Lord of Ends

by Sam Ryder

  LORD OF ENDS

  Book One of the Endworld Saga

  Sam Ryder

  Copyright 2019 David Estes

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  When Shit Happens

  It was a perfect day, until they walked in.

  I loved my afternoon reprieve. I was a busy man with shit to see, shit to do, and shit to shoot. Quality downtime wasn’t exactly abundant. So when I got it, I savored it.

  I put my feet up, threw back a couple shots of whatever poison had been brewed, and enjoyed some peace and quiet.

  That’s why I came to The Last Stop. The people here were grumpy sons of bitches. We weren’t here to be pals and chat about our days. Anybody in here was either hanging in a corner or playing cards. Not much small talk. Just the way I liked it.

  I didn’t appreciate having my break disturbed.

  When I heard the door creaking open—a rarity at this time of the day—it shook me awake from my too-brief moment of sleep. I tilted my head back from where my wide-brimmed hat hid my eyes to peer out from my little afternoon nap.

  I lifted the brim of my hat just enough to squint and make out two girls walking into the bar. To say it piqued my interest would be an understatement; this wasn’t exactly a place where the ladies hung out.

  Women wanted to talk. They wanted to do stuff. Everyone at The Last Stop avoided doing stuff and avoided talking unless it was to order another drink.

  The two of them cast their gaze about the cluster of drunks, shifting in their shoes for a moment before making a beeline to the counter.

  I couldn’t blame them. The Last Stop was hardly full of welcoming clientele. Newcomers stuck out. Half the crowd turned to catch a glimpse of them.

  The floor creaked under their feet. A mouse scurried away from the noise. The blonde looked down in disgust as the bottoms of her shoes stuck to the old floor. They threaded their way through the haphazardly placed tables, avoiding the old dents and divots in the wood.

  It wasn’t a ritzy place, and it didn’t attract a lot of people. Again, just the way I liked it.

  Today, it was even emptier than normal; only me, old Maggy Barnes playing cards in her corner with her husband John, and a handful of unwashed louts I wasn’t all that pleased to share the space with, each of whom were wearing the wristbands that marked them as Wanderers.

  The Guild’ll take anyone it can, I guess. My eyes strayed back to the two beauties who’d disturbed the peace.

  Normally, the interruption would piss me off. But they were nice as hell to look at. That was rare in here.

  The blonde was a bombshell. Women looking like her rarely popped up in Highvale. She was tall and slim, with curves in all the right places. Her hair fell across her face in the effortless framing you only found in the few glossy magazines still passed around in the wasteland these days. Guys desperate for a peek rented those magazines for four times their old-world price. I couldn’t believe women looking like that even existed at one point, let alone now.

  But there she was, like she had stepped right out of a centerfold.

  She had green eyes that glittered and a scattering of freckles that said she’d seen her time in the sun. As all the jackasses turned to catch a glimpse, one of them whistled. She shot the idiot a look that could kill, and I had a feeling she could back up the threat.

  Her friend was cut from a different cloth. I couldn’t get a read on her at first. She had a shy energy about her, tucking her eyes under the shadowy edges of a black top hat, a style that had been coming back into fashion in this shithole of a town. The hat’s lacquered leather was the same color as her hair, which cascaded halfway down her back.

  She was only a little darker skinned than the blonde, and when I made out her eyes, they looked gray in the dim sunlight streaming through the rotted roof of the bar, the only illumination Harrison—the place’s owner and tender—ever supplied.

  Harrison stood behind the counter and peered up at them as they approached, blinking in surprise as he took them in. It stunned him so much, he stopped pretending to wipe the old tin cup in his hands with a rag that might have been clean ten years ago—before the world collapsed to shit.

  “Y’all lost?” he asked, half-whispering and leaning in close. He shot a nervous glance at the rough group still eyeing the women from the back of the room.

  “I wish we were,” the blonde answered for them both, looking down at the cup and cloth with clear disdain on her face. She wasn’t here for pleasure.

  A worn leather jacket was draped over her frame, partially covering a tight white tank top that accentuated her lean shoulders and washboard midriff. Even from my table, I couldn’t help but grin as Harrison—a man going on sixty with too many lewd stories to his name already—had trouble keeping his eyes on the woman’s face.

  “Looking for Cutter,” she said. “The Guild said he would be here.”

  I pursed my lips and bowed my head, groaning internally. I wanted to watch the exchange, but damn, I didn’t want them to see me.

  Two babes looking for me? I was on board. Shit, I was thrilled. It had been a dry spell, anyway.

  But if the Wanderer’s Guild sent them hounding at my scent, it only meant they needed help with something. And, more than likely, it was something I would rather avoid.

  I shifted from curious to dreading this distraction.

  Hell, come on, Harrison, have my back here.

