THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) Read Online Free PDF

bones in my pecs and everything. I am really not joking here, Nicki Redstone.” Brick rubbed his chest in painful anticipation, a sour expression on his noble face. He could have been a standup comic. I’m sure that he made wonderful use of his talent as a prep-school teacher.
    By this time the Clayton’s were once again moving about, reassembling their little convoy, cheeks wet with natural tears following the experience, and the air filled with flowing words of appreciation for their deliverance. They had obviously been through many trials over the last two years, but somehow they had avoided any similar near death experience like the one that they had just survived.
    With my hands resting lightly on two of my vest pistols, I studied Brick’s prisoner, up and down; I could sense Brick watching me as I did so. The creep was easy to read, and easier to dislike. The man looked like a drug gang member, an obvious message of intimidation he wished to deliver. I did not fear his kind, and I was not impressed - muscular definition; mid-twenties; two expensive watches, big diamond studded rings and necklaces; shirtless; a nice leather vest. Expensive and nearly useless shoes. As if any of that mattered. I was a little surprised to see him squirm slightly under my gaze; I rather expected venom and spit. I had no sympathy whatsoever for this creature.
    “He was riding some kind of quiet motorbike.” Brick noted.
    “Yeah, I saw the same thing. The other driver is dead.” The prisoner looked down upon me with unrestrained malevolence, and then something else - arrogance. The Clayton girls cast angry eyes upon the man.
    “He’s one of them, isn’t he,” I said softly.
    “He tried to force us,” Molly’s gentle voice breathed angrily.
    “Hmmm...well, Brick and I are going to take care of that little rat’s nest, I promise you.”
    Once again, we bade farewell to the Clayton clan, and they moved on quickly to their next planned stop. As they departed, I could hear them discussingweapons, training and ammunition, and where more of each could be acquired.
    Our unhappy guest was not inclined to speak much, and we were not keen on his company, so Brick, Ben and I took off after reacquiring our bikes. I cannot deny that it was an interesting diversion noting the effort the man made to keep up with us after initially defying our instructions.
    Our foot bound prisoner slowed us to moderately paced travel. The next day, we paused for map and terrain study, and a bite to eat. “We’ll make Grayrock in a couple of hours.” Brick noted. With those words our sleazy prisoner took off running in the town’s direction, puffing and sweating, with his hands still locked behind him.
    Brick, Ben and I watched in amusement as the escapee became small in the distance. The man was of no special value to us, and we were not particularly concerned about any alarm that he would raise with his comrades. They were surely already on the lookout, and it might even help to have them become apprehensive about our arrival, given the complete failure of their assault on the Claytons.
    “Maybe he will make it,” Brick mused. I knew what he meant. Unarmed and tied as he was, the man would make an easy target for any predator, especially a runner. Not our concern now.
    Grayrock was an uninteresting, small town. Theaforementioned “mall” was nothing more than a tiny conglomeration of craft stores, antique shops and art galleries surrounding a little food court. No doubt cute in another time. The main street had only one traffic light, darkened long ago.
    Of course we did not make our approach obvious, instead finding our way quietly to the rooftop of a building with the only commanding view of the area. It seemed reasonable to suppose that any opposition would surely be observing us from that vantage point, but we were disappointed and puzzled to find our pathway completely unchallenged.
    I sent Ben to make a quick survey of the small, flat area.