Bringer Unleashed (Logan Bringer Series Book 2)
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Bringer Unleashed
Book #2 in the Logan Bringer Series
by
Jaz Primo
RUTHERFORD LITERARY GROUP
www.rutherfordliterary.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Novels by Jaz Primo
Copyrights Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About Jaz Primo
Novel Teaser - Sunrise at Sunset
Novel Teaser - Gwen Reaper
Novel Teaser - A Bloody London Sunset
Novel Teaser - Summit at Sunset
Novel Teaser - Wicked Sunset
Novel Teaser - Sunset Rising
Novel Teaser - Bringer of Fire
Novel Teaser - Request from Jaz
Novels by Jaz Primo
The Logan Bringer Urban Fantasy Series
Bringer of Fire
Bringer Unleashed
Bringer’s Law *
* Additional Titles Forthcoming
* * *
Gwen Reaper
(A Young Adult Paranormal Romance)
Winner of the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewer’s
Choice Award for Best Young Adult Novel of 2012!
* * *
The Sunset Vampire Series
Sunrise at Sunset
A Bloody London Sunset
Summit at Sunset
Wicked Sunset
Sunset Rising
Sunset Burning **
** Additional Titles Forthcoming
* * *
All titles published by Rutherford Literary Group
Published by Rutherford Literary Group
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
Published by:
Rutherford Literary Group
1205 S. Air Depot, PMB #135
Midwest City, Oklahoma 73110-4807
Cover art by Brandon Acree
Edited by Laura Matheson
Copyright 2015 by John Primo
eBook ISBN 9780988569072
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
DEDICATION
For the readers…who waited so patiently for book 2 in the Logan Bringer series. This is for you!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, my heartfelt thanks to Tabby, who injects her youthful exuberance into both my life and my writing process, often with equal parts mirth and aggravation. Both she and my dearest friends remind me there’s much more to life than creative writing. My sincere thanks to my loved ones for supporting me through the protracted creative process for this book. As always, a huge thank you to my dear friend and publicist, Vicki Rose, for her continued support and encouragement.
An enormous “Thank You” to my editor, Laura Matheson, for her marvelous editing and mentoring skills. You’re such a sincere joy to work with! Special thanks to Brandon Acree for his polished cover art and creative zeal and wizardry for all things graphic and fonty.
Last but not least, a hearty thank you and a big hug to my dedicated readers for your continued support, encouragement, and steadfast promotional assistance. Thanks so much for all you do!
Chapter 1
"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche
* * *
I’m an all in—or all out—type of guy.
I’ve never been good at moderation.
At the moment, I was definitely all in.
I was jostled back and forth while shrugging into my bulletproof vest as sirens wailed outside our panel van.
Our intended destination was yet another crime scene; our ninth over the past six weeks.
Across from me, my quasi-partner, FBI Special Agent Megan Sanders, struggled to maintain her balance.
The van lurched as a loud horn sounded outside, tossing Sanders toward me.
I caught her in my arms as her hands landed atop my shoulders, her hazel eyes staring into mine with a mix of surprise and something else.
Intensity.
For a split second, I was tempted to kiss her.
It would’ve been one hell of a first kiss for us.
However, she regained her footing and pulled away from me to perch on the opposite side of the van, securing her vest in place.
The contingent of police tactical members momentarily looked at us and then returned to checking their weapons and equipment.
“Christ’s sake! Damned drivers don’t even give way to the police anymore,” complained the officer driving. “Like we’re an inconvenience or something.”
“Yeah, until they need us,” said the officer beside me.
Lately, the police, as much as many other state and federal agencies, had been busy on a daily basis.
It was exactly fifteen days since I had prevailed in my knock-down battle against a crazed guy with telekinetic abilities near the FBI office building in Nevis Corners, a corporately managed city in Iowa and my city of residence in recent years.
My duel had resulted in dozens of people—both innocent bystanders and authorities—either killed or wounded, not to mention numerous buildings nearly leveled.
The carnage had surpassed Hollywood disaster film levels.
Since then, the world had not only changed, it seemed to have gone to hell even faster than I had thought possible.
“Fifteen minutes to scene, people,” said the driver. “Lock and load.”
Weapons had rounds chambered in quick succession.
“Where exactly are we going again?” I asked.
