The only member of Emma’s team that seemed to have gotten away without a scratch was Layga. Frank and Jace were getting over their medically induced hangovers, Jeba was having her fractured arm placed in a cast, and Emma had the lacerations on her face looked at by the field medic.
Once Emma was cleared, General Fox walked in with, to her surprise, her father. Mr. Jackson rushed to his daughter’s side, squeezing her in a tight embrace.
“Sorry, he insisted,” General Fox said with a shrug. “He was hell bent on going into the asylum after you, but we met halfway. I had my men bring him here.”
“I’m glad you did,” Emma said, reassuring her father she was fine. “I’m tougher than I look. You taught me that.”
“I know, I know.” Mr. Jackson took a step back with his hands open in a sign of surrender. “No father wants to see his daughter’s lip split open.”
“You should see the other guy,” General Fox said with a grin.
“Speaking of the other guy,” Emma asked, her memory picking up on the words Desmond had told her before he jumped. “Desmond said something about the Shay coming back to invade Earth.”
“Probably just messing with your mind,” General Fox reassured Emma. “I’d say we can go speak with him, but you did a number on him and the fall sent him into a coma. He’s been treated for a broken hand, a shattered leg, and a concussion, among other things.”
Emma nodded along with the general’s words as she tried to convince herself that Desmond was lying about the Shay, that the winged alien creatures were not planning to return to Earth.
A shimmering light appeared on the far end of the room. General Fox drew his weapon. Emma constructed a blade and stood in front of her father. A second later, Tistan Duel appeared at her daughter’s side.
“Emma, Emma, are you all right? Slain told me the mission was a success, but there were injuries.” Tistan ignored General Fox. She gave her ex-husband a quick look, then turned back to Emma.
Unlike her father, Emma’s mother didn’t embrace her. It wasn’t in her nature, but that didn’t mean she cared any less. She wore the same concern in her eyes her father had a moment before.
“I’m fine, I’m good, I mean I could eat a cheeseburger and Dr. Pepper at the moment, but I’ll make it.” Emma allowed her sword construct to disappear.
“Well I guess everyone’s invited.” General Fox holstered his weapon. “I’ll leave you to it.”
General Fox walked out of the room, leaving Emma, her father and her mother together for the second time in as many days.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you were well.” Tistan cleared her throat uncomfortably, trying not to make eye contact with her ex-husband. “I guess—I guess I’ll be getting back to the Academy.”
“Ugh, this is so awkward it’s killing me,” Emma said, unable to bear being caught in the middle again. “Is this what it’s going to be like every time the two of you are in a room?” Emma asked.
Her father shook his head and let out a deep breath. “No, it shouldn’t have to be.”
Emma knew her father well enough to recognize that tone of voice. He was having a hard time pushing the words past his lips, as if he were digging and searching for every syllable. Her dad was about to talk about his feelings.
“Tistan, I mean, I guess that’s your real name.” Emma’s father swallowed hard.
“Well, this is going to get even more awkward if I’m here, so maybe I should go.” Emma made for the room’s exit.
“No,” her father said with a raised hand. “You should be here for this. I, uh, I had the night to think about it. Who am I kidding? I had the night and the entire day. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.” Emma’s father looked Tistan in the eye as he bared his soul. “I can’t promise you things are going to work out. I’m still angry and hurt. I still have so many questions. But—I guess I’m willing to talk with you and try and understand all of this.”
Emma’s eyebrows shot up as she looked from her father to her mother. Sure, it was exactly what she had hoped for, but her father being so willing to speak with Tistan after only a single day of giving things thought was moving faster than she could have hoped.
Tistan broke into a rare smile. It was the first time Emma could actually remember seeing her really truly smile. She was beautiful.
“I can’t promise you anything.” Emma’s father saw the same smile and shook his head. “I don’t know if this will or even can work.”
“It’s enough,” Tistan said with an even wider smile. It was hard for Emma not to smile herself seeing her mother so happy. “Just talking with you is enough.”
“Pssss…” Emma looked to the doorway where Laloyd stood with a bag of microwavable popcorn alongside Frank. “This is where you should give them some space.”
If Emma’s father and mother noticed the Marine and the Draconian in the doorway, they didn’t show it. The lovers long separated were locked in eye contact, sharing a moment they had each dreamt about for many years past.
Emma couldn’t stop grinning, even as she made for the door to join Frank and Laloyd. Laloyd gave her a sidewise grin and offered her some popcorn.
Emma dipped her hand inside the bag and came out with some of the popped buttery salty goodness. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Maybe.” Laloyd looked at her sideways, then broke into a grin of his own. “I made your dad breakfast while we were at Haven this morning, remember? We spoke for a long time. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Laloyd said the last part as if that were all the explanation he was prepared to give. For the moment, it was enough for Emma.
“Thank you,” Emma said to Laloyd as she looked over to Frank popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “How are you feeling?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Frank said, massaging the spot on his neck where the barb had knocked him unconscious. “It feels like a crazy weekend in Vegas, but I’ll live. You did great back there, Jackson. You’re the Arilion Knight the Earth needs. I mean, if I can’t be here all the time, I’m glad they have you.”
