The Wild Kids jeered as Christian ground his suspension boot into the other teen’s ribs. “I told you not to collaborate on our turf, Gav.” Gavin replied by sign, twisting in agony—and if anyone there had been fluent in pain, they may have appreciated his poetry.
August 5, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
“Wait. Graham. I need you. People died to get me that last bound, it was developed under an anonymous patronage, and it’s had a terribly high cost.” “Shit, Emlen.” Graham rounded on him. “Are you dealing with Ransoms? Tell me. I’m already on the run from the ninjas—hunters—whatever—and you’re wanting to get me involved with that? Forget ale, I need a gin.” Graham feared that word. But he didn’t really know what a Ransom was.
July 13, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
<— Previous ~~~~~ Chapter One Graham was sure he was being followed. He turned around, I must be, looking back over the jagged twist of his vertebrae, tripping head long down the cobbled streets. Nothing was straight-edged in London—nothing but the edges of the straight razors he feared were just behind—there were no clear sightlines […]
July 11, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
No one had been down the hole since Hazmats'd poured their concrete over the contaminate some twenty years ago. No one else would have dared.
August 8, 2011 by Paul McLaughlan
0