“Browns Point Boulevard,” said the sergeant across from me. “It’s near the coast.”
“That’s over near Marine View Drive,” said the officer beside him. “Really nice neighborhoods.”
I’d never been to Seattle, Washington, but it was one of those scenic destinations that I had always wanted to visit.
It was disappointing that my arrival there had nothing to do with a vacation.
“What’s the sitrep?” asked Sanders.
“Not sure, exactly. The initial teams were setting up
when the scene turned hot,” replied the sergeant. “We’re the backup tactical team and were told to pick you two up at the airport on the way out there.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Command’s already onsite. They’ll brief you when we arrive,” he said. “Sorry, that’s all I know for now.”
Great. Nothing like stepping into a hot zone without any intel.
Although, I was quickly getting used to that.
I listened to the radio traffic, but it was a jumble of team positioning and unit arrival announcements.
Closing my eyes, I gently opened my mind to listen in on the thoughts of those around me.
Nothing unusual; mostly curiosity mixed with silent prayers and anxious thoughts.
…running around like chickens with our heads cut off, came Sanders’ thought.
I opened my eyes to see her frowning back at me.
…better not be getting in my head again, she thought.
I barely contained my amusement.
Our van slowed and then lurched to a stop.
“Aw, hell. You’ve gotta be kidding me,” said the driver.
“What?” asked the sergeant.
“Sarge, we’re blocked in tight before hordes of press and a crap load of empty cars,” he said. “This is about as close as I can get us.”
“Good enough. Let’s hit it,” the sergeant ordered.
Two officers near the back doors burst outside with assault rifles at the ready. The rest of us followed them.
I could smell seawater from not far away.
The blazing orange and yellow hues from the waning sunset caught my attention, followed quickly by the pandemonium surrounding us.
Helicopters flew overhead amidst the buzzing and thrum of their engines. Various makes and models of vehicles from what must have been practically every governmental law enforcement agency sat hastily parked, their lights flashing and strobing in a psychedelic array of colors.
More surprising was the throng of onlookers who had gathered like a flowing mob while scant numbers of police officers tried to hold them at bay before crime tape, orange cones, and impromptu cordons.
“Hey, there he is!” shouted someone in the crowd.
“Aw, crap,” said the sergeant.
In a matter of seconds, you couldn’t throw a rock in any direction without hitting a member of the press.
A sour feeling formed in the pit of my stomach as I immediately became the central target of their attentions.
Just great.
A commotion ran through the crowd.
Then eerily hushed silence.
It seemed to me that when you’re a famous celebrity or athlete, people want your autograph, or even to have a photo taken with you. Crowds might even scream questions and accolades from every direction.
But with me, most people simply stared as I walked by, typically saying nothing at all.
Many people openly gawked at me.
However, their eyes spoke louder than any words; they told me everything I needed to know.
“Hey, you! What the hell are you, anyway?” demanded a bystander.
I pointedly ignored him.
It wasn’t that I resented his question. In truth, I just didn’t really have an answer for him.
Tell me and we’ll both know, pal.
“He’s a superhero!” yelled a young boy not far from me.
I turned and grinned at him, but then winked and shook my head.
Sorry, kid, I’m no superhero.
At least, not like in the comics.
“He’s the devil!” shouted an old woman to my left. “The end days are coming! Protect us, Lord Jesus!”
Her, I also ignored.
If I had a nickel for every crackpot religious nut in our country…
“Hey, hero,” prompted the sergeant. “C’mon, they need you up front.”
Of course they did.
I was the only bad-ass monster in their inventory; and they were leveraging me at every opportunity.
Am I really a monster to them?
“Bringer,” Sanders said, grasping at my forearm. “You okay?”
“I’m golden,” I said. “Let’s go.”
As we proceeded at a trot down the street toward ground zero, a newswoman with a cameraman in tow managed to dodge past the barricades.
I had to give her credit, she was moving pretty fast for a lady in heels.
“You’re Logan Bringer, aren’t you?”
I didn’t even look at her.
“Get her outta here!” the sergeant ordered.
“Have they cornered someone like you up there?” the reporter asked. “If so, what powers do they have? Can you match them?”
Fortunately, two of the tactical team members intercepted her and her cameraman as we proceeded up the street.
