Ronan clung to the giant wasp like his life depended on it—which, honestly, it probably did. The wind howled in his ears, whipping his thinning hair into a frenzy as the city lights of Dark Moon City blurred into a distant glow below.
His stomach did somersaults, not just from the height, but from the sheer absurdity of it all. A month ago he was mopping the floors of his father's martial arts halls since that was his only way to contribute to the family business, too weak to be an instructor. Yesterday, he was scrubbing soup stains off counters. Today, he was riding a monster bug with a poisoned terrorist slung over some faceless boss's shoulder. If this was his new life...he didn't necessarily hate it. Though his bladder begged to differ.
