Page 1 of Ride the Lightning

“There’s a vicious storm coming, love. I can feel it in my bones.”

Jonah could hear his granny’s voice as clearly as if she were standing right beside him. Maeve St. John, the daughter of a lifelong sailor, had predicted changes in weather better than any meteorologist on television. Some people had thought she was bat-shit crazy; Jonah had known she was pure magic. When others would seek shelter, Jonah and his granny had sat on the porch and reveled in the beauty of a thunderstorm.

“You’re witnessing Mother Nature at her finest, Jonah. Life is like a thunderstorm—unpredictable, beautiful, and sometimes dangerous.”

From Maeve, Jonah had inherited his black hair, olive-toned skin, and weird green eyes with a hue so dark they looked black in certain lights. She’d also taught him how to read the clouds and study the wind. A strong breeze blew across the parking lot, and the sense of trouble made the hair stand up on his neck.

He’d blamed his headache on stress after spending twelve hours in endless meetings where he’d had to defend his skillset to his immediate supervisor in front of everyone in their division, including the deputy director. Just another miserable Monday. As soon as he stepped outside to leave, Jonah discovered the shift in barometric pressure was the real culprit for the skull-splitting pain. Granny felt the weather in her bones, while Jonah felt it in his sinus cavities.

The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees and the wind had intensified since his lunch break. Jonah hoped he had enough time to run a quick errand on his way home before the storm hit. He wanted to watch the show from his front porch, just like he’d done at his granny and pop’s house where he grew up. It wasn’t a matter ofifthe severe weather arrived, butwhen.

Nighttime thunderstorms were the best. The lightning was brighter as it split the sky and arced toward earth, and the rumble of thunder sounded louder and more menacing. Could this be the weather front that matched or exceeded the intensity of the maelstrom raging inside him?

Jonah debated going straight home, but he needed his Caramel Bugles fix after a day like this, and he’d blown through last week’s stash in two days. He loved his job as a criminal analyst for Georgia Bureau of Investigations, where he used technology to predict and prevent crimes and capture bad guys. He loathed his boss, Supervisory Agent Butch Trexler, just as ardently.

If brewing storms reminded Jonah of his granny, then Trexler reminded him of Pop. It wasn’t a compliment either. Oscar St. John had been one mean son of a bitch who had bullied and brow-beaten everything and everyone into submission. Trexler seemed to live for the moments he could demean and humiliate Jonah and flex his power over him. If things didn’t change at the bureau soon, he’d be forced to make a tough decision before the job took a hard toll on his health. Leaving was complicated. Someone dear to Jonah had stuck their neck out for him so he could get an interview for the position. He also didn’t want to give Trexler the satisfaction of running him off.

Jonah mentally shoved the thoughts aside and concentrated on driving across town to his neighborhood. Part of Thomas Square Streetcar Historic District had undergone heavy revitalization. Investors bought the homes for a low price, renovated them, and flipped the houses for a profit, which brought an influx of hipsters to the area. The other half, where Jonah lived, was the exact opposite. Residents and businesses flooded out of the neighborhood, leaving abandoned homes and buildings that bordered on derelict. His destination, Ling’s Corner Market, was the only surviving business in the strip mall on Bull Street near his house.

Several cars were in the parking lot, but only one caught his attention. The driver had backed into a spot instead of pulling in. When Jonah parked beside the car, he noticed the engine was still running. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where you left your keys in the ignition unless you wanted someone to steal your car, or you planned to rob the corner market because you figured the elderly Asian-American owners made an easy target. He quickly exited the car and made his way toward the store. Jonah must’ve wrenched the door open with too much enthusiasm because all eyes turned to him. Mrs. Ling was behind the counter and smiled softly when their gazes collided. Maybe he’d overreacted to the car out front and someone was just passing through and didn’t know better than to take their damn car keys with them.

No, his gut said he was right. Like the approaching storm, Jonah could smell trouble brewing. No one was acting suspicious as he scanned the customers. The patrons met Jonah’s perusal with stares of their own, ranging from curiosity to fear and even disgust. He was used to it, even if the reasons had changed over the years.

He’d always stood out—pun intended—due to his height. He started kindergarten as the tallest kid in his class, a title he retained until he joined the military after graduation. The years in between garnered attention for his awkwardness, a nerdy brain, and his inability to use his size to achieve glory for the various sports teams, their coaches, or Oscar. He tried. God, had he tried.

These days, it wasn’t his broad six-five frame that drew everyone’s eye. It was the silver scar slashing diagonally across his face from above his right eyebrow to the left corner of his mouth. Some people seemed uncomfortable and broke eye contact. Others reacted to the scar with fascination and saw him as a challenge. He’d gotten laid many times by playing up the bad boy image.

Jonah caught sight of himself on the television screen showing the live security camera feed and nearly winced.Jesus, St. John.A lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead, nearly covering one of his oddly colored eyes. Obsidian, his granny had called them. The scowl on Jonah’s face made him look much older than thirty-five. Forcing himself to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders, Jonah took his time perusing the aisles. One by one, the customers bought their items and exited the store, and yet, the car with the running motor remained parked out front.

“Hello, Jonah,” Mrs. Ling called out as he approached the counter.

“Hello, Mrs. Ling,” he replied, studying her for any signs of duress. “I’m here for my stash.”

Every Monday, without fail, he picked up the ten bags of Caramel Bugles—never more, never less—the Lings set aside for him. It would be a perfect opportunity for Mrs. Ling to signal something was wrong by pretending not to know what he was talking about.

“Of course,” she said.

After she ducked into the back room, Jonah walked through the market looking for spots where the asshole could be hiding. In the far corner, back by the beer coolers, he spotted a door with a sign marking it as employee use only. Jonah kept his tread light while approaching, not knowing what could be waiting for him on the other side. A knife? A gun?

Jonah yanked open the door. The young skinny white guy yelped loudly and tried to duck when Jonah reached inside to grasp his hoodie, but Jonah was faster. He dragged the guy out of the closet, then lifted him up until the tips of his toes were barely touching the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing hiding in the broom closet?” he asked angrily.

“I-I.” Skinny White Guy emitted a high-pitched squeak, then his head fell forward, breaking eye contact. A strong ammonia smell made Jonah crinkle his nose. He looked down and saw the puddle of piss pooling at SWG’s feet. The goddamned punk had pissed a river down his leg. Jonah took a quick step back to keep his shoes out of it but didn’t let go of the weasel.

“Were you going to rob Mrs. Ling?” Jonah asked.

“No,” SWG said quickly, shaking his head frantically. “I wasn’t.”

“Get your hands up and keep them there.”

The kid immediately obeyed. Jonah reached inside the hoodie pocket and pulled out a small caliber handgun.

“What the fuck were you going to do with this?”

“It’s not loaded,” the guy said.

“And that makes it okay?” Jonah asked, giving the kid a good shake. “You were going to put that gun in Mrs. Ling’s face and demand money?”