“I hope so,” I said.
If it was anything like the past six weeks of action, it might be just another bunch of crazies stockpiling weapons and ammunition for the perceived coming apocalypse, or a terrorist group that had somehow moved their way up to the top of the federal target list.
We hadn’t encountered anyone else with telekinetic abilities yet. They seemed to have fallen off the radar entirely.
While I should’ve found that comforting, I was certain it was only a matter of time. There had to be more of them out there.
I couldn’t prove it, but I had a feeling that the shadow group calling themselves Continuance Corporation, or Bestand Gesellschaft, was out there somewhere, waiting to rear their ugly heads again.
We passed no fewer than two armored personnel carriers and four Humvees with machine guns mounted atop them.
A week ago, the President had declared martial law and suspended the writ of habeas corpus. Some members of Congress objected, but they were quickly labeled as unpatriotic and obstructionists to national security for their opposition. For the moment, fear and paranoia ruled the day.
Following that, the Department of Homeland Security had established tactical control centers in each state to act as leads with state authorities on all surveillance, investigations, and mobilizations of law enforcement for any activities deemed related to the Continuance Corporation scare.
Nearly every state governor had activated their National Guard units, ordering them to mobilize to support Homeland Security and local authorities.
It had become a scary time in our history, and not simply because of potential terrorists with telekinetic abilities.
As we rounded the street corner, I saw a small army of law enforcement and government tactical teams surrounding a cul de sac containing less than a dozen large homes against a backdrop of heavy woods.
Sanders and I proceeded toward, and then into, a nearby mobile tactical command vehicle, a veritable armored mobile home.
I didn’t bother trying to remember the series of names of FBI, Homeland Security, ATF, local police brass, and National Guard officers who introduced themselves to us.
Hell, it felt just like some sort of wearisome meet-and-greet event. And it was crowded beyond belief. They definitely needed a bigger trailer.
During the introductions, everyone warily looked at me like they expected me to explode or something.
“The house at the back of the cul de sac is where they’re holed up,” said an Army National Guard colonel.
“We’ve secured a complete perimeter, including the western edge of the woods bordering Commencement Bay,” said the local tactical team captain. “They’re not getting out without engaging us.”
“Any telekinetics?” I asked.
I got a round of blank looks.
“You know, people with abilities?” Sanders asked.
“We don’t know yet,” said a man wearing a Homeland Security jacket.
“You don’t know yet?” I asked. “Okay. How many people are we facing out there?”
“We’re not sure precisely,” he replied. “We’ve engaged at least six, wounding one. But we pulled back w
hen we encountered heavy weapons.”
“You’re not sure,” I repeated. I gave Sanders my best perturbed look.
“Okay, how would you like to proceed here?” Sanders asked, hiking her hands atop her hips.
“We’re in a sound position with control of all possible egresses,” said an ATF agent. “Fortunately, now that you’re here, we also hold the element of surprise.”
I stared at him as if he was crazy. “Surprise? You’re kidding me, right?”
“Well,” he said. “They don’t know you’re here.”
Incredible. Where did they get these people?
A television perched on the wall just over his shoulder caught my eye. It displayed streaming news coverage of the event.
Then I noticed the lady reporter who had chased after me.
“Wait. Turn that up,” I said, pointing at the screen.
Everyone turned to stare at the television as someone reached for the remote.
“…mysterious man from the Nevis Corners battle just arrived on scene and was moving into action,” she said. “We’re standing by to see what happens next.”
I cast a sour look at everyone.
“You were saying about your element of surprise?” I asked. “Did you happen to have cut the power to that house?”
“Done,” said the tactical team commander. “However, they’ve got a backup generator that kicked in as soon as we did.”
“Just great,” I said. “We’re losing daylight and there’s a good chance they already know I’m here.”
“I’m betting anybody with a mobile phone in there already knows you’re here,” Sanders said.
She made an excellent point. That’s why she’s the FBI agent instead of me.
I turned and headed toward the exit.
“Bringer, where the hell are you going?” Sanders demanded.
“Well, somebody’s gotta get something done around here,” I said. “It may as well be me.”
“Wait, Bringer,” she said, chasing after me as I briskly exited the trailer onto the street.
The remainder of those in the command trailer followed closely behind her.