Thunder Road (Rain Chaser Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bayou Blues – Genie McQueen Book 1

  Chapter One

  About Sierra Dean

  Copyright

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Thunder Road

  Copyright © 2016 by Ashley MacLennan

  ISBN: 978-1-939291-09-7

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Sierra Dean. electronic publication: July 2016

  Dean, Sierra (2016-07-26). Thunder Road. Sierra Dean. Kindle Edition.

  Thunder Road

  Rain Chaser #1

  Sierra Dean

  For those who said they wanted more urban fantasy books from me, thank you for igniting the spark that made me finally turn this long-simmering idea into a real book.

  To Chadwick Ginther, who wrote the other urban fantasy Thunder Road, also about modern gods, for being my ever-supportive book-title twin. Go pick up his Thunder Road as well.

  And lastly to Jon Bernthal, whose on-screen presence helped inspired me more than I ever would have imagined. Without his Punisher, this book would never have existed.

  Chapter One

  Contrary to popular opinion, you can cheat Death.

  She just doesn’t like it very much.

  At the moment I wasn’t concerned about Manea or the grisly fate that awaited me if one of her goons caught up to me, however. I was too busy trying to keep all four of my Mustang’s wheels on the blacktop. Otherwise I’d be driving my way off a cliff and right into the goddess’s cold embrace.

  No thank you.

  When Manea finally came for me, I’d be damn sure it was the ending befitting someone of my status, and not some freak accident on a rain-slicked highway.

  If anyone could drive in the rain, it was a cleric of Seth, the storm god. He would laugh over my grave if hydroplaning was what wiped me off the face of the earth.

  I eased up on the brakes as my car skimmed weightlessly over the smooth surface of the highway. To my left was a sheer rock face that would crush the car like an aluminum can against a frat boy’s forehead. On the right was a drop so treacherous even the guardrail seemed to lean away from it.

  Rock, meet hard place.

  Hard place, meet Tallulah.

  Story of my damned life.

  I angled the car towards the rock wall slightly and took a breath through my nostrils. Behind me, three sets of headlights were edging closer, and it was only a matter of time before I didn’t have a choice of which direction to go. My pursuers would decide for me.

  Three…

  “Hang tight, Fen.” I jostled the buckle I’d fastened to the pet carrier in the passenger seat. A small pip of acknowledgment—or censure—came through the holes. The sassy little mongrel was getting smart with me. Some familiar he was.

  Two…

  Gritting my teeth so hard my jaw hurt, I flipped on the radio.

  Chanting echoed over the building guitar line.

  Thunder.

  I grinned and felt a warm calm wash over of me as Brian Johnson’s high-pitched growl sounded through the Mustang’s speakers. The bass vibrated the seat beneath me, and as the chorus hit—

  One.

  I slammed my foot onto the gas the moment the curve of the road opened up.

  Thunderstruck.

  Damn right.

  My wheels spun on the wet surface, sending up a rooster tail of mist in my wake. As soon as rubber found purchase a loud squeal threatened to deafen me and almost drowned out AC/DC, which wasn’t an easy feat. But as the Mustang shot forward at full speed I knew, for the first time all night, there was a chance I was going to get out of this alive.

  “Thank Seth.”

  Fenrir, who couldn’t resist getting the last word, chirruped noisily beside me.

  “Calm your tits, furball. I’ve got this.”

  One of the pursuit vehicles wasn’t prepared for my evasive maneuvers. He hit a patch of water and spun out of control, barreling straight into the rocks. Flame erupted from the shell of his car, blocking out my view of the other two pursuers.

  Had they been human they might have stopped to see if he was okay. But Manea didn’t fool around with the living. Her clerics were all among the undead, with the notable exception of His Supreme Dickheadedness Prescott McMahon. A man so abhorrent only the goddess of death would spend time with him.

  I gripped the steering wheel like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic and kept my foot pressed to the floor. There was a reason I drove a car that could go zero to sixty in fifteen seconds flat, and it involved an awful lot of running for my life.

  You might think a lifetime commitment to serve a god would make you popular or at least offer a modicum of respect along with the title. You’d be wrong.

  Human clerics were like walking complaint boxes for the gods they served. When things went well, folks said their prayers and sent their payments, thanking the gods directly. When things went wrong, though, the anger and frustration came right to me.

  Tallulah Corentine, earthbound bitch to the god of the storm.

  Thanks a heap, destiny.

  The car sailed smoothly around another corner, like it had grown wings and could fly me right off this blasted highway. No such luck. If I went flying, a long date with gravity would greet me shortly thereafter.

