Dawn (Dangerous Web #3) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,1

one last look at Gordon Maples. As grotesque as it sounded, the sight of him gave me my first glimmer of light. I would make this world safe again for Lorna. Killing this disgusting creature was only the first step.

Together Mason and I turned and walked toward the front door.

I’ll bulldoze every last splinter.

The hinges creaked as Mason opened the front door inward and we stepped onto the porch. Scanning the scene, I saw our SUV across the street and one of our Sparrows nearby on the sidewalk.

It was as we proceeded toward the stairs to the walkway that the bang of a screen door hitting a house across the street caught my attention. I barely had time to register the chain of events that followed.

The first to step from the house across the street was Zella. She wasn’t at the bank as she’d been told, but on that porch, her baby still on her hip. Next, a tall man came into view, exiting the house behind her.

Slow motion as in the movies was a cinematic illusion. In reality, the clock didn’t slow, it accelerated. There wasn’t time to register details. Things I’d been trained to recall such as the man’s characteristics or identity were merely a blur.

“Watch out...” I began to shout as the man behind Zella lifted a long shotgun and pointed it in our direction. With my reflexes on high alert and without conscious thought, my hand moved, reaching for my gun, freeing it from the holster.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason crouched behind the porch’s railing with his pistol already aimed. Our backup Sparrows flew into action. One on the street ducked behind a car and pointed his gun toward the man. Another stepped from the side of the porch, his firearm aimed.

Don’t hit the baby.

That was one of my many thoughts as shots rang from different directions. The air filled with pops and bangs—multiple explosions—as if a pack of firecrackers left behind from an Independence Day celebration had been ignited.

And then...

It wasn’t the impact of the bullet that I felt as much as it was the way its thrust propelled my body backward toward the open doorway. I reached for the doorframe. Crimson from my palm painted the jamb as my grip loosened, sliding down toward the floor as my knees gave way. Collapsing in the threshold of the home that had caused Lorna too much pain, my light disappeared.

“Reid.” Mason’s voice came and went.

Dark claimed another victory.

Gordon Maples

Over a year ago

Englewood, a Chicago neighborhood

Talking heads jabbered on and on from the television in the rear living room, competing with the television in the front room. The newscasters were arguing about everything, each one louder and more determined. Taxes were going down or was it up? The Bears were headed for another loss or maybe a victory. An ex-senator will have his appeal heard. There was another body found in the dockyard. And everyone had to weigh in on the newest scandal that would be forgotten tomorrow.

Snuffing out my cigarette on my plate, I swirled the butt in the runny scrambled eggs. “I can’t eat this shit.” I shoved the plate to the floor, the cheap glass bouncing on the linoleum as the eggs slid and landed in a clump.

“Zella,” I screamed to my oldest daughter above the television’s volume. “Get me some more coffee.”

The creaking of a hinge drew my attention to the far corner of the kitchen—the basement door was slightly ajar. It wasn’t much of a basement. Other than the old washing machine and dryer, the basement was mostly used for storing shit. That’s all the attic was used for these days too.

Speaking of old shit.

The door creaked again, opening a little more. “Gordy?”

The basement was also where we kept her.

I let out an exaggerated breath. “Did I give you permission to come up?”

“I-I’m not up yet, not all the way. I heard you yelling for Zella. She’s not feeling well with the baby. I can get you coffee.”

Since I knew this waif of a woman had no maternal instincts, she obviously wanted something. I turned to the newspaper spread out on the table. She didn’t ask again; instead, she waited for my permission just like the little bitch she was trained to be.

There had been a time when she’d looked good, with full bouncy tits, a tight ass, and painted lips perfect for sucking. She was a hot commodity—literally. That was years ago. There wasn’t much left