N. P. Ryan

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Drinking in a dingy bar by the sea, crumpled postcard from Her and World’s Biggest Ray Zero for company; then the son of a starts saying I’m cursed. Praise Be to lighting-up another smoke. Inhale, taste a foul brand: the Hex She put on me. Promised Heaven, delivered a dive nightclub Hell. Thank the Lord for liquor loving hot chicks. Though nothing compares to how it’ll feel catching up with Her.

Wanted a quick bit of business and gone. Bath had other ideas. First, battered and left for dead after a hundred heart-breaking truths. Then a Police Chief with a saggy old treasure chest of secrets to keep needs a scapegoat. Dumps me in the middle of corruption so deep it eases through bone to suck greedy at marrow. With every gun pointing my way, Hell, not even He’s gonna get me outta this one.

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