Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men, #6)

by Giana Darling

Violence and darkness, immorality and iniquity.

I was a good Christian girl with an obsession for those who sinned.

These were people who understood the full spectrum of morality and cut their own rules and uses from it. I loved the bloodthirsty nature of their revenge because it stemmed like a dark bloom from their deep-rooted loyalty. The way they proudly, staunchly wore their flaws the same way they did their values, daring you to accept nothing less than the full package of who they were.

Priest was the club enforcer. The death dealer. The vengeful angel sent to collect the cost of betraying the club.

storms tossed frightening shadows through my bedroom window and made me think of what kind of monsters inhabited the night.

I was enchanted by the rain, the way it washed things clean and nourished the land. Growing up in the church as I did, my biblical teachings had lent the rain an almost divine connotation, and since I was young, I’d always believed it heralded good things. For God withheld the rain when He was wronged and let it shed after a show of faith.

This isn’t the story of a good man. A tale of redemption or salvation. I require none of the former and seek nothing of the latter. This is a story of a man without a conscience.

“Happiness is lookin’ into a woman’s eyes and seein’ the best version’a you reflected back at you.”

Forgiveness, to me, was divine, and patience was the penultimate virtue.