddenly went black.
    He wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed as if he’d heard voices speaking Arabic. Or was it Farsi?
    Sean winced as the pulsing pain continued through his skull.
    Arabic? Why would they be speaking Arabic?
    He processed the question and twisted the throttle again. Images of what had transpired in his house flooded Sean’s mind. His brain recalled one particular image from his fight against the unseen foe. On the inside of the attacker’s wrist was a tattoo, a triangle with a dot in the center. He’d never seen one like it before. If he ever saw it again, his plan was to make sure the person the wrist was attached to didn’t survive the second encounter.
    He steered the motorcycle around a row of cars and at the next stoplight made a left, driving away from his burning home. There was nothing he could do; it would be destroyed. Sean wasn’t concerned about that. He was more worried about what the men who’d come after him were going to do next. The bike cut around the protruding manhole covers and sped down the road toward Virginia Highlands.
    There could be only one explanation for the sudden attempt on his life. Someone knew about the project he and Tommy were about to undertake. And if whoever they were, were willing to kill him, there was no doubt in Sean’s mind that they would go after Tommy next. He hammered down