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  REVOLUTIONARY

  MINEFIELD ENFORCERS BOOK THREE

  LEANN MASON

  Revolutionary by LeAnn Mason

  Published by LeAnn Mason, LLC 14083 OK-51 #301, Coweta, OK 74429

  www.leannmason.com

  Copyright © 2019 by LeAnn Mason. All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the production of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, live or dead, are purely coincidental.

  For more information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book, go to www.leannmason.com or email at: [email protected]

  Revolutionary/LeAnn Mason– First Printing/2019

  ISBN:

  Cover by: Rebeca Covers

  Edited by: Holmes Edits

  For my cheer squad, you keep me going.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  EPILOGUE

  FOLLOW LINKS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  OTHER BOOKS BY LEANN MASON

  CHAPTER 1

  Chaos. That’s what we’d devolved into. Chaos had reigned in Minefield since Councilman Davidson decided to hold a town-wide meeting. A meeting where he dropped the bombshell of what we’d been working toward. A meeting where he announced, without finesse or preamble, that Enhanced could achieve freedom. The promise of our exile being nullified, of seeing the world outside Minefield’s walls, was alluring. However, that freedom would mean adjustments, and many Enhanced were now experiencing fear much like the Non-Enhanced had all those years ago. Fear of how their lives would change, if they could adjust…if they’d be targeted.

  I stood at the weapons station, also known as the folding table set up in the middle of the open acreage that acted as our firing range behind the farmhouse. A black, semi-automatic pistol lay disassembled, like a corpse torn limb from limb. Much like the mob had nearly done to my good friend Councilman Davidson once he’d broached the subject of the changes the town would begin going through to acclimate to the rules of society in the ninny world. My mind recalled vividly the minutes of that revelatory day a couple weeks before.

  We walked down the crowded path through the Gardens toward the makeshift stage that had been erected for the council’s big reveal. Our team, like a knotted mass, plowed a raging line through the congregated Enhanced who’d come to hear the announcement. Some were energized, some frightened. But us? We were livid.

  Of all the days for the council to bring our impending release to light, that was the worst. The most inconsiderate. A slap in the face to all those who knew and loved Dane. No sooner had we said goodbye to Dane than we were accosted with Davidson’s lackeys handing out flyers about a town meeting. Flyers! At our fallen teammate’s funeral! It made me want to clock the asshat. Not that it was a new sensation for me. When it came to Alan Davidson, I often wanted to beat the crap out of him, but this was a new low.

  So, our mourning was put on hold, replaced with righteous indignation. We knew he was a tool but couldn’t confront him right then and there. That would only inflame the rest of Minefield’s inhabitants. We needed to help keep people calm, relay facts, and ease minds. The looming worry hovered just under the surface of almost every citizen in attendance, meaning we had our work cut out for us.

  Davidson wasted no time, clearing his throat of some non-existent obstruction and lifting his chin to better look down his nose at the rest of us. He began his speech with, “Soon, our gates will allow flow of people in both directions: into and out of Minefield.” That one sentence was enough to bring both excitement and worry to the forefront of every mind within my range, and the number was plenty.

  Our team still stood like a knot, staring at the elder Davidson but keeping our senses open to everything around us. We couldn’t let our anger cloud our training. We all knew that the information coming to light would cause mixed reactions, all of them most likely strong and many conflicting. In other words, a disaster was brewing. The kicker? Davidson knew it.

  He knew good and well that laying it all out there would breed fear, and our job would instantly become infinitely harder. Maybe the plan to discontinue Enhanced exile would be scrapped because of it. That’s probably what his goal was. He had a lot more oversight if he controlled the flow of information to and from our ranks.

  I tuned back in to his self-righteous flapping of lips. He kept his hands pressed solidly against the lectern he perched behind, fingers clenching the polished wood like it was a lifeline. “Things in town will begin to change–”

  “Like what?” came a frantic feminine cry from the crowd, followed by a chorus of “yeah” and general sounds of worry.

  Davidson wasn’t happy about the constant barrage of questions being flung into the air amidst his carefully-crafted condescending speech. Unsurprisingly, many Sages were gloating about knowing this day would come and how they’d been instrumental in bringing it about. The Primals’ agitation at the superiority being displayed by such Sages was voiced with building growls.

  “People, please!” Davidson called over the rising noise, realizing that he’d lose control before anyone heard anything about the details, which would look bad on him. “Please, I am happy to elaborate, but you must listen.” After a moment of surveying all those placed below him, which was everyone, he continued. “Money will become a more pervasive method of payment so that we have the means to receive goods and services outside our town. That means that you will now be paid for your jobs and have to pay for goods and services.”

  The crowd erupted in a chorus of heated questions and pulsed toward where the council stood up on their makeshift stage like a raging sea. Our little knot was forced to move several paces as restlessness grew. Looking around more pointedly now, I noted the enforcers that were stationed tactically around the perimeter of the mass. Good, there was more than just our team of seven—six, there were only six of us now—ready to take action if needed. Though, to be honest, if all or even a chunk of these people turned their abilities into weapons… we’d be monumentally screwed.

