Read Reckoners 01 - Steelheart for Free Online Page A

the stiletto heels off her shoes. Then she grabbed the side of her dress and ripped it off.
    I gaped.
    I normally consider myself somewhat levelheaded, but it’s not every day that you find yourself in a darkened alleyway with agorgeous woman who rips off most of her clothing. Underneath she wore a low-cut tank top and a pair of spandex biker shorts. I was pleased to note that the gun holster was, indeed, strapped to her right thigh. Her mobile was hooked to the outside of the sheath.
    She tossed the dress aside—it had been designed to come off easily. Her arms were lean and firm, and the wide-eyed naivety she’d shown earlier was completely gone, replaced with a hard edge and a determined expression.
    I took a step, and in a heartbeat her pistol was trained on my forehead again. I froze.
    “Out of the alleyway,” she said, gesturing.
    I nervously did as asked, walking back onto the street.
    “On your knees, hands on head.”
    “I don’t really—”
    “Down!”
    I got down on my knees, feeling stupid, raising my hands to my head.
    “Hardman,” she said, finger to her ear. “If Knees here so much as
sneezes
, put a slug through his neck.”
    “But—” I began.
    She took off at a run down the street, moving much more quickly now that she’d removed the heels and the dress. That left me alone. I felt like an idiot kneeling there, hairs on my neck prickling as I thought of the sniper who had his weapon trained on me.
    How many agents did the Reckoners have here? I couldn’t imagine them trying anything like this without at least two dozen. Another explosion shook the ground. Why the blasts? They’d alert Enforcement, Steelheart’s soldiers. Lackeys and thugs were bad enough; Enforcement wielded advanced guns and the occasional armor unit—twelve-foot-tall robotic suits of power armor.
    The next explosion was closer, just down the block. Something must have gone wrong in their original plan, otherwise Fortuitywouldn’t have gotten away from the woman in red. Megan? Was that what she’d said her name was?
    This was one of their contingency plans. But what were they trying to do?
    A figure burst out of an alleyway nearby, almost making me jump. I held still, cursing that sniper, but I did turn my head slightly to look. The figure wore red, and still had handcuffs on. Fortuity.
    The explosions
, I realized.
They were to scare him back this way!
    He crossed the street, then turned to run in my direction. Megan—if that was really her name—burst from the same road he’d appeared out of. She turned this way, trying to chase him down, but behind her—in the distance—another group of figures rushed out from a different street.
    They were four of Spritz’s thugs, in suits and carrying submachine guns. They pointed at Megan.
    I watched from the other side of the street as Megan and Fortuity passed me. The thugs were approaching from my right, and Megan and Fortuity were running to my left, all of us on the same darkened street.
    Come on!
I thought at the sniper up above.
She doesn’t see them! They’ll gun her down. Take them out!
    Nothing. The thugs leveled their guns. I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck. Then, teeth clenched, I rolled to the side, whipping my rifle out and drawing a bead on one of them.
    I took a deep breath, concentrated, and squeezed the trigger, fully expecting to be shot in the head from above.

4
    A handgun is like a firecracker—unpredictable. Light a firecracker, toss it, and you never really know where it’s going to land or the damage it’s going to do. The same’s true when you shoot a handgun.
    An Uzi is even worse—it’s like a string of firecrackers. Much more likely to hurt something, but still awkward and unruly.
    A rifle is elegant. It’s an extension of your will. Take aim, squeeze the trigger, make things happen. In the hands of an expert with stillness inside of him, there’s nothing more deadly than a good rifle.
    The first thug fell to my shot. I