In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

consider glancing back to confirm what my ears are telling me—that there are two of them easing along behind me, cutting off my retreat. Giuseppe’s shop is closed, no doubt, even though the storefront is very open and the lights are on. The guy who was behind the counter earlier is missing as surely as good taste from a Nickelback listener. In his place are a couple of these mooks, standing in the aisle between the tables and the counter, blocking the path. The message is clear: move along.
    Getting into a ten-against-one fight in an alley in Rome is the kind of stupid that I pride myself on not being. I keep it casual, drifting along, pretending to ignore these guys. I can see their skepticism, every one of their studious eyeballs on me. They’re thinking about it, trying to figure out who I am.
    I try to make it easier on them. “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, putting casual emphasis on my English as I nod at one of the guys and keep moving. I like a good fight, but I’m not exactly a heavyweight like my sis. My mind is racing, and I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way I can help Giuseppe without getting myself killed. These guys look like they could be armed, and I’m very definitely not. I’m not the hugest fan of guns (also unlike my sis), but right now I’m wishing the Italians would have let me come into the country with a gun. Instead I’m pretty well down to a pen and my powers. It’s not nothing, but these guys have coats on that suggest they’re concealing.
    The lead one acknowledges me with a nod, and I can see him put at ease by speaking English. I’m a tourist, clearly, here in the off-season. I keep walking, threading through their little crowd like it’s no big deal, I’m just wandering through. They’re relaxed now, put off their guard by what they’ve seen of me.
    Then a heavy shout of something in Italian that I don’t understand cracks from somewhere in Giuseppe’s storefront, and I can feel the mood change in an instant. Burly Italian men at instant attention, ramrods driven down into their slouching spines, hands fumbling in their coats as they go for their weapons.
    Panic seizes me as I stand there, in the middle of a pack of enemies who are reaching for their guns, tight in a Roman alleyway, and oh shit, do I feel really damned far from the safety of home; just a lonely man in the middle of danger in a foreign land, without a friend to call my own.

8.
    I see guns emerge from coats like they’re drawing in slow motion, a John Woo-style vision of gunplay granted me by my meta abilities. It’s not that slow, though, and I don’t have a ton of time to respond, so I let my panic give me a little strength, and I twist as I thrust my arms out in both directions, forward and back.
    A gust of wind tears loose from each hand, creating a short-duration wind tunnel effect. I catch four guys in the sweep, and for a moment it’s a scene out of a Weather Channel wet-dream hurricane report; full-grown men are ripped from the ground and tossed in the air. I feel it down my arms, the power draining from me. It’s a quick exertion, a sudden, high-weight, low-rep workout for my abilities. I throw everything into it, send those guys tumbling, and I feel my head rush as I let off the power.
    I don’t even have time to assess what happens to those four, though, because I’ve got others whose weapons have nearly cleared their holster. A quick assessment tells me that I’m very lucky; only half of the six remaining actually have guns. Whoopee.
    I throw a hand behind me, pointing at a wall of the alley, and trigger a gust. It launches me forward, straight into two of my quickdraw opponents. I’m still panicking a little, the sheer weight of the numbers daunting me. I’m solo, after all, no one to watch my back, and this is not what I was expecting when I hopped the plane. I launch into the two gunmen with a shoulder check. They’re grouped tight enough that I bowl them over like ten