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Authors: Elizabeth Lapthorne
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they reached the bike and she could catch her breath. The shotgun boomed again from behind them, laying down covering fire.
The street, she noticed, had become a war zone. The three men crouched behind various forms of cover and were shooting in return. Tank stood tall in the middle of the footpath outside his pub as the exits flooded with the evacuating patrons. The construction workers huddled in a tight knot, smoking and jeering a running commentary at everyone else as they ran for cover. When Tank managed to down one of their attackers, shooting his kneecap out, an almighty roar cheered through the crew and they acted as if their footy team had just scored the winning goal in the dying minutes of the second half.
Jack lifted her up on to the back of the bike and hurled himself in front of her, twisting the key in the ignition as he simultaneously fired the last few shots from his clip. The engine growled to life and Skye wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, clinging on with all her might.
A tall, shadowy figure caught her attention in the alley to the right. From the corner of her eye, in her peripheral vision, she saw a glimpse of midnight-black hair and a neatly clipped black beard.
Garth?
As soon as the thought entered her head, she dismissed it. The man couldn’t possibly be Garth. He would be at the Agency still, answering questions and filling out the usual mountain of paperwork.
And yet…
Jack kicked the stand away from the bike and revved the engine. Skye saw a long, slender cylinder pointing out from where the black-haired man had stood a second ago. The smell of gas filled the air. She heard a click as something ignited.
Her hands convulsively tightened around Jack, warning him instantly.
“Jack! No! Over there!” Skye shouted and pointed to where a staggering burst of flame blasted out of the small alley a dozen metres to their right. A long whoosh of fire leapt out and engulfed everything in its path.
“Tank!”
The warning was too little too late. For a moment, dead silence rang out across the street, then a deafening cheer rose as the construction crew gloried in the burning, crackling blaze. Tank fell back, not quite a retreat, but certainly a self-protecting move to the safety of the doorway of his pub.
The men scattered a good distance away, preferring to watch the flames lick upwards and grow as they consumed cars, trees and the timber walls of a nearby baby shop. Another click and the flamethrower once again expelled a hefty dose of fire, frying everything in its path.
Shrill sirens rang out all around them. Smoke began to waft across the footpath and on to the road. Windows burst as flames engulfed the cars parked on the side of the street. Tank slammed the door of the deserted pub closed. The onlookers dispersed to a safe distance.
“Hold on, Skye!” Jack shouted above the general roar of noise. The motorcycle engine revved once again and they squealed in a tight U-turn and left the scene in a big rush. Skye had to cling to her lover to keep herself from being thrown from the bike. Cold air rushed past them and anything she might have tried to say would only have got lost as they gathered speed and escaped yet another catastrophe.
Heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, Skye could only blink away the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Every time she thought she’d got a handle on the crazy reality her life appeared to currently be, something completely freakish occurred.
A flamethrower?
On the streets of London?
What the hell?
Jack drove like a man being chased by demons. Right now, that suited her mood perfectly.
* * * *
Miles later, they drew to a halt at a red light. Skye leant forward and spoke in Jack’s ear above the rumble of the engine.
“We need to go to my place,” she told him. Jack shook his head and cast a quick look at her, seeming to think she was joking. Skye stared at him soberly, her silence heavy between them.
“They’ve
The street, she noticed, had become a war zone. The three men crouched behind various forms of cover and were shooting in return. Tank stood tall in the middle of the footpath outside his pub as the exits flooded with the evacuating patrons. The construction workers huddled in a tight knot, smoking and jeering a running commentary at everyone else as they ran for cover. When Tank managed to down one of their attackers, shooting his kneecap out, an almighty roar cheered through the crew and they acted as if their footy team had just scored the winning goal in the dying minutes of the second half.
Jack lifted her up on to the back of the bike and hurled himself in front of her, twisting the key in the ignition as he simultaneously fired the last few shots from his clip. The engine growled to life and Skye wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, clinging on with all her might.
A tall, shadowy figure caught her attention in the alley to the right. From the corner of her eye, in her peripheral vision, she saw a glimpse of midnight-black hair and a neatly clipped black beard.
Garth?
As soon as the thought entered her head, she dismissed it. The man couldn’t possibly be Garth. He would be at the Agency still, answering questions and filling out the usual mountain of paperwork.
And yet…
Jack kicked the stand away from the bike and revved the engine. Skye saw a long, slender cylinder pointing out from where the black-haired man had stood a second ago. The smell of gas filled the air. She heard a click as something ignited.
Her hands convulsively tightened around Jack, warning him instantly.
“Jack! No! Over there!” Skye shouted and pointed to where a staggering burst of flame blasted out of the small alley a dozen metres to their right. A long whoosh of fire leapt out and engulfed everything in its path.
“Tank!”
The warning was too little too late. For a moment, dead silence rang out across the street, then a deafening cheer rose as the construction crew gloried in the burning, crackling blaze. Tank fell back, not quite a retreat, but certainly a self-protecting move to the safety of the doorway of his pub.
The men scattered a good distance away, preferring to watch the flames lick upwards and grow as they consumed cars, trees and the timber walls of a nearby baby shop. Another click and the flamethrower once again expelled a hefty dose of fire, frying everything in its path.
Shrill sirens rang out all around them. Smoke began to waft across the footpath and on to the road. Windows burst as flames engulfed the cars parked on the side of the street. Tank slammed the door of the deserted pub closed. The onlookers dispersed to a safe distance.
“Hold on, Skye!” Jack shouted above the general roar of noise. The motorcycle engine revved once again and they squealed in a tight U-turn and left the scene in a big rush. Skye had to cling to her lover to keep herself from being thrown from the bike. Cold air rushed past them and anything she might have tried to say would only have got lost as they gathered speed and escaped yet another catastrophe.
Heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, Skye could only blink away the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Every time she thought she’d got a handle on the crazy reality her life appeared to currently be, something completely freakish occurred.
A flamethrower?
On the streets of London?
What the hell?
Jack drove like a man being chased by demons. Right now, that suited her mood perfectly.
* * * *
Miles later, they drew to a halt at a red light. Skye leant forward and spoke in Jack’s ear above the rumble of the engine.
“We need to go to my place,” she told him. Jack shook his head and cast a quick look at her, seeming to think she was joking. Skye stared at him soberly, her silence heavy between them.
“They’ve
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