Villains Return: The Shadow Master Book 5 by M. K. Gibson

Author:M. K. Gibson [Gibson, M. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Where I Ponder the Entertaining Side Effects of Youthful Adventures, Chat Over Some Comfort Food, and Make an Unwanted Decision

I poured a little more maple syrup onto my plate, then cut off another piece of the Cajun- fried crunchberry supreme chicken and waffles. Carefully lifting the fork so as to not get any of the heart-attack-inducing food onto my suit jacket, I chewed slowly, savoring the medley of flavors.

Gods above and below, it was like a spring break orgy in my mouth. And I’m talking about the really raunchy, decadent kind of excursion that only entitled college students traveling on their parents’ dime can have.

Minus the chlamydia, of course.

Heh. I often wonder how many of those ignorant parents who stupidly trust their spawn to behave in Cancun, Miami Beach, or Jamaica later discover what their offspring were really up to. I mean, this is the technology age we’re talking about. Practically every phone records high-def video. That’s what the amateur-cam channel on PornHub is for, right?

Ha! Could you imagine that?

Stay with me, ’cause this is gonna get a little sticky. But there has to be a case where some parent aching for a little late night self-pleasure has sneaked away from their boring partner, got their favorite whackin’ tablet, and found a quiet spot in the house to do the deed. They clicked on some hot amateur action only to see cell phone footage of their kid, bare ass and balls deep in a gaggle of strangers as some unfuckable dude named ‘Scooter’ yells “Spring Break rules!” while jackin’ it in the corner.

Tens of thousands of dollars spent on education, room, and board only for their kid—gay, straight, or anything in between—to end up looking like the floor of truck stop bathroom.

Huh. Do you think those parents still like . . . you know, finished?

So like I was saying, on paper, chicken and waffles is disgusting. A baffling combination of contrasting cuisine that reportedly has American Pennsylvania Dutch origins. But as the story goes, the dish became the staple of Harlem jazz musicians who showed up to the club too late for dinner and too early for breakfast. All I can say is, bless those pioneers of this culinary treat. If it weren’t for your dedication to the most self-indulgent and gods-awful form of musical expression, I wouldn’t be having this delicious meal right now.

And getting what I want is the most important thing, after all.

A handsome rather than pretty middle-aged woman with long, pale blond hair stepped up to my table and refilled my coffee.

“You okay, Jackson?”

“Been better, Vee,” I told Virginia Dare, the owner-operator of the Dare Diner. “But the food’s helping.”

Here in The Seam, or rather the negative reality that exists in the gaps in existence itself, I felt more at home than I had in some time. Which stands to reason. The Seam was birthplace of the titans, even a TiT-E like me. Technically speaking, of course, it was here in the Dare Diner that I was reborn, where I took my first steps as a titan.

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