Challa Read Online Free Page A

of Gerald McCarthy, a.k.a. Iron Man Mac. The Strongest Man in the World, who also incidentally won a bronze medal in weightlifting at the summer Olympics in China.
    Challa grinned. Nobody crossed Charlie. Nobody.
    The noise swelled. She heard the telltale swoosh of the curtain parting. Following that, the two overhead spotlights came on, illuminating the interior of her cage. She could feel their heat on her back.
    The illusion was very realistic. A captured alien being held behind bars of steel. It made for great drama when it came time for her to make her move.
    “Ladies and gentlemen! Lawson Hall’s World Famous Carnival and Sideshow proudly presents…Challa, the alien girl!” Lawson announced her himself. It was the only job he let no one else take over. The man could be on his deathbed, and he’d find a way to crawl out of it to do the show.
    “Take a look, everyone, but please keep your distance. She’s dangerous.”
    “She’s fake!” someone yelled, and the crowd laughed in response.
    Lawson continued, unaffected by the catcalls. They were expected. “You’re welcome to your own opinion, sir, but we here know better. Just as we know better than to get her riled.”
    That was her first cue. Slowly, Challa began to unfurl herself, slowly stretching as if awakening from sleep.
    “Hey, how much of that camouflage paint does she go through in a week?” another voice chided.
    Challa answered the man’s question by lifting her face and staring directly in the direction where it had emanated. Several people gasped. A few stepped back. Their terror began to cloud the air with the scent of something burning.
    The music began. Another cue. Slowly, she rose to her feet, keeping her hands behind her back. When she was certain everyone’s eyes were on her face, Challa opened her mouth and hissed.
    Several people screamed. A few men initially jumped, then chuckled to cover their embarrassment. It was all part of the show she’d performed for the past twenty-three months.
    Her eyes searched the sea of faces turned up at her. She needed to find one patsy to focus her attention on. Make the crowd believe she had taken a personal interest on him. Have them believe she would love to rend him to shreds if she ever got out of this cage.
    In the back of her mind, she took notice of the age groups represented. It was the normal young adults, the high school kids and college bound. The closer Lawson parked near a small branch campus, the more they’d see of them. Tonight looked like that kind of crowd. There was a smattering of older couples. And a few sets of daring parents with school-age children. Challa kept searching; time was getting tight. Her whole performance never lasted over twenty minutes, and already she could sense she was starting to stretch it.
    “She may be slight in stature, folks, but she’s a mean one,” Lawson announced. He turned to give her a warning look, reminding her to keep to the timeline.
    She hissed again, keeping her face tilted toward one of the spotlights so her teeth gleamed. Taking a menacing step toward the bars, she ignored the taunts that were coming again. Fortunately, no one had thought of hurling anything at her other than words.
    There. That one.
    Her eyes caught sight of a young man wearing a football jersey. He was bulked up, and looked like someone who considered himself both a top jock and prime ladies’ man. He also wore a smirk of conceit that always rankled her whenever she saw one.
    Without warning, Challa threw herself at the bars, hitting them more with her claws than with her body. Lifting her hands to show her formidable talons, she gave a scream and drew the sharp tips down the metal bars until they screeched like nails on a blackboard. More people jumped, several more screamed. The taunts suddenly stopped, as she knew they would. Before the crowd could recover, she lifted her arms and opened her wing flaps. All the while, she never took her angry gaze off the smirking