  Fortunately, he did.

  “Never heard of him,” he blurted out, his wrinkled face going slack. He grabbed the cup and the rag, returning to his “cleaning” with intent. “Ain’t seem him in weeks.”

  I winced at his execution, but I appreciated the gesture. I’d have to toss the guy an extra penny on my way out.

  The blonde wasn’t having it. She scrunched her nose and stared at him. “You never heard of him, or you haven’t seen him in weeks?” she asked.

  I loved her gumption. In another situation, I’d already be over there buying her a drink and getting to know her better.

  “Don’t know if I’ve seen him in weeks,” he answered in a rush, turning away from them now. “Might be worth checking some other watering holes in town, though. I hear he’s been to Jenny’s here and there.”


  It wasn’t a bad recovery. Jenny’s Rest was the most well-groomed and friendly establishment in the whole outpost. He was playing on their clear desire to get the hell out of this shithole as quickly as possible.

  It might’ve worked, if not for the dumbass locals.

  “You lookin’ for someone, hun?”

  The slurred drawl revealed a man too deep into his drinks. He stumbled behind the two women. I nearly groaned out loud this time. One asshole from the back of the bar stumbled to his feet. The two women turned to see this piece of work—the blonde scowling while the friend stepped behind her, trying to stay hidden.

  “Unless you’re Cutter, no the fuck I’m not.” She gritted her teeth. Her tone would get her in trouble. I sensed the tension in the air.

  I had a solid feeling about her. If only she was here for any other reason than trying to find me.

  “Well, f-fuck you too, bitch,” the drunk hiccupped, pushing his way around the table. Behind him, four others dragged themselves to their feet.

  For a moment, I hoped that they were getting up to hold the guy back. Then I smirked to myself. This was The Last Stop. They were eager for a little action. The damn cowards.

  They moved with him, stumbling forward and tracing the tables and chairs until they surrounded the two women in a half circle against the bar.

  I sighed to myself, reaching under the table with one hand and tilting my hat back with the other.

  Blondie realized she’d gotten herself in trouble. She raised both hands up in a sign of peace, revealing a leather band around her own wrist.

  Single stud. A First Tier in the Guild.

  Christ.

  “Didn’t mean any disrespect,” she blurted, moving to block the men from her friend. The friend was ducking away, almost cowering. She had one hand clinging to her hat, and the other hand was on the blonde’s back. “Just looking for someone specific, that’s all.”

  The drunk grunted. “Well, I don’t know who the fuck ‘Cutter’ is, so he can’t be that fucking special,” he said, his voice steadier now as his anger bubbled to the surface. “So maybe you shouldn’t be spitting on my kind offer to help.”

  “I didn’t spit on anyth—” the blonde said. But before she finished her thought, the man made a quick gesture with his fingers. The other four moved inward, stepping as one and tightening up the circle. It was an impressive and coordinated maneuver considering how inebriated they were.

  They grabbed at the women—two going for the blonde, and two reaching for her friend. They knocked the top hat off her head, and it fell to the floor while they wrenched her away from the bar.

  The girls instinctively pulled away. The friend jerked her body backward, but they had a good grip on her.

  The other two dragged the blonde towards the drunk. She reared back, trying to keep her distance from him. He exhaled in her face, and I could only imagine the stale stench coming from his warm breath.

  “I think you’ll find I’m not one to hold a grudge, baby,” he said with a smirk. He stepped forward to grab Blondie by the chin. She shook her head back and forth, but he kept tightening his grip. He took his other hand and ran it up her side, brushing her leather jacket aside and caressing her lean torso with his grubby fingers. My fists tightened as I prepared to stop this shitshow before he took it too far. “All it’s gonna take is a little—”

  Now it was his turn to stop. His eyes moved back to the black-haired woman, and they went wide with shock. He twisted his face in disgust at what he saw.

  Confused, I followed his gaze to catch what the commotion was about—what had distracted him from his “prize”.

  With her hat still resting on the floor, it was clear why the woman had been clutching it so tightly, desperate to keep it on top of her head.

  Perched atop her skull, protruding from her raven hair, was a pair of pale gray horns. In the sunlight, they were the same shade of gray as her eyes had appeared. It was clear as day.

  Ah, shit.

  I shot to my feet, and the chair I was leaning back on crashed to the floor behind me. I knew exactly what would happen next.

  “Ender!” the man howled, violently shoving the blonde out of the way with his one hand while the other moved to his hip.

  Without thinking, I reached for my own hip in a flash.

  The afternoon was officially interrupted now.

  Chapter 2

  Fish in a Barrel

  I paused just a second before I unloaded on them. I wanted them to make the first move, just to be clear on their intent before I responded in kind.