  My dad stepped up to the plate, strong and calm, demanding the respect he’d earned as a doctor and friend. When the melee subsided to the point that we no longer feared the mob mentality, we removed our hands from weapons tucked into various hiding places on our persons and tuned in to the speech once again.

  Where Davidson’s words had incited panic, Dad’s brought worry but an attempt to understand, and a glimmer of excitement returned.

  Yes, there would be some acclimation needed. We weren’t used to needing money for all the provisions or even worrying about paying for housing and utilities, but if we wanted the luxury of being able to come and go as we pleased, we needed to adhere to societal rules.

  The Enhanced would conform. Minefield businesses had a choice: continue as they had, get their goods and property provided in return for the product and ownership of the p
roperty and brand, or begin paying for their property, goods, and services, and have full rights to the profit and products.

  I had no doubt—okay, little doubt—that our costs would still be lower here in town than in other places. Surely, they’d help us succeed. Right?

  A certain evil Primal had been vocal about all the change. Elle James had been keen to start a riot, especially when our team was specifically named as being a driving force in said release. She had a slew of scathing and hateful things to say about a combined task force, about how weak and unhelpful Sages would be in enforcement. I actually smiled at Steve when he froze the harpy mid-rant and proved just what kind of mojo a Sage could offer. Still, there would always be those on either side—or ALL sides—who believed others were inferior.

  “Nat!” a deep voice called from my left, jolting me out of my remembrance and back to the current task.

  I poked the ramrod that was supposed to be pushing a cleaning cloth through the barrel of my weapon down into my cast at the gap where my fingers protruded. It was a futile hope to relieve the persistent prickling that was another annoying side effect of my broken arm. Man, this cast is itchy. There was no way I was going to make it several more weeks with the white casing on my right arm and hand. Not only was it a massive hindrance to just about everything, but the freaking thing itched like no one’s business and was driving me batty.

  “You still haven’t reassembled that weapon?” A side-eye look showed Devlin jutting his chin at the corpse of a gun still lying in pieces in front of me on the table.

  I waggled my protruding fingers at him, eyebrows raised in a visual affirmation of infirmity. “Useless hand, remember?”

  The big man scoffed at me. Like truly, a pfft sound escaped his lips as he delivered a raised eyebrow and deep-blue dead-eyed stare. I conceded, hands raised in supplication. He was right, I wasn’t entirely useless… just mostly. I couldn’t really fight or maneuver effectively with the plaster encasing my arm. What only a few knew—what I wasn’t sure wouldn’t be broadcast far and wide soon—was that my arm no longer needed the cast. I was healed, the bones once again fused into two long, solid pillars of strength from wrist to elbow.

  I began putting the pieces of my assigned weapon back together. Luckily, it was a pretty easy thing: barrel, tension spring, slide, magazine. This particular weapon had been chosen for its ease of use and low occurrence of malfunction. I pulled the reassembled slide along the rails of the frame until it locked, completing the motion two more times to make sure it was smooth. Dry firing toward the ground twice reassured there was no catch, a practice I was finally getting the hang of. I’d had my finger snagged in the chamber, during cleanings just like this, more than once.

  I let the aggressive beat pounding in my right ear kick the remembered pain and help keep me from listening in on Devlin’s thoughts. I chose instead to ask him my next question. “Anything crazy today?”

  As I again remembered the town’s reaction to the impending changes we’d face, sometimes I still wished I couldn't read minds. I'd needed many, many pills to escape that migraine. With so many people having such intense mental reactions, my own head had revolted to the onslaught in the form of a killer headache. I'd been forced to retreat to my bed once the crowd had dispersed, spending the rest of the day encased in darkness, as any light or sound caused light bursts behind my eyes and a physical thump in my brain.

  “No calls yet. I'm sure someone, somewhere is doing something stupid, but seeing as they're not being overly sneaky about their retaliation, the patrol enforcers can handle it,” Devlin said, pulling on a set of ear muffs and cranking the dial of the electronic dampener. Tactical glasses followed suit as he shot me a look—pun intended—indicating he really didn't think that was accurate and paced around the wobbly table toward his firing line. He was about twenty-five yards from the mounted target, which outlined a human head and torso with bullseyes on the chest and forehead.

  “Get your ears on, Hybrid.”

  I yanked the burly, specialized ear muffs from around my neck after I reluctantly pulled the earbud out and magnetically attached it to its other half around my neck, exactly where the range headphones had perched. I just traded one for the other. After giving a narrow-eyed nod when he was satisfied by my ear protection, he jerked his pistol free from the holster on his right hip and rapidly squeezed off three rounds. Three more followed a moment later. The bursts continued until Dev’s magazine was empty. All fifteen shots fired downrange.

