Southwest Nights (Semiautomatic Sorceress Book 1), Kal Aaron [best books for 20 year olds txt] 📗

“Do you understand the situation you’re in?” Lyssa replied, holding her batons out at her sides. “You’re a child holding a stick and pretending it’s a sword against a real dragon.”

“You’re afraid.” Mr. Icebolt laughed. “That’s why you’re being so careful.”

“I’m being careful because the police want people they can question. If I come to believe there’s a real risk to me, my concern over that goes away, idiot, and you die within seconds.”

Uncertainty flicked across the thug’s face, but he didn’t drop his weapon. The other men maintained their positions. They’d improved their trigger discipline, but they were down a quarter of their force.

“I again recommend more extreme measures, including using me,” Jofi said. “Them employing multiple shards increases the risk to both of us.”

Lyssa ignored the spirit. She’d knock sense into the crossbow squad without her guns. Her pride was on the line.

She threw her left baton at Mr. Icebolt before charging at a nearby wall. He yelped and shot at her, and the bolt whistled past her into the rec room. It struck the pool table and turned it into a mini-ice rink.

Mr. Icebolt’s two friends tried to follow her with their crossbows, frustration building on their faces as they failed to line up a clean shot. Lyssa jumped and bounded off a wall to launch toward the backpedaling first thug. She crashed into him and knocked him over, sending his ice crossbow flying. Two quick left jabs dazed him and she brought down her right baton.

“This ain’t happening!” screamed Mr. Windbolt. “We’ve got the crossbows. She can’t win.”

Lyssa rolled over to collect her downed baton and hopped to her feet as he fired. She spun to avoid the bolt, but it caught the edge of her coat and caused another heavy gust that propelled her into the air. She smacked into a ceiling fan, bending a blade before falling to the floor with a loud thud. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her batons.

She hissed. Her entire body ached, but she hadn’t broken anything. There was nothing worse than a thug who learned quickly. That was the most solid hit any of them had landed on her during the entire raid.

“I did it!” Mr. Windbolt yelled.

Lyssa rolled out of the way and jumped to her feet before Mr. Stonebolt could line up an attack. She wasn’t doing badly for someone who had been shot multiple times, nearly blown up, and slammed into a ceiling fan.

“I again recommend my use,” Jofi said.

“Shut up,” Lyssa snapped. “The situation is under control, and they’re down to two guys.”

Mr. Windbolt grinned. “Feeling nervous?” he asked, mistaking the target of her words.

His stupid grin annoyed her. He mistook one lucky hit for a win.

“I thought you magic types were supposed to be all special and badass?” Mr. Windbolt shoved his left palm against the greedy needle supplying his weapon and stomped his foot down on one of her lost batons. “But you’re nothing once we get magic weapons.”

Mr. Stonebolt looked more relaxed. He ran over to the other fallen baton and kicked it behind him. Mr. Windbolt nodded at his friend with an eager gleam in his eyes. The poor, deluded souls thought they had the upper hand.

The problem with using guns, regardless of bullet type, was that it was a lot harder to avoid killing a man when you used them. However, no one had mentioned thugs armed with shard crossbows or enchanted traps during her briefing.

“You get your wish,” Lyssa muttered, her gaze flicking between the men.

“You gonna surrender?” Mr. Stonebolt asked, sounding surprised. He didn’t pull his finger off the needle. “You can run if you want. If we both miss, you might be able to get out of here alive.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, moron.” Lyssa’s hands inched toward her jacket. “I was talking to Jofi.”

“Who the hell is Jofi?”

Lyssa yanked out both pistols and fired. Mr. Stonebolt dropped to the ground in a heap, blood pooling around him. The idiot hadn’t even been wearing a bulletproof vest.

Mr. Windbolt shouted in rage and fired his newly reloaded crossbow toward her feet. Lyssa vaulted over a nearby downed table, and the blast of wind launched her toward her attacker. His eyes widened as she fired twice with both guns, putting four rounds into his chest before landing into a roll that set her back on her feet.

Loud clapping sounded from the hallway. Lyssa spun toward the source, her guns ready. Alvarez stood there in a blood-red robe covered with arcane sigils and glyphs. A gaggle of men surrounded him on either side, all armed with submachine guns.

“You’re not a Sorcerer.” Lyssa narrowed her eyes. “You’re a man with toys. I’ve been trying to be a nice girl here. Well, nice-ish? But that’s over. Your choice, Alvarez. Final choice. Surrender, and I can guarantee you won’t die. Fight, and you’ll end up like your crossbow boys.”

“I like you.” Alvarez smiled. “I could use a woman like you in my organization. I don’t know what they’re paying you, but I’ll pay more. And my bosses can pay you even more than that. You don’t have to be full-time. We understand a woman like you doesn’t like to be told what to do. We can respect that.”

“You feed off human misery,” Lyssa spat. “How many innocent people has your cartel harmed?”

“Don’t act high and mighty, Hecate. You have your fancy costume, and you think you’re all that, but how is your Illuminated Society different from my cartel? They’re both about control and power. They call you a Torch. We’d call you a sicario. They send you to shoot and kill. We’d do the same.” Surveying the unconscious and dead men, Alvarez sighed. “I’m not going to hold it against you that you killed some of my guys. We respect strength.”

“Sorceresses aren’t so easily bought. The Illuminated Society is older than all of your so-called civilizations, let alone your pathetic cartel.”

Alvarez laughed. “You hear that, boys? She’s a paid killer, but