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Back Angels of Vengeance
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

And if she ran into troopers from Blackstone’s TDF – what then?

She swore under her breath as she cleaned out the barrel of the handgun.

A song that she liked came on, and she turned up the volume on her little transistor radio, just a notch. A risk, but worth it. It was an English band. She wasn’t sure of the name, but the tune was very danceable, and it had been all over the pop stations right before she’d left home.

The table blurred in front of her eyes, and the Magnum became a silvery waterfall as tears filled her eyes. She carefully rested the pistol on the white cotton pillowcase on which she’d been cleaning it, and pushed her chair away from the table. The apartment was small, and the bedroom only a few steps away, but she found she was hurrying to throw herself onto the mattress.

Her grief had been coming like this, rolling over her in unexpected waves, ever since she’d parted company with Cindy. There was no mystery to it. Sofia had been forced to maintain an iron grip on her feelings while in the company of the other woman. Cindy’s maternal instincts were obviously aroused by her plight, no matter how fictional it might’ve been, and Sofia didn’t want her deciding that she was too much of a basket case to be left on her own. But now that she was on her own, she was free to give vent to the agonies of her soul.

The bedclothes were dishevelled and the pillow still wet from the floods of tears she had poured into it less than an hour ago. As wretched and powerless as she felt, however, as tormented by her lot as she may have been, there remained a cold, disconnected part of her mind that all but told her to get on with the business of grieving for her lost father, to get it out of the way, so that it would not interfere with what she had to do to avenge him. The callous tenor of that voice at the back of her mind did nothing to attenuate the torrent of grief pouring out of the girl. She was forced into smothering herself, so fiercely did she jam her face into the pillow to prevent the sound of her moaning cries escaping the apartment.

Alone.