S.H.R.E.D: Gorgon Rising
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: With one last yank, Sasha tore the restraint collar, popping and fizzing in a shower of sparks from around her neck. In a single stride, she vaulted forward. Her body crashed through the dark glass of the observation room, slamming one of the two men inside against the far wall. In a bumbling fit of terror, the other fell to the floor, scrambled to all fours, then ran screaming for the hallway. As he did, he slapped a large red button on the wall labeled containment breach. The screaming high-pitched wail of an emergency beacon filled the air, the walls around Sasha flickering with intermittent flashes of red. Instinct, strong and powerful, told her to run, but her higher brain held her fast: what they’d done here was illegal, and she needed evidence. She scanned the various consoles. There, a flash drive. No time to waste. Jager’s men must be on their way. Any data she could grab was no good if she couldn’t get it off the ship. Snatching the data stick from the console and looping the lanyard around her neck, Sasha gave one last look to the unconscious man slumped against the floor and turned for the door. She stepped into the strobe-lit flash of the corridor and hovered there, her heart beating fierce in her breast. On either side of the corridor, two pairs of Strykers squared up, the dark brown tones of their flesh offset by midnight black BDUs. They tensed, the banded muscles of their arms taut. No one moved. “I don’t want to fight,” Sasha said over the wail of the alarm, her heart still thrumming. “But I’m not staying locked up here anymore.” “You don’t have a choice.” The one named Alvarez said through clenched teeth. “Get back in, or we’ll put you back in.” Sasha knew she should be afraid of these men, but then she remembered about how easily, accidentally even, she’d killed the whalers. How moments ago, she’d torn a titanium collar from her neck and crashed through a seemingly impenetrable two-inch-thick layered sheet of armored glass. Sasha steeled herself as the four Strykers advanced on her from either side, their fists raised. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. The Strykers stopped, exchanging amused glances. One of them closest to her, a man with a cropped mohawk, let out a chuckle. “We’re not the ones who are about to get hurt, darlin’.” Sasha’s skin flushed hot. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she flexed her clawed fingers. “That’s what you think.”
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