ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ| Dark Erotica ⛓

Of Blondes And Bastards

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Now I watched when the Lamb opened one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures say with a voice like thunder, "Come and see!"

And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, "Come and see."

And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, "Come and see." And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, "Come and see."

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

✪

Two men would bleed.

Vorden's soiree's were always legendary.

The sun ruptured dawn on the Sonora, scarlet and purple blazing through the Joshua trees as the mesas cast lakes of sweeping shade.

And Espen, white steed blazing like the tail of a comet, streaked through the combs of the canyon, coat—tails whipping in the furious roar of the wind.

He noticed the man in black, riding hard behind him, the blood bay stallion trailing fire.

The ungodly celebration was far behind them.
Salvation had been booming.
In fact, anyone could have said it was hell on Earth, a veritable Babylon writhing with inebriated humanity.

And what a night it had been, cracked crab, spilling pineapple, white rum and ice with meat so plump it was almost a sin to eat.

But as hard as he flew.

Morgan had always been the better rider.

Cocaine reared when the fat rumped stallion skidded into her path.

Both horses billowed in the soupy haze of flinging sand and blue—mist mirages as each man circled the other.

And cold blue clashed with a sapphire almost white in the slivers of sunlight as stares bitter than arsenic locked.

The man in black with his smiling skull ring, blonde hair stark against the bronze of his freckled skin stood in his stirrups as his stallion stormed through a pirouette, dog—bit hat and bullet grazed holster jostling, "where are you riding off to?! We have business."

Espen appraised him, only for a second, scorching in the viscous heat.

Morgan Rush.

Older in mind and body, blood and scalps and absinth clung to him more than the offal of innocents did to the underside of his boots.