He could hear another car behind him careening down the dirt road. It nearly sideswiped him. “Hey,” he called. “Watch where you’re going!”
The car pulled over sharply to his side of the road. A finely dressed gentlemen stepped out from the driver’s side, hurried around to the front, and unlatched the hood.
Wage noticed another occupant through the dusty back window patiently waiting in the passenger seat. When he finally caught up to the car, he used it to keep himself upright, winding his way around to the man now inspecting the engine.
“Gotta a little car trouble?” Wage slurred.
The man, unnaturally pale, turned his head. Beneath the brim of his black fedora were two pale white eyes speckled with a rotten green. The blanched man smiled. His teeth were duller than his skin. “Hello, Wage.”
“What the hell …”
The albino man grabbed Wage about the neck with one hand and hoisted him a foot in the air. Wage choked.
“It’s good to see you again,” the man said, laughing.
Wage recognized him. Morris Randolph. Andi’s fiancé. Wage swung the empty decanter bottle at him. It shattered on the side of Morris’ head, knocking off his hat. But he maintained his hold on Wage and shook off the blow. Unfazed, Morris shouted, “Oh, sweetie. Look what I have for you.”
Wage heard the other car door slam. Moments later, Andromeda Callahan appeared. “Hiya, Wage.”
Morris Randolph launched Wage nearly a car length into the tall grass on the side of the road. Wage clutched at his neck and resumed breathing. Out of habit, he reached for Ol’ Snapper, remembering suddenly that he didn’t have it. He had been too scared he would use it on himself after watching his true love get married to someone else.
Andi, still wearing her bridesmaid’s dress, stood over him and dug into her clutch purse. “Now, Wage. Did you really think I was just going to forgive your little transgression? Kidnapping my fiancé and all? I thought he was lost forever.” Morris dusted off his fedora, donned it, and joined Andi, putting an arm around her waist. “Naturally, I had to forgive my dear sister, but you …” she continued as she pulled out a Savage automatic pistol, “You’re not so lucky.” She aimed the pistol at him and pulled the trigger. Then she pulled it again. And again. And again…
PEACEMAKERS INC.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every word spoken or heard and every action taken or observed influences a writer. This is a meager attempt to enumerate a few who have helped me along the way. There aren’t enough times I can say “thank you.”
Thank you to my wife—my rock—for putting up with a perpetually brooding husband who retreats to the dingy basement to write far too often.
Thank you to my boys, Seamus and Declan, for reminding me that there is more to life than aspiring to be a full-time, cheesy fiction writer.
Thank you to Lindsay, editor extraordinaire, who somehow works well with a scatterbrained, unorganized, and rudderless writer like me. This doesn’t happen without you! Also, I have some new material for you …
Thank you to Kelly, the illustrator and my big sister. You’ve always believed in me, and often times, that’s what keeps me writing. P.S. Badass cover.
Thank you to Sean Michael Powers, the logo designer. Seriously—flip back a page. How badass is that insignia?
Thank you to John, my quasi-agent, who really believes in this work.
And thank you to my parents, Kathy and Steve. Not only was my existence predicated on you, but so was my education, self-esteem, and work ethic. I love you guys!
Warmongers (Peacemaker Origins Book 2) Page 27