  I could only evade my pursuers for so long, and I certainly couldn’t count on all of them being such poor drivers. Sure, they were undead, but their reflexes worked just fine. If I wanted to make it out of this alive, I’d need to either get off the mountain or face them directly. Outside a steel box on wheels, there was a possibility I could take them down in hand-to-hand combat.

  I wouldn’t feel too guilty about killing them since they were already dead.

  Ahead of me on the side of the road was a sign for a runaway lane, a high, sloping hill that could be used for cars whose brakes gave out on the treacherous road.

  It was also a great way to get me to a higher vantage point.

  “Should I do something
gloriously stupid, Fen?”

  He pipped, as if suggesting this would be nothing new. Or maybe I was projecting.

  The two remaining cars were gaining on me. I guess when a driver doesn’t need to worry about dying, they’re willing to take more risks. And here I thought I was plenty risky enough.

  I said a silent prayer to Seth that the road would stay clear, and jerked my wheel to the left, sending me straight for the runaway slope like an arrow fired at a target. There was only one chance for me to get this right. Manea didn’t offer do-overs.

  The Mustang lost momentum as I rose up the slope, just as I anticipated. I reached the apex of the hill and slammed my foot on the brake, making the car skid in the wet mud. I parked and listened to the engine purr along to the falsetto rock genius of “Thunderstruck.”

  “Na-na-nanananana,” I said under my breath.

  A magical incantation it was not, but it would do.

  Rain pounded against my windshield, almost too fast for the wipers to keep up with. Outside, the world had turned into a smudged impressionist interpretation of a mountain landscape.

  “All right, buddy. If I don’t make it through this, I hope Sido will feed you.”

  Fen did not reply. Perhaps the idea of being taken in by my mentor, Sidonie, was too depressing for him to contemplate.

  There was also a sixty-five percent chance he’d fallen asleep.

  I touched a photo stuck to my dash of a beautiful, smiling, blonde woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, if I had a California beach-bum glow and my mother’s more Anglo-Saxon features. I didn’t say anything, but felt a surge of comfort.

  Casting my eyes up to the sky, I added, “And you. Don’t you dare think any of the newbies are talented enough to fill my boots yet, you ungrateful prick. If ever there was a time for you to come through, this is it.”

  Thunder rumbled.

  Good enough.

  I got out of the Mustang in time for the two cars following me to pull up, the lead sedan barely stopping in time to avoid running me over.

  That would be an embarrassing way to go.

  “Nice of you guys to show up.”

  The man who got out first gave me a look so stony Medusa might have flinched. The undead were not exactly famous for their senses of humor.

  “Miss Corentine.” This voice was smooth and calm, cutting through the rain as if it wasn’t there, as if the speaker hadn’t a care in the world about some bad weather.

  “Prescott.” My hands had involuntarily balled into fists, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the snark to a minimum. He was no underling. He was the right-hand man to death herself, which meant he could act in her stead.

  Prescott McMahon could kill me with a brush of his fingertips and a lightly whispered oath.

  “I’d like to say it’s nice to see you again, but we both know that’s rarely the case.” He moved forward so I could get a good look at him, no longer lingering behind the cars. There had been two men in each car, so in addition to Prescott there were three undead henchmen I’d have to dispatch if I wanted to get out of this.

  Not the worst odds I’d faced.

  “Your douche haircut is getting ruined.” I sneered. He’d gone for something hip and modern, his blond hair shaved short on the sides and left longer on top. In the deluge of rain, however, the product he’d used to keep it perfectly coifed—he was never anything but fastidious about his appearance—had melted away, making him look unkempt and disheveled. Likewise his once-crisp suit was wet and likely ruined by the rain.

  If I’d really wanted to piss him off, I’d point out that he was getting mud on his shoes.

  “Your wit never ceases to charm.”

  “I’m the delightfullest.”

  Prescott sighed. Hey, I said I’d keep the snark to a minimum. There was no way possible I could cut it out entirely. Not even with my life on the line.

  “As much as I’d love to continue this interaction, I’d much prefer that you just return what you’ve stolen.”

  “Won.”

  He blinked at me, and his expression was so clear his thoughts might as well be written on his face. You’re going to argue semantics with death?

  Yup.

  “I beg your pardon?” Prescott asked.

  “You said stole. You’re the one who said I could take anything in the room if I could make it rain inside. I did. Stole implies I came in and snatched something that wasn’t mine.”

  “It isn’t yours.”

  “But see, it is. Because I won it. It’s not my fault you’ve always underestimated my powers.”

