Read Online Night Terrors: Savage Species, Book 1 by Jonathan Janz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Janz
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land and how you feel about—”
“My favorite one of Shannon’s films was Mirror Images II . There’s a great girl-on-girl scene where this hardcore porn star sticks her tongue in Shannon’s ear and rubs her titties from behind.”
Jesse was just able to manage an offended expression when Emma turned to him.
Colleen, however, wasn’t hiding her amusement. “I remind you of anybody?”
The door opened a bit and Jesse beheld the tight white underwear, the gnomish belly hanging over the waistband. Red Elk’s skin was dark, his frame large and intimidating. Jesse put him at about six-three, two hundred and forty pounds.
“A soft-porn star?” Red Elk said, scrunching his nose a little. “Nah, you don’t have the body for it. You do kind of favor a young Rosie O’Donnell, though.”
Colleen’s grin evaporated. “Thanks a lot.”
“You asked.”
Emma shook her head. “Mr. Red Elk…are you available for an interview?”
He appeared to size them up. Then he gave a little shrug. “You can come in if you want.” He receded into the house. As he went, Jesse saw the tighty-whities shifting with the man’s buttocks.
Emma held the door open for them.
“Real charmer,” Colleen said as she stepped inside.
Chapter Eight
“You won’t even know I’m here,” Sam said as he moved around the side of the house. Eric was stalking him, less than three feet away. Charly and Sheriff Robertson jogged after them.
“You’re a really stupid guy, you know that?” Eric spat.
“If the sliding door is sticking on you,” Sam said, “I need to fix it.”
“My son was kidnapped last night,” Eric said, the tendons of his neck jumping.
“Which is why I’m staying out of your hair,” Sam said. “Of all the issues you raised, this is the quickest fix.”
“ Are you fucking deaf? ”
Charly had seen her husband in a rage before—heck, on the sidelines it was never a matter of if he’d blow up at the refs, but when; Eric had a reputation as one of the fieriest young coaches in the nation, a label in which he seemed to revel—but she’d never seen him strike anyone.
That’s why she was so startled when he punched Sam in the back of the head.
Sam stumbled, the toolbox he carried clanking loudly, but he didn’t go down. She was sure he’d whirl on Eric and beat his face in—in fact, she yearned for it—but rather than retaliating, Sam kept moving as if he’d never been struck.
“Stop it, Mr. Florence,” Larry Robertson called. He was badly winded already, his voice strained.
“Stupid fucker ,” Eric growled. Charly reached out to hold her husband back, but before she could he planted both palms in the middle of Sam’s back and shoved. Sam fell forward in a heap, the red toolbox tumbling in the grass beside him, its hasp coming undone.
Sam pushed up onto his hands and knees and said, “Listen, Mr. Florence—”
But before he got any more out, Eric slashed down at him with a balled fist and cracked him in the side of the face.
Robertson finally reached the pair. “That’s enough , Mr. Florence.”
Eric spun away from Robertson and cocked an arm back for another blow. But before he could level it at Sam, Robertson threw a shoulder into him.
Charly watched in satisfaction as her husband went down in an awkward heap.
“What the hell?” Eric shouted at Robertson.
He looked stricken, like a little boy who’s just received a smack on the butt for smarting off. She hoped Robertson would leap onto Eric’s prone form and deliver a sound trouncing, but the sheriff merely went over and helped Sam to his feet.
“You okay?” Robertson asked.
Sam nodded, but Charly saw the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
“I own this property,” Eric said and pointed at Sam. “He’s a trespasser, and I can damn well deal with him how I please.”
Robertson eyed Eric coldly. “For one thing, you’re not the only one who lives here. The missus has rights too.” He looked at
“My favorite one of Shannon’s films was Mirror Images II . There’s a great girl-on-girl scene where this hardcore porn star sticks her tongue in Shannon’s ear and rubs her titties from behind.”
Jesse was just able to manage an offended expression when Emma turned to him.
Colleen, however, wasn’t hiding her amusement. “I remind you of anybody?”
The door opened a bit and Jesse beheld the tight white underwear, the gnomish belly hanging over the waistband. Red Elk’s skin was dark, his frame large and intimidating. Jesse put him at about six-three, two hundred and forty pounds.
“A soft-porn star?” Red Elk said, scrunching his nose a little. “Nah, you don’t have the body for it. You do kind of favor a young Rosie O’Donnell, though.”
Colleen’s grin evaporated. “Thanks a lot.”
“You asked.”
Emma shook her head. “Mr. Red Elk…are you available for an interview?”
He appeared to size them up. Then he gave a little shrug. “You can come in if you want.” He receded into the house. As he went, Jesse saw the tighty-whities shifting with the man’s buttocks.
Emma held the door open for them.
“Real charmer,” Colleen said as she stepped inside.
Chapter Eight
“You won’t even know I’m here,” Sam said as he moved around the side of the house. Eric was stalking him, less than three feet away. Charly and Sheriff Robertson jogged after them.
“You’re a really stupid guy, you know that?” Eric spat.
“If the sliding door is sticking on you,” Sam said, “I need to fix it.”
“My son was kidnapped last night,” Eric said, the tendons of his neck jumping.
“Which is why I’m staying out of your hair,” Sam said. “Of all the issues you raised, this is the quickest fix.”
“ Are you fucking deaf? ”
Charly had seen her husband in a rage before—heck, on the sidelines it was never a matter of if he’d blow up at the refs, but when; Eric had a reputation as one of the fieriest young coaches in the nation, a label in which he seemed to revel—but she’d never seen him strike anyone.
That’s why she was so startled when he punched Sam in the back of the head.
Sam stumbled, the toolbox he carried clanking loudly, but he didn’t go down. She was sure he’d whirl on Eric and beat his face in—in fact, she yearned for it—but rather than retaliating, Sam kept moving as if he’d never been struck.
“Stop it, Mr. Florence,” Larry Robertson called. He was badly winded already, his voice strained.
“Stupid fucker ,” Eric growled. Charly reached out to hold her husband back, but before she could he planted both palms in the middle of Sam’s back and shoved. Sam fell forward in a heap, the red toolbox tumbling in the grass beside him, its hasp coming undone.
Sam pushed up onto his hands and knees and said, “Listen, Mr. Florence—”
But before he got any more out, Eric slashed down at him with a balled fist and cracked him in the side of the face.
Robertson finally reached the pair. “That’s enough , Mr. Florence.”
Eric spun away from Robertson and cocked an arm back for another blow. But before he could level it at Sam, Robertson threw a shoulder into him.
Charly watched in satisfaction as her husband went down in an awkward heap.
“What the hell?” Eric shouted at Robertson.
He looked stricken, like a little boy who’s just received a smack on the butt for smarting off. She hoped Robertson would leap onto Eric’s prone form and deliver a sound trouncing, but the sheriff merely went over and helped Sam to his feet.
“You okay?” Robertson asked.
Sam nodded, but Charly saw the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
“I own this property,” Eric said and pointed at Sam. “He’s a trespasser, and I can damn well deal with him how I please.”
Robertson eyed Eric coldly. “For one thing, you’re not the only one who lives here. The missus has rights too.” He looked at
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