Tariffs paid on an ill-fated decision can last a lifetime.
A
young boy—tossed an impossible situation by his psychopathic uncle, father or sister, he
must kill one for the other to survive.
Two
decades later, Dylan has developed his psychic talents, trained by the
military, learned the skills necessary to locate the family he’d abandoned as a
child and kill the devil himself, Roth. On the day he’s discharged, his ex-boss
offers assistance in locating his sisters, demanding help with one more mission
in exchange.
Tori,
a young woman weeks away from graduating with her Psych doctorate, is torn from
her stable life and thrust into a world of espionage, warriors, and
unexplainable phenomenon. The man she loves, Major Clannahan, attaches her to
the unit charged with locating a terrorist cell. Dylan, leading the unit, draws
her like no other. Yet the darkness buried in his soul will test her skills and
patience beyond anything she’s ever known.
Kiera
and Kyley, identical twins challenged by the extremes of evil yet remain pure
of heart, both bound to their man with a love withstanding the tests of time
and tragedy. One a warrior, the other with a warrior’s heart, each wield
formidable psychic talents, sought after by a psychopath and terrorist bent on
destroying the country.
A
group of psychic warriors, dedicated to fighting evil in the shadows, locating
and helping others develop their paranormal talents without splintering
society’s tenacious perception of reality.
These
are the extraordinary people living among us, protecting and preserving our way
of life. Courage and honor, duty and strength of will cansustain us
for only so long. Eventually, we must find our own path forward, learning to
open our hearts to love even as we risk the ultimate pain.
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Excerpt:
“The choice is yours, boy, but
understand—not deciding is making a decision. Do it before I make the decision for you. Only
difference is, I won’t kill one, I’ll kill them both. Father or
sister. You have allthe power.”
Roth kept his tone calm and
gentle. The evil coiled tightly within warmed his soul. He fancied the boy
killing his father, silently rooting for the infant to survive. He could have
lots of fun with her over the coming years.
The boy’s father would die
either way. He’d bound and beaten him just for fun.
“Daddy? What do I do?” Tears streamed down
Dylan’s face, sobs racked his entire nine-year-old battered frame. His gaze
slid from his father to his baby sister, now held by Roth. When he looked back
at his dad’s bruised and bloodied face, he cried harder. His dad’s eyes were
swollen almost shut.
The gun shook uncontrollably
in the boy’s small hand. “Daddy?”
Boredom shadowed his mind as
the excitement of the climax dimmed with the child’s indecisiveness. His gaze
wandered out the window above the kitchen sink.
In the back yard, a massive,
wooden play structure stood, complete with swings, tunnels, overhead ladder,
and a slide. How extravagant for just two children, one still an infant. His
sister always belabored the little things. Shame she’s not present to witness this. He would’ve found this even more amusing.
The blond haired infant
cradled roughly in his left arm actually cooed at him. Disgusting. If
he kept this thing, he'd have to hire a nanny. Still, the thought of it growing
up with half the powers his sister enjoyed years ago made the brat worth the
trouble...If she survived today. He sighed.
* * * *
“Dylan,
son, it's okay. You’re going to be all right. Look at me. Remember
how we played catch this morning? When you think of me, you’ll remember how we
played ball today. Okay, son?”
What else could he say in this
horrific situation? His own psychotic brother-in-law was forcing Dylan to
commit the most heinous act imaginable, choose between patricide
and sororicide. Roth had always been the canary in the crazy mind but even
Devon hadn’t seen this coming.
“Awww,
isn’t this touching?” Roth muttered, no doubt weary of his twisted
game. “What a little wimp. I’m growing tired of your indecision, boy. I think
I’ll just slice this little bitch’s throat. After all, she’d probably just grow
up to be a carbon copy of her mother, stubborn and willful. Wouldn’t want more
of that in the world, would we?”
“Noooo, please. Please
don’t hurt her! She’s just a baby.” Facing where he knew his son to be by
the sound of his sobbing stifled his thoughts. “Son, I know this is the
hardest thing you’ll ever do, but you must. Please. It’s all right. I love you
more than anything.”
Dylan retched, fumbling and
almost dropping the Glock 9mm pistol. It probably felt like the heaviest thing
he’d ever held, certainly his first time holding a gun.
His small frame trembled,
tears streamed from his eyes, hair matted to his face. Red, swollen tissue
marred the right side of his face, the result of Roth’s cold temper. The
kitchen table supported his slight weight as he leaned one forearm on its edge.
“Roth, please don’t do this.
He’s just a boy. Be the sniveling coward you’ve always been. Do it yourself.”
Articulation was slurred through split and bloody lips. His tongue slipped
between the gap of two missing teeth.
Though partially open, his
right eye refused to focus properly. Warm, wet liquid traced a path down his
face. Gravity would always trump decency. Blood splattered his clothes. Patches
of gray clouded the edges of his vision. Unconsciousness lumbered near. The
drumming in his head kept pace with his rapid-fire pulse. No child should ever
see his father this way, unable to protect his family. Even if his son survived
Roth, which he began to doubt, he'd be scarred for life.
“Oh, Devon, Devon,
Devon. You just don’t get it, do you? I’m not a coward,” Roth admonished.
“I have no qualms about ending any of your lives. Watch, let me demonstrate.”
His patronizing voice oozed in the air like oil spreading over water to corrupt
with its filth. Roth pulled the six-inch blade from its sheath at his waist and
held it to the baby’s throat, who lay cuddled in the crook of his
left arm.
“No, don’t. You
bastard!” Devon strained at the rope binding his hands behind his back.
“Dylan, listen. Take the family crest ring off my finger. Go ahead, son, take
it. It’s yours. It’s our coat of arms.” Twisting sideways forced the bonds to
cut his wrists as he removed the ring from fingers slick with blood.
When his son took it, he
realized these would be his last words to his boy. “Put it in your pocket, you
can get a chain for it until you’re grown. That ring is a symbol of your
strength, son, a symbol of your commitment to do whatever’s necessary
to protect your family. Remember this, Dylan.” Dear God, he'll have
nightmares the rest of his life...if he survives.
About the Author
Of the many lessons life seems
intent on throwing her way; the most important one Shyla’s learned is to take
the time to enjoy family and friends. The flux and flow of changes aren’t
something to fight, but adapt to with the best of your ability. One day’s
heartbreak is often followed by another day’s triumph. The only barricades
remaining are the ones we refuse to navigate. She hopes you’ve enjoyed this
story. Shyla’s website, ShylaWolff.com,
will be updated as Dylan’s journey continues.
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