Read Online A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador - Free Book Online
Authors: Minnette Meador
Tags: Romance
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whoosh and the whirlwinds came to an abrupt halt, sending everything crashing to the floor.
When he heard Reggie’s voice in his ear, his heart stopped. He shot a glance at his transparent friend floating next to the open door. “Run, you idiot. Do you want to die?”
The succubus shrank away from them, and Keenan, ping ponging looks from one to the other, took the opportunity to bite his lip before taking Reggie’s advice. Stumbling past the shadow, he jumped for the front door and darted outside. Without closing it or even looking back, he leapt down the steps and headed for the sidewalk.
When he rushed by Smith’s house, he thought he saw the mousy man staring out the large front window, his mouth open, talking on his cell phone.
Keenan headed down Thirty-Second Street, turned left onto Hawthorn, and ran like an antelope with a lion biting its tail.
When he hit the crowd outside Taps at full speed, he came to a crashing halt and sailed to the ground, taking down two brawny beer drinkers, their respective girlfriends, and an innocent table that was sitting there minding its own business. Four obviously full pints of stout flew through the air and the contents rained down on the struggling quintet in a dark brown shower, soaking all of them. Two of the empty pints hit Keenan squarely on the back of the head, one after the other.
The tangled pile of human beings and beer began to disentangle itself, but Keenan’s head was spinning wildly. So wildly, in fact, that he didn’t feel himself roughly yanked to his feet then off of them, or see the swollen fist appear out of thin air until it was too late. All he heard was a distant son of a bitch and the sound of meaty flesh striking cheekbone.
The sparklers that gleamed in front of his eyes reminded him of the Fourth of July on the coast. He found himself down on the ground again.
“…you stupid prick!” The words soaked into his stupor and he squinted up to see six-foot-six of angry male mountain, a pleading red head attached to the man’s arm.
Not that it would have stopped another blow, but Keenan forced his hands into the submissive position and tried to find his voice. “Oh, man…” he said to the mountain. “I’m really sorry. Are you all right?”
That seemed to do the trick. The man stopped and dislodged the girl from his arm. “What the fuck?”
“I didn’t see you,” Keenan said. “I was running from…” He feebly motioned down the street and the guy leaned against one leg, folding his arms.
“What?” he said.
“Some guys hijacked my car about five minutes ago.” It was feasible. There had been a rash of car thefts in the neighborhood. The mountain’s face softened. He looked concerned then greedy. Keenan took the opportunity to struggle to his feet. His spinning head was talking to his stomach, and not in a kind way.
“Really? Where?” The words were a little too anxious.
At a guess, the man and his buddy had probably been drinking since eight, so Keenan did the math: a pint of beer, say, every half hour for four hours…eight beers. Yah, pretty drunk. It looked like they were both pitching for a fight. Keenan gladly diverted their ambitions away from himself.
“Down on Twenty-Ninth, just south of Hawthorn. I was at a stop sign and the sons of bitches broke my window and pulled me out of the car. I was trying to find a phone. It sounded like they couldn’t get the car started again. There’s a trick to it. They may still be there.”
The other man stood shoulder to shoulder with his buddy and rubbed his knuckles. “You girls stay here. We’ll be right back.”
A dark shadow appeared behind them and Keenan took a step back.
The two men took off down the street, and Keenan ran the other way, the protests of the two women mingling with the wind in his ears.
Taking a risk, he ran across Thirty-Fourth Street. When he looked to his left, he saw a car bearing down on him. It just missed him, honked its horn, and sped on past
When he heard Reggie’s voice in his ear, his heart stopped. He shot a glance at his transparent friend floating next to the open door. “Run, you idiot. Do you want to die?”
The succubus shrank away from them, and Keenan, ping ponging looks from one to the other, took the opportunity to bite his lip before taking Reggie’s advice. Stumbling past the shadow, he jumped for the front door and darted outside. Without closing it or even looking back, he leapt down the steps and headed for the sidewalk.
When he rushed by Smith’s house, he thought he saw the mousy man staring out the large front window, his mouth open, talking on his cell phone.
Keenan headed down Thirty-Second Street, turned left onto Hawthorn, and ran like an antelope with a lion biting its tail.
When he hit the crowd outside Taps at full speed, he came to a crashing halt and sailed to the ground, taking down two brawny beer drinkers, their respective girlfriends, and an innocent table that was sitting there minding its own business. Four obviously full pints of stout flew through the air and the contents rained down on the struggling quintet in a dark brown shower, soaking all of them. Two of the empty pints hit Keenan squarely on the back of the head, one after the other.
The tangled pile of human beings and beer began to disentangle itself, but Keenan’s head was spinning wildly. So wildly, in fact, that he didn’t feel himself roughly yanked to his feet then off of them, or see the swollen fist appear out of thin air until it was too late. All he heard was a distant son of a bitch and the sound of meaty flesh striking cheekbone.
The sparklers that gleamed in front of his eyes reminded him of the Fourth of July on the coast. He found himself down on the ground again.
“…you stupid prick!” The words soaked into his stupor and he squinted up to see six-foot-six of angry male mountain, a pleading red head attached to the man’s arm.
Not that it would have stopped another blow, but Keenan forced his hands into the submissive position and tried to find his voice. “Oh, man…” he said to the mountain. “I’m really sorry. Are you all right?”
That seemed to do the trick. The man stopped and dislodged the girl from his arm. “What the fuck?”
“I didn’t see you,” Keenan said. “I was running from…” He feebly motioned down the street and the guy leaned against one leg, folding his arms.
“What?” he said.
“Some guys hijacked my car about five minutes ago.” It was feasible. There had been a rash of car thefts in the neighborhood. The mountain’s face softened. He looked concerned then greedy. Keenan took the opportunity to struggle to his feet. His spinning head was talking to his stomach, and not in a kind way.
“Really? Where?” The words were a little too anxious.
At a guess, the man and his buddy had probably been drinking since eight, so Keenan did the math: a pint of beer, say, every half hour for four hours…eight beers. Yah, pretty drunk. It looked like they were both pitching for a fight. Keenan gladly diverted their ambitions away from himself.
“Down on Twenty-Ninth, just south of Hawthorn. I was at a stop sign and the sons of bitches broke my window and pulled me out of the car. I was trying to find a phone. It sounded like they couldn’t get the car started again. There’s a trick to it. They may still be there.”
The other man stood shoulder to shoulder with his buddy and rubbed his knuckles. “You girls stay here. We’ll be right back.”
A dark shadow appeared behind them and Keenan took a step back.
The two men took off down the street, and Keenan ran the other way, the protests of the two women mingling with the wind in his ears.
Taking a risk, he ran across Thirty-Fourth Street. When he looked to his left, he saw a car bearing down on him. It just missed him, honked its horn, and sped on past
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