Short Preview of Good Guys Die First

Episode One Preview

An eagle screeched high above, its cry ringing across the dusty town square somewhere beyond the blackness.

In the darkness stood a man, roped and blindfolded at the center of a mob. A mob that surged toward the gallows.

Sand and grit ground between his teeth as the toes of his boots slammed into the first step, but he refused to lift his feet. They’d get him up the platform alright, but he wouldn’t make it easy.

A sharp kick to the back of his knees sent him lurching forward as one of the men holding his arms laughed, yanking his neck back with a painful jolt.

“How’s it feel, Blackheart,” his would-be executioner sneered into his ear, “Finally gonna get what you deserve.”

But the prisoner wouldn’t give them what they wanted.

He laughed, a low, haunted sound that echoed over the mob until quiet rang instead of shouts.

These men had no idea who he was.

They didn’t know what they were dealing with.

They were just angry miners and merchants, men who thought they could take the law into their own hands and win.

They didn’t have a clue.

Every time, every town, it was always the same.

Blackheart was only one of his names, and he’d had many.

Pity.

It was a nice name, and he’d only just started in on it a few months back.

Now he’d need a new one.

But there was one name he carried with him wherever he went. One name that followed him every time he rose, a name whispered like the devil himself dug him from the dirt.

The eagle screeched again as the blindfold was ripped from his head and he came face-to-face with the rough rope of the gallows.

“Any final words, Blackheart?” The man at his shoulder snarled, giving him a shove so he stood directly on top of the trap door. The flimsy planks wobbled beneath his feet.

How many times had it been now?

These poor fools didn’t know who he was. Here in their little backwater town, they had no clue.

But fifteen miners were found dead in the same gulch where Blackheart had struck a claim. He was the only one left living.

And he had blood on his hands.

This was what he got for trying to live on the straight and narrow. He shook off the men at his arms and cracked his neck side to side, smirking down at the jeering crowd of ragtag miners and merchants, their eyes hungry for blood.

They’d have their revenge, alright. He’d be cold in the ground by the time they finished.

But come sundown, the demon would have his.

He let the men fit the noose over his head, his stomach twisting—not because he feared death.

Because he didn’t want to kill again.

Blackheart shut his eyes, bracing for the pain.

It never got easier.

They’ll regret what they did, said the voice that wasn’t his own. Kill them all. Make them regret! Make them fear you.

Blackheart ground his teeth together.

“Shut the hell up,” he muttered under his breath.

But his executioners were too busy watching a commotion at the other side of the square, too busy to hear. Too busy to think he was talking to them.

Blackheart squinted through the haze. A young woman, that’s what he saw. Like a mirage in the hot desert sun, a beautiful woman in a very large and very frilly blue dress shouldered her way through the crowd while clutching a fancy hat frantically to her head with one hand.

A woman. That’s right, a real live woman, way out here in the dust and wilds, a land more dry grass and tumbleweeds than life.

She didn’t belong here.

Her dress was far too big and her hat too clean. A white, lacey sun parasol ballooned behind her like some sort of parachute as she ran. And from way up on the platform, Blackheart could just make out the matching white gloves she wore. She was like a catalog picture come to life.

It was quite the spectacle.

She looked like she’d just stepped off the train. A proper lady, the likes of which he never thought he’d see out here in the dust and death.

A proper woman.

The kind of woman he’d only seen once, when he was a child and his father brought him all the way east.

Not the kind of woman he thought he’d see rushing to witness his hanging.

But he supposed if a woman of that sort was coming to see him at all, this would be the reason.

Ta-da! That’s a quick snippet for ya. Wait, wait, so how’d a romance author get into westerns??? ⤵

Haha okay so if you’re wondering how the heckin’ heck a romance fantasy paranormal urban fantasy author is ALSO into Westerns . . . I should probably do a blog post on that. (As soon as I actually start a blog here lol.) But in the meantime, the short answer is a mix of: anime, Louis L’Amour, Clint Eastwood, and a draft Space Western novel I’ve been meaning to edit/rewrite and actually publish for years now. 😆

(Yes. I also do sci-fi. Shhhh, what is picking a genre good for anyway? 😛 Forget writing to market lololol. After all, I didn’t give up the financial security of a day job to chase my dreams just so I could get stuck writing one thing for all eternity!)

And if you’re a fan of Stolen bride of the Fae King & In Love with My Assassin, you’re probably gonna go, “Author, do you have a thing for book dudes with sentient curses or something?” And I’m over here nodding because heck yes I do lol. And I’ve got a thing for long-separated friends. For favors returned. For childhood friends to lovers. These are my things. You’ll see ’em over and over in my stories, so if you like these tropes, you’re in luck.

And yes. Oren and the MMC who goes by “Blackheart” in this snippet would probably be friends.

Spoiler: Blackheart also goes by Graves. So if you ever hear me talk about Graves, that’s him. That’s this story.

Also, I don’t usually open comments, but here ya go! Say hi if you want!

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