Read Online The Dark Gate by Pamela Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Palmer
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gone as blank as the others. His partner and best friend fired at him again.
âHeâs hypnotizing them,â the woman shouted, scrambling under the table as a man lunged for her over the back of her booth. âThey donât know what theyâre doing. Youâve got to stop the white man.â Two men surrounded her table and she screamed again.
Pulse thudding through his veins, Jack rolled under another table a second before Henryâs shot hit the place where heâd been. Henry was slow, he realized. His reflexes werenât his own.
If he kept movingâ¦
âStop it!â the woman cried.
Jackâs gaze jerked toward the sound and he nearly choked. The Pied Piper was pulling out his dick while a teenage girl pulled down her shorts in front of him.
The rapes. The victims never remembered.
Rolling out of Henryâs line of fire, Jack took aim at that engorged piece of white flesh and fired right at the base of it, right into the heart of the bastardâs groinâ¦and didnât miss.
The man let out a howl that would have done a wolf proud. The gunfire came to an abrupt halt, an eerie silence pressing at the walls of the restaurant. Jack held his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears. As long as Henry was firing, Jack had a fix on him. Without that, he could be anywhere. Creeping up behind himâ¦
Suddenly, as one, the people whoâd been controlled sank to the ground, unconscious. Or dead. Jack saw Henry fall with a silent thud and turned back to the white bastard, the man he was now certain was the rapist. This bad guy was his.
But as he lunged for him, an arrow missed his face by millimeters. Damn. He dived for cover, more arrows clattering on the empty tabletop above him. In the background, the low sounds of the Orioles baseball game provided an eerily normal soundtrack to a bafflingly surreal battle.
Jack fired at the nearest archer, but the shot went high as the small man ducked behind a booth. His gaze swung to the rapist and he found him pushing his dick back into his pants as if nothing had happened. As if he hadnât just been shot.
Jack stared with disbelief at that white flesh. He wasnât bleeding. Why wasnât he bleeding?
The albino met his gaze, his yellow-green eyes lit with hatred. âI will kill you.â
âNot if I kill you first,â Jack murmured, taking aim at the bastardâs forehead. He pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the center of that snow-white foreheadâ¦two seconds before it disappeared.
Jackâs blood went cold. No way. No damn way. He was losing his mind. This could not be happening.
Hands shaking, he shot him again.
The white man simply looked at him with venom in his eyes. âI will kill you.â Then he turned and walked toward the kitchen as if Jackâs gun had been firing nothing but blanks.
Jack stared at him. How in the hell� He jumped up to chase after him, but a hail of arrows forced him back under the table. When the attack finally ended, he raced after them, but he was too late. By the time he reached the swinging door to the kitchen, they were gone.
His head pounded with questions as he called for backup and returned to the front of the restaurant where the booths and floors were littered with bodies.
He ran to Henry and felt for a pulse. Steady. Strong.
Heâd tried to kill him. His partner and best friend had tried to kill him. And if he was right, if this crime scene played out the way the others had, he wouldnât remember. None of them would remember a thing. Hell. How was he going to write up this one? He couldnât tell the truth. Henry would be put on administrative leave and it hadnât been his fault. He hadnât known what he was doing.
Besides, no one was going to believe any of this. He wasnât sure he believed it. Had his mind finally snapped?
The big man moved and gave a small snore. âHank.â He shook him.
âHeâs hypnotizing them,â the woman shouted, scrambling under the table as a man lunged for her over the back of her booth. âThey donât know what theyâre doing. Youâve got to stop the white man.â Two men surrounded her table and she screamed again.
Pulse thudding through his veins, Jack rolled under another table a second before Henryâs shot hit the place where heâd been. Henry was slow, he realized. His reflexes werenât his own.
If he kept movingâ¦
âStop it!â the woman cried.
Jackâs gaze jerked toward the sound and he nearly choked. The Pied Piper was pulling out his dick while a teenage girl pulled down her shorts in front of him.
The rapes. The victims never remembered.
Rolling out of Henryâs line of fire, Jack took aim at that engorged piece of white flesh and fired right at the base of it, right into the heart of the bastardâs groinâ¦and didnât miss.
The man let out a howl that would have done a wolf proud. The gunfire came to an abrupt halt, an eerie silence pressing at the walls of the restaurant. Jack held his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears. As long as Henry was firing, Jack had a fix on him. Without that, he could be anywhere. Creeping up behind himâ¦
Suddenly, as one, the people whoâd been controlled sank to the ground, unconscious. Or dead. Jack saw Henry fall with a silent thud and turned back to the white bastard, the man he was now certain was the rapist. This bad guy was his.
But as he lunged for him, an arrow missed his face by millimeters. Damn. He dived for cover, more arrows clattering on the empty tabletop above him. In the background, the low sounds of the Orioles baseball game provided an eerily normal soundtrack to a bafflingly surreal battle.
Jack fired at the nearest archer, but the shot went high as the small man ducked behind a booth. His gaze swung to the rapist and he found him pushing his dick back into his pants as if nothing had happened. As if he hadnât just been shot.
Jack stared with disbelief at that white flesh. He wasnât bleeding. Why wasnât he bleeding?
The albino met his gaze, his yellow-green eyes lit with hatred. âI will kill you.â
âNot if I kill you first,â Jack murmured, taking aim at the bastardâs forehead. He pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the center of that snow-white foreheadâ¦two seconds before it disappeared.
Jackâs blood went cold. No way. No damn way. He was losing his mind. This could not be happening.
Hands shaking, he shot him again.
The white man simply looked at him with venom in his eyes. âI will kill you.â Then he turned and walked toward the kitchen as if Jackâs gun had been firing nothing but blanks.
Jack stared at him. How in the hell� He jumped up to chase after him, but a hail of arrows forced him back under the table. When the attack finally ended, he raced after them, but he was too late. By the time he reached the swinging door to the kitchen, they were gone.
His head pounded with questions as he called for backup and returned to the front of the restaurant where the booths and floors were littered with bodies.
He ran to Henry and felt for a pulse. Steady. Strong.
Heâd tried to kill him. His partner and best friend had tried to kill him. And if he was right, if this crime scene played out the way the others had, he wouldnât remember. None of them would remember a thing. Hell. How was he going to write up this one? He couldnât tell the truth. Henry would be put on administrative leave and it hadnât been his fault. He hadnât known what he was doing.
Besides, no one was going to believe any of this. He wasnât sure he believed it. Had his mind finally snapped?
The big man moved and gave a small snore. âHank.â He shook him.
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