Sunday, May 3, 2015

Prologue to Vintage Wrath


Philip Johnson could no longer scream. 

He could no longer beg or plead. The poison had spread too far. Although it wasn’t too late to save him, the list of those who might was now vanishingly small.

He could no longer swallow since the poison had washed down his throat, melting the dendrites at the end of his nerves which allowed such luxuries. But he also couldn't prevent himself from swallowing. 

When Catherine’s bodyguard tipped his head back, the man seemed almost gentle as he poured the remaining poison down his throat.

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