Inkognito

An electronic ping cut through the cabin. Denny looked up from his seat. "Motion trip?" Tom stopped shuffling his cards and moved to the monitor. "Northeast quadrant. Probably a deer or coyote again," he said, tapping on the keyboard. "Wait. Sensor log shows a hit seven minutes ago." Mark was on his feet. "Why are we just seeing it now?" "Signal was jammed. Delayed until it could push through." "Check the woodpile," Mark ordered. Tom switched cameras. The feed shimm

Six months had passed since the night Brady had stumbled into their lives, and the scrawny, terrified kid who'd knocked over half their shed was barely recognizable. His shoulders had broadened under Denny's relentless training regimen, his hands were calloused from countless hours of repair work, and his eyes had lost that hunted, desperate edge that had marked him as prey. He moved through the cabin with quiet confidence, no longer a guest on sufferance, but a functioning member of their stran

The chili was thick, spicy, and warm, the kind of meal that stuck to your ribs and made you forget, for a moment, that the world was a cold, hard place. Brady sat at the now repaired heavy oak table, though it still bore the scars of the night before. His bowl was nearly empty, the spoon scraping quietly against the ceramic as he chased the last bits of meat and beans. He kept his eyes down, hyper-aware of the four men around him. He felt like an intruder, a stray dog allowed to sit at the

The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cabin's weathered wooden walls. Mark sat in his usual chair, methodically cleaning his rifle. Denny lounged on the couch nearby, absentmindedly flexing his scarred knuckles. By the window, Ralf stood in silence, his eyes sweeping the treeline more out of habit than any real concern. Tom sat across the room, shuffling a deck of cards as he launched into yet another long-winded story, this one about their

A street-smart eighteen-year-old thief takes on what he thought would be an easy score. Now he's trapped between four lethal ex-mercenaries... And a dangerous world of secrets ready to steal far more than he ever bargained for. * "I have a feeling it's going to be a crazy ride." — Person with Excellent Taste, Ch. 1 "I'm hooked. The action and pacing were fantastic." — Man of Culture, Ch. 1 "Awesome start" — My Hype Man, Ch. 1 "Dang, step-dad-mercs will get him though." — Some Guy on Ch. 3

Ben Gay just wanted to tell the truth and get his story straight. That was his first mistake. The second was thinking anyone would believe him.

The moment Ben Gay walked into homeroom, he knew today would be a disaster. It was Tuesday. Tuesdays had always had it out for him. First period was English. Today's assignment was an essay to "Reveal a Truth." Ben decided today was The Day. Capital letters made it official. Like signing a contract with the universe, except the universe was probably going to breach it. At the end of class, Mr. Lockwood shuffled the papers and selected one at random to read aloud. Of

By the way, I really, truly hope I don’t get comedy. Can you imagine the catastrophe if anyone expected me to be funny on purpose? The sheer awkwardness would be so powerful it’d qualify as a new form of renewable energy. Scientists would study the fallout and weep. So please, think of the readers. Think of the children. Think of the gays. Spare them all and give me something safe and joyless, like brooding existential horror or interpretive spreadsheet fanfiction.

The penthouse smelled like sweat, wine, and something self-congratulatory. Jake stepped inside casually, the kind of entrance a man makes when he already knows the ending. There was laughter coming from the bedroom. He walked down the hall and pushed open the door. There they were, exactly as he knew they would be. Haven, naked and sprawled across the sheets, looking like a cologne ad for moral bankruptcy. Clay beside him, a wine glass dangling from his fingers with the bored

Bruh. Remind me never to play poker with you. Also, if that were the case, then this story would read very differently on a second pass, wouldn’t it? Hypothetically speaking, I might have snuck in a few Easter eggs for readers, though of course I’d never admit to something so devious. 😏

Be sure to bring your popcorn, your boxed wine, and your best dramatic gasping skills. Chapter 6 hits harder than a tap from a faceless torso whose opening line is just “stats?”.