GodMode Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Social Media

  Copyright / Publication

  CH1 Extraction

  CH2 Choices

  CH3 Rivals

  CH4 Metro Rail

  CH5 Bear

  CH6 Wolfe

  CH7 Quitter

  CH8 At Last

  CH9 Trust Me

  CH10 Captured

  CH11 Family Reunion

  CH12 Black Daggers

  CH13 Suit Up

  CH14 Diablo

  CH15 Tango

  CH16 Beautiful Destruction

  CH17 Ultimatum

  Thank You

  The J.Spade Chronicles

  GodMode

  Written by

  O.K. Mills & Enji Jones

  Social Media

  To learn more about The J.Spade Chronicles, visit: j.spade.com

  Like us on FaceBook – The J.Spade Chronicles

  Follow us on Twitter @iamjspade

  Follow me on Twitter @omarkmills

  Follow us on Instagram – J.Spade Chronicles

  Other books by Wade Valiant publishing

  Necromancers’ Pride – Quest for Elderstone (Book 1)

  Necromancers’ Pride – Tides of War (Book 2)

  Necromancers' Pride - Storm of Shadows (Book 3)

  The J.Spade Chronicles

  GodMode

  BOOK ONE

  The J. SPADE Chronicles – GodMode is a work of fiction.

  All related names, characters, places and indicia are trademarks of and

  © Omar K. Mills & Enji Jones.

  The contents in this book are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text © 2013 by Omar K. Mills & Enji Jones.

  Illustration cover © 2013 by Wade Valiant Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Wade Valiant Inc.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, contact

  Wade Valiant Inc • 14431 Ventura Blvd suite 325, Sherman Oaks, CA 91423.

  To learn more about the lives of your favorite characters and to read the 1st chapter of book two, The J. SPADE Chronicles – Guardian, visit

  j.spade.com

  1: Extraction

  Trevor Thorn pulled out his gun, inserted a fresh clip and chambered a round.

  “Did you see where she went?”

  Trevor spun around at the question from his partner, Kevin Cain, who carried a large knife and gave a disapproving glance at Trevor’s firearm.

  “This isn’t how we planned this.”

  “Hey man, dead or alive, we get paid either way,” said Trevor.

  “You want to wake the whole neighborhood so that somebody calls the cops? Use your head! Now where did she go?”

  Suddenly, a scream came from the living room.

  “Run, Brynn!”

  “I thought you killed the mother?” asked Cain.

  “I … I did…”

  “Does she sound dead to you? Find the girl. I’ll take care of the mom. This whole plan has gone straight to hell.”

  Cain swiftly went to where he heard the mother’s voice. Trevor, returning his attention to the primary task, stepped quickly, yet cautiously down the hallway.

  CRUNCH!

  Dishes breaking under his feet, Trevor swore and instinctively shushed himself. He kept his head on a swivel closely watching every step as he moved forward. Once he had made it through the kitchen into the family room, he noticed a peculiar slit in the wall behind the mounted flat screen TV. It was so well hidden that had it been later in the day, he might have missed it in the darkness. He walked over to investigate it as Cain appeared suddenly at his side.

  “Mom’s dead, but she managed to get a call out to 911. We have four maybe five minutes before a black and white shows up. Any sign of the girl?”

  Trevor pointed to the slit in the wall.

  “Panic room. I would have walked right by it. Good eye.”

  “Not good enough. I can’t tell how she got in there.”

  “Check for a control panel in the wall or a pressure point near the slit. She’s nine, man, probably not even 5 feet tall. Look for an area low enough that she could reach it,” Cain instructed.

  Trevor felt up and down the wall, but nothing happened. Before long Cain grew impatient.

  “That black and white is going to be here any minute, Trevor.”

  “I’m working as fast as I can. Pressuring me ain’t gon’ make this puppy open any faster.”

  “You want to explain to Mr. Silas the reason we didn’t complete the extraction? Be my guest.”

  Trevor sighed as he continued running his fingers along the slit, feeling for anything that might release the door.

  “So are you coming or not?”

  Spade adjusted the camouflaged duffle bag hanging from his shoulder, then considered the wall menu at Dunkin’ Donuts.

  “Oh, so we’re doing this now? Ignoring each other?” Mike goaded.

  “What do you want me to say, Mike?”

  “I want you to say you’re coming. I want you to say you’re going to let go of your anger, find your inner Zen or whatever the hell it was that they taught you in Africa, make peace with dad and come to the man’s birthday party. That is what I want.”

  Spade sighed.

  “I’d also like a doughnut,” Mike laughed as he moved forward in line and up to the counter.

  “Cop who likes doughnuts, there’s a first.”

  Mike scratched his nose with his middle finger in his brother’s direction before ordering a large coffee, a box of glazed and a box of chocolate frosted doughnuts.

