Chapter 89
The rubble of the inn was still settling, thick dust catching the pale moonlight that spilled through the shattered wall. Logan lay pinned beneath a jagged crossbeam, his massive chest heaving. The alcohol that had fueled his arrogance was gone, burned out by the sudden, suffocating shock of defeat. He stared up at Alfonzo. To the Northern Beast, this rank-four guard should have been nothing but an insect.
Alfonzo stopped above him. He raised the strange blue weapon, letting the cold barrel rest flush against the back of Logan's hand. He pulled the trigger.
Click.
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air, vibrating against Alfonzo's teeth. A faint ripple of heat warped the space at the barrel's tip. A perfect, smoking hole opened straight through Logan's elbow joint.
