The rain hammered the dock like bullets, each drop exploding against the concrete in tiny bursts of spray. Rhett slid off the hitdevil's back, his shoulder separating with a wet pop that sent white-hot lightning down his arm. He rolled with the impact, concrete scraping skin from his palms, but forced himself to keep moving.
The hitdevil didn't even acknowledge him. It stalked Henrik with that same mechanical precision, a living missile locked onto its target. Nothing else existed in its world—not Rhett, not the rain, not the twenty-ton cargo container swaying from the crane's arm like a steel pendulum.
The cable wire lay coiled near the base of the crane, thick as his wrist and gleaming with rain. Industrial-grade steel, designed to lift tons of cargo. Perfect to catch the devil. But there was no hook in sight, just the frayed end where one had been cut away.
No time to find one.