  Prescott and I stared at each other, and I tried not to let the hammering rain ruin my cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor. Nothing makes you look less badass than furiously blinking away the raindrops stuck in your lashes.

  “Tallulah…” His impatience was evident in his tone.

  Prescott and I had known each other a long time. Too long. We were roughly the same age—he was only a year or two my senior—and we’d grown up aware of each other, as all young disciples were. It helped to know your potential allies from your enemies.

  We all learned young that in the game of divinity there was no such thing as friends.

  I’d once found him handsome, even charming.

  That time had long since passed.

  Yet there were occasions where we fell into old, familiar habits, and the way he said my name reminded me that this was someone I knew. I’d once seen him cry over the body of a dead dog.

  Prescott hadn’t always been so cold.

  I hadn’t always been so nasty.

  Time ruins everyone in the long run.

  I relaxed my fists and focused on the rain as it trailed down my bare arms, tiny rivers dripping off my fingertips. Thunder growled its animal warning, shaking the ground. It vibrated up through my legs and made my soul tremble with anticipation.

  Prescott had the good sense to look worried.

  “I won the idol fair and square,” I said.

  The air smelled of ozone, a sharp, peppery odor that reminded me of fresh cardamom. In spite of the rain, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The creaky whoosh noise of the wipers on their two sedans was the only sound. Goose bumps prickled my skin.

  “You haven’t played fair your whole life.” His accusation stung. We might not like each other, but his words sounded like they came from a place of personal spite. I’d never hurt him in a way that should have earned me such a hateful tone.

  “If Manea didn’t want to risk losing it, she shouldn’t have offered it in the first place.”

  He blanched, and I realized he must have bet it without her permission. Before I could point this out, he said, “You cheated. Give it back, or I’ll be forced to—”

  I lifted my hand, and he flinched. Maybe he didn’t underestimate me after all. The three undead thugs suddenly had guns in their hands, drawn and trained on me. They weren’t thrilling conversationalists, but they were known to have decent aim. If your only directive was to kill, you managed to be quite precise.

  “You try to touch me, pretty boy, and I will leave a crater of ashes and burnt metal where you and your friends used to be.”

  His lip curled up in distaste. So it was okay for him to threaten to kill me, but not vice versa?

  “I have a job to do.”

  I raised my other hand and held both out to my sides. Rain pooled in my palms and dribbled between my fingers. Tilting my face to the sky, I reveled in the sensation of each heavy drop wetting my cheeks.

  Seth, hear me.

  The words didn’t need to be said out loud. The prayer itself wasn’t necessary. The power of the god was in me, whether he was paying attention or not.

  “You might want to get out of here,” I told him. “Storm’s coming.”

  I grinned, and the sky was suddenly brighter than midday, a flash of lightning forking overhead. Barely a heartbeat later the thunder boomed, so close and loud it rattled my teeth and made my knees feel wea
k. The sound promised power. It offered menace no mere words could.

  Don’t mess with me, it said.

  Prescott had to touch me if he was going to kill me.

  I could obliterate him from a mile away, and we both knew it.

  He moved a step closer, and my grin faded. A smart man would back down, and I used to think he was a smart man.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  “She wants it back.”

  “I don’t care.” Hell, if it was up to me, she could have the stupid thing. But I hadn’t won it for myself, and if I handed it over now, the wrath of Seth would be far scarier than Prescott’s handshake of death.

  “Tallulah, please.”

  I gathered that he was equally concerned about going home empty-handed, but his well-being wasn’t my problem.

  “Stop.”

  He ignored me and took another step closer, so he was now well in front of the cars. The three undead had their weapons raised still, nary a trembling grip in sight.

  I raised my hands higher, and the hair on the back of my arms stood on end. My whole body felt electrified, as if I’d stuck my fingers into a live socket. I didn’t want to do this, but he gave me no choice. After knowing me this long, Prescott should have understood I didn’t bluff.

  He needed a reminder.

  A deep, scary rumble of thunder shook the hill, and he paused, raising an eyebrow at me. But I wasn’t going to stop, not this time. He clearly didn’t believe I was serious.

  Angling my palms outward, I gritted my teeth like a soldier bracing himself for amputation. This was going to hurt. It always hurt.

  The sky turned bright white, illuminated into temporary daylight as lightning shredded the night like it was tissue. The bolt hit me harder than a ten-ton truck, slamming into me so ferociously I felt as if every atom in my body were being crushed.

  Electricity coursed from the top of my head through my limbs, and I held my ground, feet planted firmly in the wet mud. A tear trickled down my cheek as I pulled the energy of the lightning into me and directed it, shoving it back out again, but this time at my command.