Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
One was older than my dad. He knelt before a wooden bench, fat tears pouring down his wrinkled face. Rags covered his too thin body. The second man probably rang in at forty-something. In a pristine suit of neon green, he appeared bored.
I did a double-take. A thin, shadowy cloud formed a dark halo just above his head. Yet another hallucination. I shifted my study to the last member of the trio and jolted, my brain shutting down and rebooting in the span of a heartbeat.
Beautiful. He looked to be a little older than me. Well over six feet, he sported a body packed with powerful muscle. Thick black hair framed high cheekbones and an aquiline nose both at odds with and perfect for his soft lips. Dark scruff dusted a strong jaw. From here, I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but maybe that was for the best. He peered at the world around him with icy disdain. I’d never come across a better, harsher picture of menacing ruthlessness.
He wore a long-sleeve white shirt and scuffed black leather pants, and he held an ax. But his shoes… They were combat boots with metal plates.
Blood froze in my veins. The victim beneath the chapel had worn a matching pair.
Settling the weapon on his shoulder with ease, Muscles moved behind Rags.
“P-please,” the old man cried. “Don’t do this. I did nothing wrong.”
The ax wielder ignored him. Voice as icy as his disdain, he called, “A sacred law has been broken, and a price must be paid.”
Gray clouds swooped across the sky, obscuring the sun. A firebolt of lightning split the darkness. New tremors invaded my limbs.
“Kill him!” came an eager shout from the crowd. “Take his head!”
They couldn’t be serious. But I looked around, my attention jumping from one eager face to another, and I knew. They were very serious.
“A substitute has been selected and accepted,” Muscles continued. A handful of cold droplets fell. His pitiless expression never altered. “Will anyone show mercy and become his substitute?”
A beat of uncomfortable silence passed as Mr. Green held out a hand wet with rain. “The storm comes. Get on with it.” Thunder rumbled in rolls and waves, as if to emphasize his demand.
“Anyone?” Muscles called, not intimidated in the least. Amid a flicker of lightning, he became the most terrifying sight I’d ever beheld. Like the characters in my mother’s mural, he changed, a thousand layers of hatred revealed for less than a second. Long enough to know.
Dangerous. Knees knocking, I searched for anyone else who might be confounded or dismayed by the proceedings. All were impatient.
“Do it,” a woman called, a near desperate plea. “End this before it’s too late.”
The agitation among the masses amplified until I feared an eager beaver might brave the stage and meet Muscles’s ax. A price must be paid.
“Very well.” Muscles readied the ax, as if he truly intended to use it against Rags. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. No one was so heartless.
But he did, and he was. He swung the heavy blade in a downward arc. Rags lost his head, and a tide of relief swept through the throng. Cheers rang out.
I covered my mouth to muffle a scream. Muscles decapitated an old man. Without pause. Without flinching.
Smiles and hugs abounded, as if a great feat had been accomplished. The sense of desperation and fear ebbed, laughter replacing the cheers.
But a new crack of thunder rumbled from the sky, and the celebration died as swiftly as Rags. Everyone froze and looked around. Each gaze landed on me—and narrowed.
Dread joined my deluge of emotions. This couldn’t be good.
CHAPTER 3
THE TINMAN
Men and women, young and old, pointed accusing fingers in my direction. Cries assaulted my ears.
“Crimen!”
“The storm still comes!”
“Seize her!”
“Let’s all calm down, okay?” Despite my injury, I raised both hands in a gesture of innocence. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Nothing a conversation can’t clear up.”
“Law breaker!”
“The price must be paid!”
Only Muscles remained unfazed. He hauled the headless body to the edge of the stage and tossed it inside an open cart, alongside two others. Streaked with blood, boots thumping, he strode to the other side, near Mr. Green, waiting at the top of the steps, gaze laser-locked on me. Not to stare me down but to look me over. Slowly.
He motioned me up with a crook of his finger.
Terror singed my throat. Several of my accusers reached out to grab me. I ducked and dodged, scrambling this way and that, but I was too weak and too many people blocked my path. It wasn’t long before a man latched onto my arm and a woman tangled her fingers in my hair, bringing me to a grinding halt. Someone forced my arms behind my back, wrenching a shriek of pain from my deepest depths. Black dots temporarily blinded me, and vomit barreled into my throat.