“Please.” Emma walked with her two friends from the doorway of the room where her mother and father stood talking by a window looking out onto the orange horizon that heralded the morning of a new day. “Even if you were here, the vambraces would have chosen me. You’re lucky you got yours on another planet.”
The Marine, the Draconian, and the teenager looked out the window, each lost to his or her own thoughts for the moment. As much joy as Emma felt at completing her mission and her parents speaking to one another in the next room, a sense of dread touched her mind.
Desmond Delshire had no reason to lie. His voice ran over and over again in her mind. “The Shay are returning.”
If they come, I’ll be ready, Emma promised herself. I’ll be ready.
End Book Two
Hungry for More Arilion Knights?
At the moment there are 4 books out in the main Gateway story with Frank Wolffe and 2 in the New Knights series with Emma Jackson.
JR Castle and I are working hard to get you the next book in each series. Rise Up (Gateway 5) is available for preorder slated to release next with Strength in Struggle (New Knights 3) which is also available for preorder, coming out hot on its heels.
Until then, if you haven’t started the main Gateway series, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Frank Wolffe.
Into the Breach (Gateway to the Galaxy Book 1)
Chapter 1
“You’re smarter than you look.”
“Yeah, well, I like to manage expectations.” Frank glanced at his flavor-of-the-week date with a wry grin. He tried a playful line he had used so many timed before, intentionally misquoting the saying to get a smile. “I’m just a girl looking at a guy, wondering what—”
A message from Frank’s watch blared a familiar tune as it interrupted the two at dinner and all those around them.
“Umm—sir?” A waiter pas
sing by their table gave Frank a parental look.
“Sorry, I’m on it,” Frank said with an apologetic nod.
“What’s ‘butts’?” the ash-blonde at his right asked, scrunching together her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Why does your watch say ‘butts’ on it?”
“It’s B.U.T.T.S. all in caps, like an acronym. It’s just work,” Frank said, checking the smooth, black face of the watch he wore on his left wrist. He ignored the message from his boss. “So where were we? We were talking about doing something fun after dinner, right?”
“What’s an acronym?” the blonde asked, a quizzical expression etched on her face. “Is that like two words that are the same?”
“I think you’re thinking of a synonym,” Frank said with a signature smile.
BEEP BEEP BE-DOH BEEP BEEP!
Before he could continue, his watch sounded again. Usually, it wouldn’t have been of any major concern; his Power Rangers ringtone letting him know he had a message from work was standard. However, tonight, Frank had taken his newest date to a rather exclusive, highbrow Italian cuisine experience, where the other patrons didn’t look amused by the constant juvenile sounds emanating from his latest communication tech.
“Can you turn that off?” his date asked as she looked around, her shoulders shrinking as she glanced from side to side, avoiding eye contact with the other diners. Her gaze beneath the curtain of obvious eyelash extensions landed on a table in the corner, where a quartet of brawny, well-dressed men sat glaring at them. Their bodies were tense and unnaturally still within their cashmere, fine-tailored suits. If Frank were to venture a guess, their day jobs weren’t exactly of the legal kind.
“Technically, I can. But the boss doesn’t like it when I switch her to ‘off’ or ‘mute.’ They can track all of that stuff, you know,” Frank said, eyes on the same table as Melony … or was it Susan?
Open concept dining area of the restaurant featured low, cushioned seating around polished, olive-wood tables. A warm, orange glow from table candles and low-hung pendant lamps lit the way for the service staff. The team met their patrons’ needs in swift, unpressured movements; their timing and recommendations were as impeccable as their shirts were crisp. It was the type of place one went for a celebration, where the prices on the menu carried an extra digit and the parking was valet only. It wasn’t Frank’s usual go-to, but he was always down to try anything once.
The light chatter in the restaurant picked up again, after having been disturbed for the second time by Frank’s watch. A cellist filled the air with smooth vibrations from a corner, serenading the crowd with songs Frank could recall but couldn’t name.
“Like, what kind of watch is that, anyway?” The blonde leaned over to Frank, revealing a light pink bralette beneath a plunging neckline. “I’ve never seen a triangle one like that before.”
“Oh, it’s not really on the market,” Frank started. “It’s a—”
BOM-BOM BOM BOM-BOM
This time his watch didn’t send him a message—it rang. The theme music to Terminator thundered through the quiet of the restaurant like a war drum in a church. The interruption was too loud for Frank to ignore. A quick look down confirmed his suspicions: two messages and a call.
The first message said: Frank, report in.
The second: Frank we have an urgent matter for you. Report.
The call was from his immediate supervisor.
“Hey, muscles,” a raspy voice said from Frank’s left. “Time for you and your cell phone to make yourself scarce from my restaurant. You can leave the lady.”
Frank leaned back in his chair to look up into the bloodshot eyes of a bald man with a scar across his throat. He was one of the four who had been glaring at him from the table in the corner. Behind him stood three larger men Frank guessed were his own “muscles.”
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Frank said, shaking his head with a sigh. “I understand my watch going off can be disturbing. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is ruin someone’s tortellini. That’s a fun word, right? Tortellini? Anyway, I’ll take the call outside, and we can all go back to enjoying our night.”