  “Why three-shot bursts?” I asked mildly as we removed our earwear and marched through the taller grass of the field toward the target.

  “It’s just a grouping habit I’ve picked up. If you’re going to shoot your weapon,” he stared sideways at me to convey the conviction of his next words, “you empty the mag. You make sure that the target can’t get up and continue the fight. The three-shot grouping is how I re-center, take a moment to readjust if needed. Hopefully, it keeps my shots from straying.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. That seemed like a sound tactic.

  “Though, we still need to make sure we do some rapid-fire drills, too. Once we get the new recruits settled into a routine, we’ll work more on tactics. Using cover and shooting around obstacles, especially under duress. Accuracy counts for everything.”

  “Do you really think we’ll need to use our guns here? People don’t really use them. They have plenty of other weapons at their disposal.” We stopped at the paper person, Devlin reaching up to remove the target from its mount, then turned and headed back to the table. “They’ve been using those weapons quite freely as of late,” I muttered as I removed my “ears.”

  Devlin huffed a dark laugh, one completely devoid of mirth, acknowledging the truth of my statement as he, too, shucked his accessories. Since the encounter with Ember, Dane’s death, and the impending changes Minefield would endure bringing forth fear in residents’ minds, fight or flight had kicked in hard. There were so many instances of petty fights and squabbles, many spanning between Sage and Primal Enhanced, that the entirety of the enforcers’ ranks was on call and on high alert. We’d even had to expand our team and were now taking on trainees.

  Once we’d recruited another full team, we’d be booted from the farmhouse, so the newbies could start their team-building machinations just as my own team had a few short months ago. Difference was, I’d now be teaching. I’d be a mentor to a group of up-and-coming enforcers who wanted to be part of the investigative force in Minefield, tasked with weeding out the truth and finding justice in the cases that were not obvious. The cases that needed a soft touch, some finesse.

  Most of the recruits were selected from within the existing ranks of enforcers in town. The true toddlers of the trade were once again the Sages we somehow convinced to enroll, of which we currently had none. There would be another six or eight Enhanced to act as a secondary investigative team, mingling with my own task force until they learned the ropes and expectations. Man, they’d have it easier than we did. “Lucky ducks.”

  “What was that?” Dev asked distractedly while his eyes trailed some of the recruits filing into the training building further from the range and the farmhouse. I observed his tension mount the longer he watched. His hands clenched like vises on his hips, and his shoulders steadily climbed toward his ears, though the distance didn’t seem as far as it did on other people. Devlin’s trapezius muscles mounded, making his neck appear shorter than it actually was. He totally rocked the “meathead” look, though thankfully, the long, girlie bang-thing he’d been sporting for Cara was gone. It had been savagely shorn immediately following the discovery that Cara was a dual-personality murderer, whether she’d realized it or not.

  We had all changed the night we’d lost the best of us.

  I swiped at my eyes before the tears could fall and redirected my thoughts, hoping Dev was distracted enough not to notice. “So, you have tactics with them now?”

  “Yeah. I needed to blow off some steam before I s
tepped into that today. Now, maybe I can handle all the testosterone they’re throwing off.”

  “Ha!” I managed to stifle the rest of the laughter that wanted to escape at Dev’s mention of amped-up hormones. When his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw swung my way, I threw my hands up in surrender, but the smile never left my face. “I’m sorry, Dev, but do you remember how you were when this whole thing started?”

  “I wasn’t as bad as them.” He pouted petulantly, reminding me of a child caught fibbing.

  “Okay, you keep telling yourself that, Big Boy.” I patted his arm patronizingly. The mention had his mind whirring back into the aggressive state I just reminded him he possessed. “My point exactly.”

  “We need to train some more. Get you more used to flinging that cement arm around. You favor it. It hinders you, and people will see it as a weakness.” He threw a chin nod at the offending encasement.

  “You already do.”

  “Yes. I do.” His boyish grin of satisfaction drew one from me in return.

  “Nice redirect, Stealth. Go. See to your newbies, Oh Tactical God,” I snipped as I passed. The reminder of his impending hormone-riddled venture caused his smile to slip.

  It was time for my surveillance-and-honing training with Holden. I didn’t really want to listen in on people for the next couple of hours, but I did love the time I got with Holden. I pushed my earbuds back into my ears and pressed play, resuming the twanging guitar chords that had been building the new song when I’d needed to guard my ears from the pistol noise. I choked back a sob and my feet ground to a halt when the lyrics started up. About living life to the fullest, no matter what gets thrown at you. About doing it all. About living life.

  I forced myself to move toward the house again, to feel the slight crunch to the grass under my feet, and to feel joy in the song. I needed to remember Dane as he was in life, not just that he was gone. Losing Dane was taking its toll on us, the team as a whole. Everyone who’d known and loved our big teddy bear was still in mourning.