Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
A couple of hours later, the overhead system announced his boarding.
He tugged his beanie lower, pulled the sweatshirt’s hood up over it, and kept his eyes on the stained floor as he made his way toward the parking lot.
He made a quick stop at the coffee stand, hoping the pastries weren’t too old and it was early enough for the coffee to be fresh.
With his cup of Joe and two blueberry muffins, he took a seat at the rear of the bus where the restroom was close and the driver couldn’t meet his eyes.
The dark brew felt good going down, black, bitter, and hot enough to burn away his thoughts of Gage.
The bus was a quarter full, but that would probably change with the hundreds of stops it’d make along the way.
On the fourth hour of the trip, he tried to sleep, but his brain said no.
He reclined the seat, stared at the bright clouds, counted the telephone poles, and cataloged the sounds around him.
The sputter of the engine when the accelerator was pressed, the loose hum in the heating panel, the giggle of a woman two rows up as she read her book, the driver clearing his throat every eight to ten minutes.
Outside, the country unrolled, state by agonizingly slow state.
Billboards for legal representation, signs where to buy fireworks, and advertisements for the best steakhouse, ribs, crab cakes, or buffets in town took turns at each mile.
Scar caught his reflection in the window and stared into his own eyes, which were a lighter color than they’d been six months ago.
I made it this far. I’ve done more with a lot less. If the Ravens killed me and took my identity, fine. I’ll come up with a new one.
He pictured his South Side block and what it might look like now.
The boys who’d matured into men by making their first kill. The familiar faces who would still be there and the disappearance of the ones who’d become victims to the violence they lived and were now ghosts.
He contemplated what kind of welcome he’d receive…and the tests that was sure to follow.
He replayed his speech as to why he wasn’t rotting away in a jail cell until his eyelids got heavy.
The coffee was long gone and so were his muffins.
He tugged his hood down to the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and did his best to let the road lull him to sleep.
Black Ravens
Meridian
Mission Preparation: Part I
The shower had rinsed away the last streaks of blood and sweat from the mission, now replaced with the memory of Ex’s body beneath his—submissive, pleading, and perfect.
Meridian pulled on his cashmere sweater, black and soft, with a sharp V exposing just enough skin to make Ex’s stare falter when he’d come out of the room.
Midnight Gucci boots and tailored black slacks completed his ensemble for the night. No weapons were visible, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have any on him.
They walked down the corridor together, flanked by their seven personal assistants—all of them capable and efficient.
“Meridian, trench numbers one through four have been decommissioned. Wardrobe wants to discuss a new prototype before the next deployment,” Mariah said. She was the assistant in charge of their equipment. “And, Ex, ballistics says the scope on the M10 rifle is being recoded. They documented the sensors are showing a point five percent decline in accuracy.”
Neither he nor Ex responded. It was their assistants’ jobs to inform and execute, not create discussions, so he often let their voices meld into background noise.
The ground floor of the new Ravens headquarters stretched wide and bustled with activity. Departments split from the main corridor like technical arteries. Everything was modern, sterile, and purposeful behind gleaming glass walls.
There were teams representing the Blacks, Browns, Greens, and hopefully soon, the Whites, within every main department: Cyber Intelligence Division, Weapons Development, Medical and Biogenetics Wing, Mission Coordination Center, and too many more to name.
He could feel eyes on him. People pretended not to watch, but their quickening pulses and sudden pauses in conversations always gave them away.
They stared at him the way a mortal would look at a god. Part reverence, but mostly fear.
He didn’t mind. Fear did what admiration couldn’t.
Ex walked quietly beside him. Black jeans he’d paired with a studded onyx belt hugged his ass. He wore his favorite black Jimi Hendrix T-shirt beneath a leather bomber jacket. His hair was still damp from the shower and held the scent of his favorite cedar soap.
Meridian’s gaze drifted toward him more than once. The memory of what they’d done three hours ago still burning beneath his skin.
His fist around Ex’s cock, the other hand wrapped around his throat, as he’d bent him over the edge of the sink and pounded into him.
Now, Ex moved with the quiet satisfaction that only came from being ravaged. And Meridian felt…contentment…maybe peace, if someone as evil as him was capable of such feelings.