  The drunk drew his pistol from its holster, which was black and worn. In a mad scramble, other weapons were drawn. The group pulled out a pair of guns and an equal number of knives among them, all turning on the two women. Blondie continued to protect her friend, the Ender, not backing down from the fight.

  Still, as outnumbered as they were, they didn’t stand much of a chance without help.

  Good thing they had some.

  BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

  It wasn’t the trickiest set of shots I’d ever made in my life, but it wasn’t the easiest, either. Two of my targets turned away from me. The other two were half-blocked by the women.

  But I trusted Alpha. She could find them. The six-shooter played the angles like a master of billiards, pocketing each colored ball and then the eight ball in rapid succession.

  The first five shots blew weapons from their hands. Sparks flew, followed by the glint of metal soaring through the air. Yelps reverberated from the suddenly disarmed crew.

  The sixth shot sunk into the flesh of the drunk man’s thigh, six inches above his knee. It was painful enough to bring him down with a screech, but not deep enough to blow out the leg’s femoral vein. The eight ball, unless he wanted to play another game.

  He hit the floor in a heap, clutching at his leg while his friends waved their stinging hands and turned to gape at me.

  “Take the bastard and leave,” I growled, deliberately not coming around the table I’d just vacated. I trained the smoking Alpha on them, despite being empty. Didn’t matter; I was pretty sure none of these guys could count without taking off their dusty boots. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

  If they had been smarter, they would have listened. Sure, collecting their man and dragging him out would have taken over ten seconds, but it would have been fun to shoot the belts off a couple stragglers to drive the point home.

  But, unfortunately for them, they were not smart.

  The four whose weapons I’d shot from their hands froze—too stunned to move. Like big dumb statues, they stared at me. The half-dozen guys behind them at the tables who had been watching this unfold, however, leapt to their feet with howls of indignation that someone had dared to interrupt gorilla playtime at the zoo.

  Four of them drew their guns, and the other two charged at me wielding a knife and a club.

  I sighed inwardly. Why wasn’t anyone smart in this ruined world? Without batting an eye, I stowed away Alpha and grabbed her twin, Beta, holstered not three inches behind her on my hip, while the pair stumbled towards me.

  This time, I didn’t aim for their weapons.

  Before anyone could get a shot off, I emptied the six-shooter’s clip like a machine gun. Four bullets flew into four shoulders, and two went into another idiot’s chest who’d been stupid enough to turn his barrel on the two girls still standing, stunned, at the bar.

  The four would-be shooters went down like a row of dominoes, while the last two charging rhinos, probably thinking I was distracted, swept in from the front. I waited for the right moment, lifted my foot to the edge of the table, and prepared to shove it at them, an old-world bowler looking to pick up a two-pin spare.

  These guys thought they were clever, leaping sideways and splitting up, using a reasonably well-positioned flanking maneuver. But that just made it easy for me to change the angle of my push and aim it at the knife wielder. The table caught him in the gut, and he groaned a
s the air left his lungs and he tumbled to the floor.

  His friend with the club howled like a jackass as he closed the gap with murderous glee.

  He was eager to lay waste. That just made him sloppy. He swung with reckless abandon, probably thinking he could knock my head clean off my neck. All power, no finesse. I stepped aside, ducking back slightly and feeling the displaced air wash against my face. His momentum carried him forward and I leaned into it, headbutting him with the hardest part of my forehead, feeling the crunch of his nose as I obliterated it.

  Blood spewing from his nostrils, he landed hard on the filthy bar floor.

  I wasn’t done yet.

  The bastard I hit with the table was writhing on the floor, clutching at his stomach while squeezing his eyes shut tight. I took two steps to stand over him.

  Pansy.

  I bent over and pressed the searing end of my gun barrel against his chest. The heat shot through his shirt and branded his skin. He squealed.

  I had his attention now.

  “Let’s try this again,” I snarled, Beta’s barrel now hovering just between his eyes. I held it close so he could feel the heat emanating from the metal.

  “Take your friends and get the hell out of here. Leave the dead one.”

  This time, the reaction was much more appropriate, though several of them couldn’t help themselves, muttering curses and promises of revenge.

  I didn’t begrudge them the minute they took to gather themselves, but I kept Beta hanging out there so they knew I would not wait too much longer. The uninjured carefully pulled the wounded up as they groaned.

  One man searched the pockets of his fallen comrade. I tilted my head as I pulled Beta’s hammer back. The click of the gun sounded—though, of course, she was empty.

  He looked up at me, at his dead friend, and slowly lowered him back down, scurrying away.

  Finally, they dispersed. Once they rushed the hell out of the door, I released a disgruntled sigh, reaching to my bullet belt and reloading both weapons before moving towards the body myself. By the time I stood over it, Beta and Alpha were both hot and ready, holstered one behind the other on my right hip.