Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

Another skip forward. Africa is bending down, hissing at me to get it together. Which is a bit like telling a broken egg to fix itself. Annie is in conversation with a detective, a woman with cornrows and a gold badge hanging down over her black polo.

“And you haven’t been inside?” Annie is saying. She sounds pissed.

“Can’t even get close.” Like Annie, the detective has a slight Latinx accent.

“What about drones? I know LAPD got a few – shit, even something from your evidence lockup—”

“You think we ain’t tried that?” The detective runs a hand down her face, looking tired and confused. “Most of the building is normal inside. Couple small fires, but that’s it. But when we got to the second floor, the drone… went down.”

The detective looks over at me, her gaze lingering. Probably thinking that I look mighty out of it for an FBI agent. Also that I don’t actually look like an FBI agent in the slightest, despite the windbreaker.

“Detective, we don’t have time for this,” Annie says. “What do you mean it went down?”

“It’s not really clear on the tape. There’s this shadow, from something just out of camera view. Then bam. No control, no video, nothing. Listen, if the FBI are assuming command then—”

Aaaaand fast-forward.

No cops any more. I think we’re on the other side of the building, in an empty parking lot. I’m sitting down with my back against something – a car? I don’t know – and Annie and Africa are having one mother of an argument.

“—way she can do that.” Annie jerks a finger at me. “She can barely stand up. Look at her fucking pupils, man!”

“We cannot go in there ourselves,” Africa says, scowling. “We cannot even get near it. I am in command of this mission, and—”

“I don’t give a shit, bro. She’s done. You think she’s gonna be able to just stand outside and echolocate what’s in there?”

“We know she has good range. We have seen it, yes?”

“Listen, jackass, I’ve been doing this longer than you. I don’t care if you’re Tanner’s new flavour of the month – you don’t understand how Teagan’s shit works. Yeah, she’s got range – if she’s in good shape, or if her body goes into fight-or-flight.”

Or if I’m high. I feel like I should mention that, but I can’t get the words out.

“So we get her into that,” Africa says. “Fight-or-flight.”

“Oh, and how you gonna do that? You gonna hit her? Shoot at her? If you even try anything…” Annie takes a breath, visibly calms herself. “It doesn’t even matter. We could have her fly a camera in there and it’d just be the same as the drone. Zap.”

“But we have to confirm. I have orders from Mrs Tanner.”

Not we have orders. I have orders.

Why the fuck did Tanner put Africa in charge? It’s not that he can’t do it – he’s more than proven himself since he joined the team, despite his category-five-hurricane personality. But leadership material? Running missions? While someone as seasoned as Annie is walking around?

“Orders to observe,” Annie is saying. “Right now, I don’t observe shit.”

“And I am saying that is not good enough!”

Africa crouches down in front of me, snapping his fingers in front of my face, each one like a thunderclap. “Teggan, are you good? We need you to scan the inside.”

“Did you not hear a fucking word I just said? She’s done. We’re not making her do that. You of all people should know what a meth comedown looks like.”

Africa rounds on her. This time, he speaks slowly. Quietly.

“Do not ever speak of that to me again,” he says. “You know nothing.”

“I’ve been on these streets longer than you, jackass, you think I don’t—?”

Another time skip.

Usually, I can speak for myself, but my mouth is way too dry. It’s the Mojave Desert in there.

“Then we must come up with something.” Africa touches his earpiece, as if checking whether or not she’s connected. “Mrs Tanner will be expecting answers.”

Annie’s nostrils flare. “I know you got a hard-on for impressing her, but this is not the fucking time.”

“Yo.” My voice is barely there, but it suddenly seems very important to make myself heard. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Annie doesn’t hear me. “We fall back. We come up with a new plan. Because if you think I’m letting her—”

“Yeah, definitely gonna throw up. ’Scuse me.”

I lean over and retch both chicken sandwiches onto the blacktop.

I’d love to say the puking stops there, but it does not. My head is a balloon in a hurricane, and my stomach is a howling maw of death. I retch stomach acid, saliva dripping from my gasping mouth, my whole world shrunk down to a tiny point where it’s just me and the pain.

Just a tiny little bit of meth. That’s all I need. It’s not even about the pain I’m feeling now—

Liar.

—it’s about how good I was. I was perfect and clean and free, the absolute best version of myself. What’s so bad about wanting to be that way again?

Hands on my back. No idea whether it’s Annie, or Africa. They’re both talking, their voices blurred and indistinct. I’m going to die. That’s what going to happen. The finality of it almost crushes me.

I don’t die. I may not be human – not technically, anyway – but my body acts like it. And when humans puke, they usually feel better. The fog in my mind clears, just a little.

A person is causing this electrical shit – there’s no doubt in my mind. Someone with abilities like mine. Matthew Schenke was the last one I ran into, and he was a psychopath, using his ability to destroy as much as he could.

Right now, inside that building, is someone who came from the same place Matthew Schenke did – I’m sure of it, more sure than I’ve ever been of anything.

Which means that if we don’t find a way to stop this, a lot of people could get hurt.

There’s also