Hannibal remained still as the two men in the booth behind him rose to their feet and left. He looked over his shoulder as they walked out of the pub on the outskirts of Portland. He had been following TJ and Austin per Ashure’s orders.
He had seen them shoot the cop—or at least he heard what sounded like gunfire from the corner where he had been parked. Within minutes, it seemed like more than half of the Portland Police department was on the street. Now he knew exactly why.
Hannibal placed his untasted beer bottle on the table and rose from his seat. He didn’t know why a punk kid from Yachats and a disgraced drummer wanted an alien from another world dead.
“This whole world is turning f*****g crazy,” he muttered.
He pushed open the door and pulled up the collar of his jacket. It was
