Smith
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Sam B Miller II
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77,2K
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51
Jake’s life flips the moment he uncovers a 3,000-year-old ring with a mind of its own and a taste for chaos. The ring’s voice—Smith—guides him like an ancient, slightly snarky GPS with zero chill and very questionable morals. Suddenly Jake can command storms, animals, and demons, whether he’s ready or not. While Smith insists Jake must become King of Earth, powerful enemies close in, hungry for the ring’s power. Enter Nava, fierce, brilliant, and absolutely done with nonsense. She becomes Jake’s sharp-edged ally, much to Smith’s disapproval. Together they face secret factions, old magic, and a destiny that refuses to behave.
The Alley
Gunfire pockmarked the bricks just over Jake’s head as he crouched behind a nasty pile of garbage that almost filled the alley.
As brick dust cascaded onto his head, Jake rolled to his right in an effort to dodge the bullets he knew were aimed at killing him.
He jerked his body out of the line of fire with reflexes that would have made his old Army instructors proud. Well, maybe not proud, but definitely would have saved him from a beating. They did enjoy venting their frustration at the scarcity of real combat onto the nearest available trainee.
Jake pulled his pistol from its quick-release holster and fired a couple of shots at the gunmen.
His aim was good, and he grinned as a couple of loud smacks exploded on the chest of one of his attackers. Acrid pepper fumes whirled around the goon’s face and clouded his eyes.
The thug cursed as he rubbed at his burning face and coughed as he spat out foul saliva. Angrily emptying his pistol in a wild rain of bullets aimed toward Jake, the man yelled unintelligibly.
“What idiot decided nonlethal ammunition was the best protection for local police?” Jake thought as he waited for the killer’s last round to be fired.
“De-escalation of violence is the goal,” was what Jake had been told during his orientation as a new local police enforcement recruit. “We don’t want misguided heroics from LPE officers to killing civilians.”
“No one said anything about physical aggression,” Jake thought as he lunged toward the gasping thug whose pistol was now empty. The alley was not well-lit, and Jake’s sudden movement was unexpected.
Hitting the guy like an NFL linebacker tackling a runner, Jake bowled him over and jabbed his stiffened fingers into the man’s throat.
Quickly rolling sideways, Jake aimed his body toward the side of the knee of the nearest gunman. With a satisfying snick, the knee buckled and a scream of pain resounded from the alley walls.
A couple of quick pffts from nearby confirmed that Avner Benjamin, Jake’s LPE partner for the last two months, was still alive; however, Jake could tell from the sounds that the compressed air cylinder in Avner’s gun was practically exhausted.
Jake was suddenly grabbed by strong fingers that intertwined in his hair, nearly tearing it from his scalp. A rock-hard fist slammed into Jake’s forehead, sending him reeling back into the alley.
Dazed by the blow and unable to see in the limited light, Jake tumbled into Avner, and they both fell into a confused tangle of arms, legs, and bodies.
Struggling to maintain clear thoughts as the pain in his scalp harmonized with the pain in his forehead, Jake pushed Avner away and tried to stand.
“Enough!” a commanding voice growled. “We don’t have time to waste playing around with these LPE fools.”
Several dark silhouettes shuffled about in the alleyway. The ones injured by Jake were dragged away while others chuckled under their breath.
A voice from one of the silhouettes, sounding mocking, said, “What’s the matter? Find out your little air pistols are worthless pieces of junk?”
Filled with a sense of false bravado, Avner replied, “Tell that to your buddies…that is when they’re able to function again.”
Jake couldn’t believe Avner was goading the gunman. He wanted to elbow him for his stupidity, but was afraid the movement would look threatening.
The voice, mocking and now also angry, answered, “At least your toys only serve to humiliate. After all, your bosses wouldn’t want to harm us socially misguided individuals.”
“Harming LPE officers investigating the sale of drugs and the promotion of prostitution will fill these streets with more LPE people targeting you for revenge. You’ll be better off with a bullet in the head than a long stay in our jail,” Avner continued.
“Drugs? Prostitution? You have no idea where the real money comes from. You should be guarding the Temple Mount instead of wasting your time in these alleys,” was the laughing reply.
There was a brief, silent pause that filled Jake with foreboding. Avner shifted as if he was preparing to lunge. And then…
The command he had been dreading, “Kill them.”
Jake’s gut tightened as if his muscles could stop the bullets. In that instant, the explosive sound of a gunshot shattered the quiet, and Jake flinched as he waited for a searing pain, the precursor of his death.
Much to his surprise and Avner’s gasp, one of the dark figures spun sideways and dropped.
Another gunshot, and a second shadowy figure dropped.
“Run!” The word was shouted in alarm, and the remaining gunmen dashed down the alley. More gunshots followed them, but from what Jake could see, no one else was hit.
Quick steps drew near. Shoes crunched on the gravel in the alleyway.
“Amateurs,” someone said in a mocking voice.
