Inger and Tala roll west on I-80 in the beastly Muteki, AM880 streaming Howard Stern’s chaotic hype for ‘Ridin” as snow dusts the Nevada flats. The road to Kage no Hana casino—and the Tahoe border guarded by Primaris Solenne Vexton Ulyth’s loyalists—tests them with cold starts, diner awkwardness, and the looming shadow of a boy who won’t take ‘no.’ Fuel up, crank the volume, and brace for whatever the Sierra throws next.Continue Reading
You and I just dial 911 and get help. In 2125 it’s not so easy. Inger needs a cop, a specific cop for a boy problem.Continue Reading
The brig in Norfolk smelled like bleach, rust, and broken dreams. Damian sat on the lower bunk in his orange jumpsuit, squeezing a squeaky rubber chicken in each fist like they were nunchaku.“That bottle blonde with the toy sword thinks she’s hot shit,” he told the other detainees, who were already trying not to laugh. “Brown belt my ass. What that bitch needs is some sausage and a good spanking. Knock her up. I’m gonna claim her with these sexy rubber chickens.Continue Reading
Damian crossed a line where Southern manners snap into country fury. Threatening her mother wasn’t just insult—it was trespass. Inger’s reply doesn’t come in words but in the dojo, where apology bends into discipline and fury sharpens into resolve. The katana waits, not as ornament but as vow, and the story pivots from bluster to destiny.Continue Reading
The American Café was loud with clatter until Inger’s tablet lit up: Don’t think you can escape. I am your destiny. Choose — obey me or meet your end.Continue Reading
What Inger understands Damian refuses. Her Understand What is Understood is that she chose and didn’t choose DamianContinue Reading
We can’t envy our way into a better country, a better life, or a better partner. That path always ends in collapse.Continue Reading
No rules, no boundaries. Rules and boundaries are oppressive. Damian wanted to go where he wanted whenever he wanted. He wanted most to go where Inger was and get what was his.Continue Reading
She’s mine. I don’t care what the Hive says. I’ll walk through every door until I have her.Continue Reading
Damian knelt outside his tent, flicking the butane stove to life. “Want it hot?” he asked, holding out the pouch. Inger didn’t answer. She snatched the pho from his hand, tore the seal with her teeth. The scent of dried shiitake and star anise hit the air. She sat cross-legged, chewing—no spoon, no water, no ceremony. He watched, unsure if he’d just been insulted or initiated.Continue Reading