  “That’s about 7,000 calories right there, Officer Pillsbury.”

  “Just for that, I’m not going to give you one.”

  “As if you were going to give me one to begin with.”

  Mike paid, and the brothers exited the store. After carefully setting the doughnuts into the Crown Victoria, Mike took a seat and opened the passenger door for his brother.

  “If you ride with me back to the station, then we can just consider this little trip your ride-along,” said Mike.

  His brother hesitated.

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? You’d make a great cop, bro, and the ride-along is the only thing left on your checklist—if memory serves? You had the psych eval already, right?”

  “Mike, that was seven years ago. And besides, I don’t want to be a cop—or anything where I might have to hurt someone. Not anymore.”

  Mike sighed and forced a smile.

  “Humor me. It’s a ride-along. I have to get a report to my major, but that shouldn’t take too long. Afterward, we grab a couple beers at ESPN Zone. You can amaze me with your glorious tales of how for the last seven years you built churches in underprivileged, third world countries, while I tell you all about being a fat father of four.”

  Spade laughed.

  Patting Mike’s round stomach, he asked, “How’d you get so fat, anyway? You weren’t this bad when I left.”

  “You get married and have four kids and see how long you keep your girlish figure.”

  “Did you carry all four too?”

  “I’ll tell you what I do c
arry—a Glock 9mm. Your black belts in Jeet Kune Kip, or whatever fake movie karate it is that you do, ain’t got nothing on my gun-fu. Keep on talking,” Mike jokingly jibed, “and hand me a doughnut.”

  Spade did as asked, while Mike started the squad car. The two men rode for several minutes in near silence, the only sounds coming from the police radio. Finally, Spade spoke.

  “I’m not going.”

  Mike sighed.

  “The man is dying. He’s our father.”

  “He’s your father. Not mine. Not anymore.”

  “Twenty-eight years ago he spat you out of his balls and into our mother, which by definition, makes you his kid. Get over yourself and wish the man a happy birthday.”

  Spade stifled a laugh and smiled. Mike took another bite of his doughnut and smiled back.

  “I left because of dad, Mike, and not just home. I left the United States of America to avoid being around the man.”

  “That’s what I don’t get.”

  “What?”

  “You can go to the Ivory Coast and build churches for Jesus, but you can’t forgive dad?”

  “I do forgive him. I just don’t forget.”

  “That’s not forgiveness then.”

  Spade shot Mike a look and rolled his eyes.

  “It’s not, man. It’s something that unforgiving people tell themselves to keep from actually forgiving anybody. Forgiving requires letting go. If you can’t let go, then you haven’t really forgiven any…”

  ~~ DELTA-19, what’s your 20? ~~

  Mike stopped mid-sentence to grab the radio from the dashboard and respond to the dispatcher.

  “This is D19. I’m approaching Main and Jermantown, over.”

  ~~ We have shots fired on Kingsley and Ware near the Vienna Baptist Children’s Center. ~~

  “Dispatch, I have a civilian in the vehicle on a ride-along, over.”

  ~~ Acknowledged, Delta-19 ~~

  Asphalt and gravel exploded haphazardly as tires shrieked, and the siren on the Crown Victoria wailed like a banshee. Mike took another bite of his doughnut and swig of coffee.

  “Hey man, you have to get out up here, okay. I’ll make sure I send someone for you to take you back to the station,” said Mike.

  “No time. You heard dispatch. Besides, I’m safer with you.”

  Mike gave his brother a look that showed his obvious disagreement with that plan.

  “Look, when we get there, I’ll just stay in the car. This is a ride-along after all, remember?” Spade smiled.

  “We’ll make a cop out of you yet, bro,” Mike grinned, “You may now have one doughnut.”

  SCREEEEECH!

  Mike slammed hard on the brakes to stop just short of a traffic jam that stretched for several blocks. He leaned on the horn and waved his arms to get the motorists blocking them to move. He maneuvered speedily through the sea of cars but eventually had to slow down. A young, black woman directly ahead them was having difficulty pulling to the left to get out of the Crown Vic’s way.

  Mike shot her a glare when he finally got past her.

  “You’ve got to drive better than that, my sister!”

  Spade gave him a look.

  “My sister?”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m sorry, did you get a tan I don’t know about? Just because you married a black woman doesn’t mean you’re suddenly in the fraternity. At best you get a black pass,” Spade laughed.

  “We prefer African-American pass, thank you,” Mike laughed as he slicked back his blond hair.”

  Traffic finally parted for the squad car, and Mike floored it once he was clear. It was all Spade could do to hold on as his brother fought to keep the vehicle steady.

  “Doughnut, please.” Mike announced.