“You must not have heard me.” Baldy grabbed Frank by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “You’re done here.”
“This … this is just escalating so fast.” Frank sighed. Although he was being lifted from his seat, his tiptoes barely touching the ground underneath him, Frank kept his cool. “We’re really going to do this right here? Right now?”
“You have brain damage or something?” Baldy leered down at him.
“Probably. All that time in the Corps couldn’t have been good for me.” Frank placed both his hands on top of the man’s who was holding him up. He looked over to his date. “I’m really sorry about this.”
The blonde’s mouth was wide open as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. She wasn’t capable of saying anything, though she did manage to grab her phone and begin to record the scene. The entire restaurant had gone quiet; from the cellist playing in the corner, to the chattering people at the other tables, everyone looked on, unwilling to intervene.
“Last chance,” Frank said to the gorilla-sized restaurateur still holding him. “Let me go now, or things are going to get … painful, up in here.”
“You idiot,” Baldy said. “You’re—ahhhhh!”
Frank had kept his temper in check for as long as he was able. A long time ago, he had been taught the lesson that someone’s grip could be stronger than your own, but a single finger of theirs was never as strong as your entire hand.
In one quick move, Frank had grabbed the man’s left pinky finger and twisted it backwards past its normal range of motion.
SNAP!
The phalange cracked with a sickening noise. And Frank didn’t stop. It was his turn to grab the hefty man, who was a few inches taller than his own six-foot frame, by the pressed broadcloth collar. Frank slammed the crown of his own head into the man’s crooked nose—once, twice, three times.
There was another crunch as a shower of blood cascaded over the two combatants, as well as the table Frank had been sitting at with his date. Frank’s chambray shirt was a bloody mess. The front of Baldy’s shirt was white no more.
“Damn. I’m going to need another new shirt,” Frank said, considering himself for a brief moment, rolling his eyes.
Everyone was stunned as the bald man moaned and sunk to his knees. Like some spell had been lifted, the three goons behind their downed leader charged at Frank.
Frank’s plan was simple. When dealing with multiple targets, the best idea was to always put down each enemy as fast as possible, with as few strikes as possible, in order to move on to the next target. Not like in the movies, where the hero fights five different bad guys at once.
The first attacker came at Frank with a wide swing. Frank leaned back, letting the blow glance past his face. The strike was so close, a brief gust of wind rushed past his nose.
Frank struck out with his right fist, which landed across the bearded man’s jaw. Then he slammed into the man with his right shoulder, driving him back into his two counterparts who were trying to get around their comrade and join the fight. Frank grabbed the dazed man behind the head with both of his hands, and at once, he drove the man’s head down and his right knee up into his skull.
The man toppled just as pain exploded across Frank’s eyes. Bright dots played in front of him. Another strike from the dark-suited man on his right split the right side of Frank’s lip.
Recovering, Frank caught the third blow intended for him, twisting the man’s arm completely around by his wrist. The attacker fell to his knees in a scream of pain. As though in one single, fluid motion, Frank slammed his right fist into the back of the man’s exposed arm. His blow landed right over the man’s elbow, shattering his arm in multiple locations.
But it had taken too much time. Frank’s final attacker grabbed a dinner knife from the table and lunged for his head. Frank moved out of the way, but t
oo late. A shallow cut opened at his dark hairline on the left side of his face.
Frank knocked into a table behind him, trying to get out of the path of the man swiping his knife through the air like a crazed orchestra conductor.
Frank reached behind him, feeling at the edge of the table and grabbing a utensil he hoped was a knife of his own. It was a spoon.
“Of course I would grab a spoon,” Frank muttered.
The two men circled one another. Frank’s enemy smiled at him with malicious intent. Without warning, the man charged again.
Inverting the spoon so the handle now pointed up, Frank batted the incoming knife to the side and plunged the handle of his spoon into the man’s left eye.
A collective gasp rose up from the restaurant’s clientele. The man screamed, clawing at the spoon coming out of his eye as he fell to the ground.
“Someone should call an ambulance … or two.” Frank looked down at the carnage at his feet. “They’re going to need some help getting up from this one, and a lot of pain meds.”
Frank looked over at his date. The woman’s mouth hadn’t closed since the fight began. Nor had her phone been put down. A spray of crimson blood from the bald man’s nose speckled her cream dress.
“Hey, Faith.” Frank winced, hoping that was her name. “You okay?”
“My name’s not Faith, Frank!” The woman finally recovered from her shock, looking down at her blood-spattered dress. “And no, I’m not okay!”
“Why was I thinking Faith? Amber? It’s Amber, right?”
The blonde shot daggers at him from her blue eyes.
“Nikki?”
“I’m going to kill you myself!” the woman screamed.
Frank’s watch went off again.
“Well, I gotta run, but … raincheck?” Frank grinned at the woman, his split lip still bleeding. “We should really do this again sometime soon.”
Chapter 2
Instructions always came the same way: a location destination and a time. Nothing more, nothing less. Transportation arrangements were made for him. All Frank had to do was show up where he was told to and introduce the buyers to the weapons and/or equipment.
Burn the Night Page 16