“You are a Youngblood!” he bellowed. “You serve no other purpose than to honor and continue our family’s legacy! Do you understand? The only reason you exist is to follow after me.”
I spread my arms wide and lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Well, the world’s about to end anyway, so doesn’t seem like it would’ve lasted long. I’m riding off into the sunset instead. And if you try to stop me?” I leaned in even closer, making him shrink back. “I don’t want to hurt your guys, but I can guarantee some broken fingers and ribs. Wouldn’t want you to waste your money on some hourly workers’ hospital bills.”
Turning on my heel, I made my way to the office doors, finally tugging the knot loose on my tie. I couldn’t wait to trample this whole fucking suit under my motorcycle tires.
“Gunner!” Jonathan called out after me. “You walk out that door, you are dead to me, you understand? You won’t see a penny from me. If you come crawling back, begging forgiveness, I will gladly kick your face in myself! See how many maids want to fuck you after you’re broke and ugly.”
“Don’t worry, pops.” I didn’t even spare him a glance as I pulled open the heavy wooden doors inlaid with the Youngblood family crest. “Unlike you, I still have a personality.”
I walked out of the room to the sounds of a grown man’s temper tantrum, then down the long marble corridor to the front door. The cool night air was like a soothing balm on my skin, a gentle caress after a heated exchange. I actually fucking did it. I stood up to the bastard and now I’m my own man.
My jacket and tie were off by the time I made it to my private garage, where the only earthly possession I cared about waited for me. I hit the button on my keyfob and stripped down to my boxers and socks as the garage door lifted. Leaving my discarded clothes and the keyfob on the gravel path, I walked inside and started pulling clothes out the duffel bag I had ready.
Now this was more like it. Jeans and engineer boots. A simple fitted t-shirt and a leather jacket.
Once dressed, I turned to Old Rusty, Gramps’ vintage Harley that Jandro restored for me five years ago. I kicked-started the ancient bike as gently as I could, my heart vibrating in my chest as he sputtered to life. Throwing a leg over the seat, my hands in place on the grips, I felt at home.
I kicked my feet up and accelerated forward, aiming a straight path over the clothes on the driveway. Running over my dad would’ve been more satisfying, but it was still a rush to grind the costume of my former life into the dirt. As the Youngblood family estate grew smaller and smaller in my rearview mirrors, maniacal laughter escaped me.
One thing I didn’t tell my dad, was that McAlister only played a small part in my standing up to him and taking my life back for myself. No, that honor belonged to the two men waiting for me at the end of the property. The two delinquents who saw past my family name and wealth, and became my first true friends.
“Took you fuckin’ long enough,” Reaper growled when I pulled up at the crossroad.
He and Jandro sat on their idling bikes, the machines making gentle, purring rumbles. The cherried ends of their cigarettes lit their faces up in a red, ominous glow. It kind of made them look like demons.
“Yeah, whatever.” I beckoned a hand at Reaper, unable to contain the grin on my face. “It’s done. So gimme a smoke and let’s ride.”
One
GUNNER
PRESENT DAY
Thirty miles outside of Sheol, I slowly rolled through a town that had seen better days. Bullet holes lined the sides of buildings and abandoned cars. Plywood covered up some of the broken windows—those that hadn’t been pried off by squatters, at least.
Horus sat perched on my handlebars, beak clicking and eyes darting around, not missing anything about our surroundings. I stroked the feathers on his back idly, ignoring the few remaining residents of this town who were drawing their curtains shut and hurrying into alleyways off the main road. No one wanted to get in the way of the patch on my back.
I pulled up to my destination, a squat, one-story brick building, and cut the engine. Horus flew to my shoulder as I swung a leg over my seat and went to unstrap my cargo.
“Heard you carried Reaper’s ass in midair,” I scratched under my bird’s beak. “Where’s my help in carrying this shit?”
He chirped in reply, puffing up and shaking his feathers out.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Grabbing the metal case in both hands, I heaved it up off of my bike seat and headed for the front door. Thankfully, Arty left it unlocked today so I was able to push it open with my shoulder. I crossed the stuffy, dimly lit room in two steps and dropped the case with a heavy clang on the counter.
“You’re gonna throw your back out, swingin’ heavy shit around like that,” Arty yelled from his back room.
Behind the counter, his office door was barely cracked. I couldn’t see anything through it except flashes of light from sparks, accompanied by the hiss and crackle sounds of welding.
“How’d you know how I swing it, old man?” I yelled through the door.
“I have cameras, dipshit. What’d you bring me this time, your whole damn armory?”
“Nah.” I leaned against the counter, eyeing all the new clutter accumulating in his shop. Guns and unique weapons were his favorite, which was why we got along so well, but he also had a bunch of taxidermy animals piled into one corner. Ornate glass bongs littered another shelf and decorative cigar boxes piled up in another.
“Whatcha got, then?”
“A few things,” I called back dismissively. “Also a special request, of sorts.”
The flash of sparks stopped, and I listened to his groans of exertion through the door as he got off his work stool. When the back door opened, a short, rotund man with frizzy gray hair circling the bald crown on his head peered up at me.
“Special request, eh? What’re you damn Demons up to this time?” He shuffled over to his stool behind the counter, climbing up to meet at my eye level.
I pulled open the lid of my case. “Moving, for one. What’ll it take for you to liquidate these for me?”
“Aww, Jesus, Gunner.” Arty reached in and pulled out one of my vintage revolvers, the beautiful thing polished to a high shine and still in its hand-sewn leather holster. “Don’t tell me you’re getting rid of these? You’re breaking my damn heart.”
I raised both shoulders in a shrug. “Can’t take it all with me. Keeping my favorites, though.”
“Where y’all headed?” Arty began laying my once-glorious weapons collection out on the counter.
“Dunno yet.” I scratched my forehead. “Wherever the hell we can go without starting a fucking turf war.”
“I take it you’ll need fuel, then? And ammo? Standard rounds?”
“That’ll work.”
He nodded, then peered up at me expectantly. “What was this about a special request?”
I pulled a knife from the hidden pocket in my cut and laid it on the counter, removing the sheath to show the carvings on the blade.
“You ever make jewelry, Art?”
“Jewelry?”