Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Legion Kane put thirty-five bodies in a red dirt pit. Didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, no regrets. But every debt must be collected and the reckoning starts now.
Savannah Ashby doesn’t have regrets either. She gave up everything, but that doesn’t mean she has to settle for less.
Evil doesn’t need a passport. It comes and goes as it pleases. It didn’t cross a border to get to Badlands—it’s been patched in from the start.
Perfect sunrise.
Mirror image.
Revelation.
What a waste.
Get right with God, Demon.
Because the dead are risin’.
BONES AND ASHES
It’s not the heat that makes Hell a punishment.
It’s the cold cruelty of indifference
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
The sun is creepin’ up in front of me when the old abandoned gas station comes into view on my right. It's a sliver of deep fiery orange at first, but then there's that moment that happens every mornin' when the creep behind the horizon becomes a burst and the whole sky is suddenly yellow… and pink… and purple… and beautiful.
My head stops buzzin' with rage and what-if's and I close my eyes, goin' stunned and silent inside. Lettin' the color wash over me. Givin' myself this one moment before it all goes to hell.
Because this is the kind of beautiful sunrise you only see once or twice in a lifetime.
Figures.
Long breath out, eyes wide open.
Here we go.
I feel the move to the right before it actually happens. The two bikes in front of me veer towards the gas station. And there they are—six blacked-out SUVs. All parked haphazardly like there's some kind of national emergency happenin' inside.
All eight of us slow to nearly a creep as we enter the parking lot. The filth-covered door to the old station opens and four tall men wearing dark suits and sunglasses step out. They flank the door like it's a military asset, but don't approach as we come to a stop.
I don't know what to do here. There is no plan in my head for what's happenin'. The patrol officer on my right catches my eye, then nods his head towards the door. Which apparently means I'm supposed to go inside.
I sigh. Feeling put out about how this is goin', even though it's more of a best-case scenario than a worst.
I cut the engine, kick the stand, and dismount. Takin' off my helmet, takin' my time, running my fingers through my hair as I stare at the incredible sunrise.
Once or twice in a lifetime.
Then I set my helmet down on the seat and walk toward the door with my hands raised. "Got a knife on my belt," I say. Loud enough for the door-flankers to hear clearly. "That's it. Just one knife."
All four men close in at once. Hands reachin' for me. Movin' over me. Findin' the knife, then lookin' for the lie.
I didn't lie. I don't need to lie.
"That's it," one of 'em says. "He's clean."
The one directly in front of me says, "Go in and sit down. Don't try anything stupid."
I give him a little salute as another one opens the door, and then I walk through.
What awaits me is the inside of a lonely highway gas station that everyone and their mother has walked into at one point on a road trip. Too many windows with too many angles to 'em. All of them so coated with dust and filth, the outside world looks like a fog.
The floor is scattered with aged brochures about Makoshika State Park and the Frontier Gateway Museum, but in the middle of the room is a desk with a man behind it.
I clock him. Mid-thirties. Tall, probably, but hard to tell from a seated position. He's wearin' a brown-grey-yellow flannel that lays a bit tight. Kinda hidin' muscles. Kinda not.
He's got shoulder-length brown hair that's combed back and his beard's got some red in it. He's not lookin' at me, he's lookin' at some papers on the desk in front of him.
"Sit down," he says. Still not lookin’ up.
There's a metal folding chair in front of the desk. I pull it out, turn it around, and straddle it backwards with my arms crossed over the top rail.
Let's do this, I guess.
He lets me sit. Doesn't look up. Just keeps pretendin' like those papers in front of him are far more interestin' than I am.
Which is a lie. Obviously.
I'm the whole reason this meeting exists.
Which means, like it or not, I'm the most interestin' thing in the room.
Which is a fascinatin' piece of truth, if I'm being honest. Because of course, I'm the only reason these people are here.
Now… what they want with me… that's another story. Because this is clearly not an arrest. And his silence is allowin' my mind to do what it does best when I don't have enough information. It spins.