Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Once I’m beside my bike, Canyon jumps off, and I shift back to human form. The military makes us wear these tight-fitting suit things that conform to our shift, and for once I'm grateful. It would suck to ride a bike buck-naked.
Hashtag shifter problems.
I will have to ride barefoot. My boots are toast. I shake out my hands. When I leaped from the bike, I landed in glass and some shards got caught in my paws. Shifting back to human form helped to push the glass pieces out of my skin. My feet and palms tingle, signaling that my shifter healing has kicked in.
I throw a leg over my bike and key in a complicated code to start it. No one can hotwire my bike; I have too many fail safes.
“Hop on,” I order. As soon as Canyon scrambles onto the back of the bike, I throttle it forward, away from the commotion.
A few cheetahs dive in our direction, but I weave around them. Deke makes fun of my crotch rocket, but for speed and maneuverability, nothing compares. I end up swerving past the warehouse, right as the three bookie shifters come out. The bird shifter blinks behind his huge glasses and twitches, producing a cloud of white feathers. His buddy clutches his gray hair.
The third one looks delighted. “Jay-sus,” he says in a thick Irish accent. “It’s anarchy.”
And it is. The parking lot is a mass of howling cat shifters and scorched pavement, ridden with flames.
I’ll have to text an apology to Jared and Trey.
“Hang on,” I bark to Canyon and rev the bike to leap a low concrete barrier and then another. We dodge a cluster of werepanthers sitting on the hoods of their pimped-out Honda Civics. They hiss but don’t make a move to follow us.
There’s only one road in and out of this commercial block. We catch up to Deke and the others as the van turns onto the main road.
“Whoohoo, home free,” Canyon whoops.
A roar blasts at our back. Canyon hunches against me.
“Oh no,” he says, his voice cracking midway through.
I risk a glance back.
Hannibal’s behind us on a bike of his own. His sunglasses are back on his face. His jeans are torn and stained at the knee, but there’s no other evidence that I shot him. The bullets might as well have been dual mosquito bites for all it stopped him.
He roars again, coming for us. He’s on a huge hog that looks modified somehow. For all its bulk, the bike’s wicked fast.
“Hold tight,” I say to Canyon, and he does. He’s ridden on the back of a bike before, thank fates. I zoom up to Deke in the van. “Hostile,” I shout. “Hostile six o’clock.”
“Ten-four,” Deke growls. He leadfoots the van onto the main road, but he won’t be fast enough to outrun Hannibal. I zoom back behind the van, guarding the rear.
“What do we do?” Canyon shouts.
We? “You were supposed to go with your brothers,” I snarl.
“You needed help.” Canyon’s arms tighten around me as we lean into a curve. “Never leave a man behind.”
“You're not in the military.” I glance behind us again. Hannibal is gaining.
“That's only because they won't let me join,” Canyon bawls into my ear.
Fair enough. “Where did you get the Molotov cocktails?”
“Some guy was making them. I took them off his hands.” Canyon twists and reports. “He’s catching up.”
We’re on a long stretch of road. No civilians. I could stop the bike and stand my ground, give Deke a chance to escape, but that’ll put Canyon in danger. I lost my gun when I shifted.
I’m out of ideas.
“What is that shifter?” Canyon asks.
“I don't know. He hid his scent with clove oil.”
“So that's why I couldn't smell him. My nose went numb.”
“Yeah.” My voice is growing hoarse with all the ridiculous shouting, but I want to continue the conversation. I want Canyon to understand. Not sure why I want to teach the kid, but I do. “He's hiding something,” I explain, leaning into another turn. Deke has to slow the van to make it, and we lose another few yards to Hannibal. “He doesn't want us to know what he is.”
“Fuck,” Canyon mutters softly.
Hannibal’s almost on us.
The van doors fly open. Hutch and Bern are there, bracing on either side of a rocket launcher.
I nod to them, but keep my bike between them and Hannibal, right in the enemy’s line of sight.
We go around another curve. Deke whips through it. Hannibal’s a few feet away, his noisy hog ripping the air. Once we’re on a straight stretch of road, Deke slows.
“Clear!” Bern shouts, and I zip Canyon and I out of their way. The rocket sizzles past us. There's a boom and the heat of an explosion hits the back of my neck.
Canyon laughs.
I pull alongside the van, holding steady.