The Calling
1Jung Lee didn't hear the bullet till it passed through his head.
Hot powder shot up from its ricochet off a concrete skylight housing. The dust stung Jung's eyes. The slim young Korean man winced against the pain, blinked his eyes clear, then turned to see who had ambushed him.
Backlit by the distant Manhattan nightscape were three figures, spread across the expansive terrain of the Brooklyn high school's roof.
Farthest away, perched above the roof's access door, was a pale-skinned man with close-cropped dark hair and not an ounce of extra fat. Loose shirt and pants. Hard muscles and hard eyes. He jumped down, landed on bare feet, and stole forward with the supple grace of a predator.
Flanking the barefoot man was a fragile-looking young woman with short red hair, a retro-punk sense of fashion, and half a dozen facial piercings.
On the right was a large bearded man dressed in a motorcyclist's riding leathers festooned with gang insignia. The biker aimed his handgun at Jung and fired three more shots, which tore holes through Jung's T-shirt and both sides of his hoodie -- but left the Sentinel unharmed.
"So it's true," said the barefoot ... read full excerpt from: Calling ebook
