Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Phoenix: I got her. My truck is parked in back of your house with the keys under the mat. Good luck and Godspeed, motherfucker. Make your cousins proud…
Kage slipped the phone back in his pocket and raced to the kitchen. Locking the door, he turned off all the lights in the house. Then, he looked out the workshop window and saw the falcon. Rook sat in a tall tree, surveying his home. It flew away after they’d made eye contact for a good five seconds. Kage grabbed the keys to his other motorcycle, left out the door, and raced to the Erik Buell Racing (EBR) 1190RX. Jumping on it, he tore up the soil as he roared through the wilderness, racing faster than a hungry wolf out to get its prey…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Big Bad Wilde Wolf
Blackness covered the sky like a dark glove from the hand of God. The Big One had turned the lights off on this old, ugly ball of sin called Earth, spinning around in space, leaving mankind this side of the hemisphere cold and alone. The cool night air whipped across Kage’s face and through his hair like a nasty slap as he sped down the rutted passageway between the tall, narrow trees. He slowed, stopping at one tree in particular. Looking about with his night goggles in focus, he punched the tree hard, and the crackle of speakers reverberated in the forest like a sizzling scream.
Disorient your enemy with noise. Be missing in action. Only be seen when it’s too late… Wolf out on the prowl… Low to the ground… glowing blue eyes looking into the souls of martial demons… Keep goin’ till you reach the magical river, then
D
R
O
W
N
Music blared throughout the forest: ‘Monster,’ by Kanye West traveled on the wings of the air, touching dewy leaves and the undercarriage of large, venomous spiders. It had a way of digging deep inside your soul and rattling your bones. Reaching down into the cool soil, he dug until he was able to grip the smooth metal device. He pulled the lever, then hopped back on his bike and drove a few feet ahead.
He turned off his motorcycle, laying it down on its side behind a different tree. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a thin tarp he had folded up into a small square, covering the chopper, then placed a couple of large rocks on it to keep it from flying off, and covered it with a few branches to keep it hidden. His heart thundered in his chest as he saw two silhouettes about a hundred feet away, their guns raised as they slowly came forward. It was obvious the way that they were moving that they hadn’t yet seen him. Their heads moved from left to right, no real focus. He crawled away until he was at a good distance from them, then sprinted back to the house, the music still booming as his lungs burned in his chest.
When he made it inside, he skulked around back. He’d already turned off the motion detectors before leaving the homestead, which allowed him to persist in absolute darkness. After placing his thumb on an electronic lock, it went from red to green. The crypt door whined as he swung it open. He looked down into the deep, dark chamber. This space expanded under the full length of the house. He entered the clandestine, dark chamber, and turned on the electric lanterns that graced the opaque barriers. The walls were dark gray brick and black grout, and smelled a bit like plant decay, a bit like firecrackers, too. This was the prohibited murky lower level of his home, his little slice of hell on Earth.
Making his way deeper into the area, he turned on two mainframe monitors. Horizontal lines etched across them as they came awake from a deep slumber, and then the black and white picture came in clear.
Three men were approaching his property now, and after the first group of men cleared the area, two black cars pulled up front. Something about this felt off. Different from before. These guys weren’t novices, or ass-kissers of Gramps brought in at the last minute to do his dirty work. Native country boys of Texas had an aura about them when they were out on a hunt. Human or animal made no difference. No, these men moved distinctively—no strolling, like his Texan brethren. Their movements were tighter, more cautious. Oh… I believe I know who y’all are, now. Well, well, well… isn’t this interesting. I figured y’all were coming, sooner or later.
His lips curled in delight as he slipped on his bullet proof vest and two black gloves with the fingers cut out, then directed his attention to several crime and punishment mechanisms, his own personal handcrafted torture devices. He’d gotten the idea after his time in the hospital—after the things he saw and endured, some of which still haunted him. Making such a device wasn’t opening a painful wound. No, it was paying homage, turning the brutal tables once and for all. A glowing red light shone onto a metal chair reminiscent of an old school electric chair. Sharp, long spikes stuck out from the armrests, back, and seat area. He then moved to the back of the room and turned on the large incinerator.