Headlong (The Hellbound Brotherhood Book 2) by Shannon McKenna

Author:Shannon McKenna [McKenna, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781734431711
Publisher: Shannon McKenna
Published: 2020-02-20T18:30:00+00:00

14

You accepted her terms. Don’t be a whiny little bitch.

The stern self-talk was not working. Eric pulled on his clammy, mud-caked clothing and made his way down the steps, no longer even trying to avoid leaving a trail of dirt behind himself. The damage was done, the mess was made. Fuck it.

He’d fallen at her feet like an asshole only to get thrown out once again.

Kick me please.

He had to get out of here before he went crazier than he already was. And the bar was set high, for a guy raised by the mad Prophet. Marked by fire and death.

Demi’s shower was running now. He put on his jacket, trying not to picture her in there, naked and wet and furious. Convinced that he was a liar and a thief.

This was the Curse at work. It repelled her, like it had repelled everyone else. Everyone but Otis. But Otis was special.

He was also in a box in the ground.

Who knew? Maybe that was the Curse at work, too. It ate everything in the end.

He should have followed Anton and Mace’s example, and fucked off. Sorted everything out from a safe distance, via third parties.

Right. Like Terry.

The memory of Terry’s dead, startled eyes and bloodied face ran him down like a fucking train. He felt a lurch of nausea. Had to stop and bend over for a second.

Go-go-go. Now.

He pushed his way out the door from the stairway to the foyer. The remains of their feast still cluttered the kitchen. In the living room the coals glowed a sullen red in the pre-dawn gloom. The couch cushions were still askew, some scattered on the floor.

He opened the door and stood there, staring out for a moment as the clean, sweet cold air of dawn hit his nose. The sky was heavy and dark. Eerie tendrils of vapor rose like wavering ghosts up over the mirror-smooth surface of the lake.

The smell stopped him as he leaned forward to take that step outside.

Sour cigarette breath. Old armpit stench.

He jerked back as a blackjack whipped down. It grazed his forehead and cheekbone. He lunged for the attacker’s wrist, yanking him inside. Smashed the wrist against the door jamb. Crunch. A punch to the throat choked off the attacker’s howl.

Eric hurled the first guy into the second guy, who sprang from a hiding place on the other side of the door. Guy Two stumbled back, hitting the porch post with a grunt. Guy One bounced off him and tumbled off the porch stairs, arms pin-wheeling.

Big guys. Black ski masks. More were coming at him. A third came darting from the other end of the porch. The second charged back at him again with a yell.

He blocked the kicks, and a roundhouse punch. Caught the punching arm—twist and flip—and hurled the attacker straight into the porch railing.

The railing splintered, and the man pitched head over ass into the shaggy greenery beyond as the third guy barreled down on him.

Eric whipped to the side to save his head.

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