These men killed mine, and for that, they have to die
Bristlebrook is up in smoke, my brutes are dead, and Sam’s camp is a powder keg begging for a flame.
Injured and furious over their losses, the surviving hunters are preoccupied with their own problems. Their factions and allegiances. Their internal wars and pissing contests. The new world they want to forge. They don’t look twice at their meek little captive.
They shattered my heart five ways when they killed my brutes, so I don’t care anymore. If I’m to stop the villains, I need to become one.
I need to be smart. I need to be ruthless.
Even if it means razing myself to the ground to do it . . .
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