  Holding tightly onto the armrests like a boa constrictor, Spade pulled yet another glazed doughnut from the box and stuck one in Mike’s mouth.

  “So, you’ll come to dad’s birthday party this weekend?”

  “Shouldn’t you be focused on the shooting we’re headed to, assuming your driving doesn’t kill us?”

  Mike took a corner so hard that the left side tires left the ground momentarily before slamming back down, screeching and rekindling their speed. He grabbed the CB radio.

  “Dispatch I’m about one minute out from that location. Requesting backup.”

  ~~ Acknowledged. Backup officers en route. ~~

  Finally, they pulled up to the address.

  “Sit tight, I won’t be long.”

  “You’re not going to wait for backup?”

  “You heard dispatch; backup is en route. Whole family could be dead by the time they get here. I will just go check it out first. Whatever you do, don’t get out of the car, okay?”

  Mike chambered a round into his service weapon. He shot Spade a look, but spoke no words. Mike paused before getting out of the car.

  “You coming or not?”

  “You just told me to stay in the car.”

  “To dad’s birthday party, genius. You knew what I meant. Don’t play stupid with me,” Mike chided.

  Spade sat between the rock of not wanting to disappoint his older brother and the hard place of his principles.

  “Why does it matter so much to you?”

  “It’s not for me, bro. In fact, it’s not even for dad. He already knows you’re pissed at him and that you have been for forever. I’m asking for you. Dad’s going to die in six months, but you are going to have to live with the fact that you never got this squashed. Is that what you want?”

  “You have a family to go and save, don’t you?” asked Spade, ignoring the question.

  “I’m trying to, bro. I’m really trying to,” Mike winked. He slid out of the car. Crouching down, he quietly made his way to the residence.

  Cain jumped at the sound of a sudden crash coming from the living room. Trevor mouthed an expletive as he attempted to steady his breathing. Cain held his index finger to his lips and pointed toward the direction of the noise. Next, he pointed at Trevor and then the slit in the wall. In other words, keep working on getting into the panic room.

  Cain tip-toed as best as he could in tactical footwear until he got to the living room where he saw a woman in her late 50s crawling on her stomach toward the door. Sending a vase down to the floor, she had bumped into one of the end tables. Fresh blood oozing out of her created a long trail from a large pool where she had originally been wounded.

  “Trevor, you’re not going to believe this,” Cain announced laughing.

  “What is it?” Trevor asked.

  “The mom. She’s still alive, man.”

  “I shot her twice,” exclaimed Trevor.

  “And I choked her out,” replied Cain who watched her continue to crawl. He unsheathed his knife and squatted in front of her path to the door.

  “I’m halfway tempted to Instagram this,” Cain laughed and grabbed her by the hair.

  WHAM!

  The front door swung open, knocking Cain forward. Falling down, he dropped his knife. A police officer stood over him with a weapon drawn. Intuitively, Cain raised his hands and avoided making any sudden moves. The officer kicked the knife away from Cain’s reach, inspected the room briefly and approached him.

  “Turn on your stomach, now!” The officer ordered. Cain slowly turned over. He grimaced when the officer put his left knee into the middle of his back to hold him in place. The officer holstered his weapon and reached for his cuffs.

  BANG!

  Mike felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and fell backwards onto the wall by the door. Instinctively, he jumped to his feet and dove into the kitchen. The broken plates cut his forearms as he slid behind the large island sink. He was lucky that the bullet went straight through. In the adjacent room, Trevor rushed over to check on Cain.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live,” replied Cain.

  He got up, retrieved his knife and removed his gun from its shoulder holster. On the ground, they both
noticed the trail of blood leading into the kitchen.

  “How many?” Trevor asked.

  “Just him.”

  Cain gestured for Trevor to go to the left of the island while he went to the right. Trevor nodded, and the two men slowly walked over.

  Hearing footsteps coming from either side of the island, Mike’s heart raced. Scanning the room, he noticed the opening to the next room was just a few short paces away. If he timed his shots right, he could hit one of them and run out of the room.

  The footsteps inched closer.

  Mike readied his gun, eased his breathing and jumped to his feet.

  Time seemed to slow down for all three men. Mike, a skilled range shooter, took mere moments to carefully aim and fire two rounds at Cain. One caught him in the throat and the other, the left cheek. Cain loudly gasped before falling backwards, his skull smashing against the hardwood floors.

  Everything in Mike’s head said to make a run for it, but his feet did not listen. Instead, he aimed his gun at the other perpetrator.

  CLACK…

  Mike looked in horror; his weapon stove-piped. His eyes met Trevor’s in his attempt to turn and run to the next room while clearing the jam at the same time.

  Without hesitation Trevor emptied his clip into Mike whose momentum carried him hard into the kitchen wall before he collapsed with a thud. Within seconds he was bleeding out over everything.