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Randall Ford Jr.

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Member Since: Nov, 2007

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Dead Center
by Randall Ford Jr.   

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Category: 

Action/Thriller

Publisher:  Authorhouse ISBN-10:  1425991076 Type: 
Pages: 

380

Copyright:  Aug. 21, 2007 ISBN-13:  9781425991074
Fiction

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Randall Ford

Action...Romance...Mystery...Adventure...Surprise endings...Intense storyline...Need I say more?

This fast paced trilogy delivers non stop adventure accompanied by a burning romance that is sure to cure the reader's crave for hard passion. A smooth ride of wild events!

Braylen Adger, awakes one night covered in blood, inside of a dumpster only to discover that he has no trace of memory as to who he is. Different to the world he seems, but normal to the one he falls in love with as Ava is become his key to love, life and relaxes his quest to find his past.

Through the midst of this freedom to love, Braylen is forced to unclothe his identity and is delt with the harsh truth that begins a journey-run of his life from the one's who track his very existence.

As his day of his expiration approaches, only for Ava he stands in her honor to fight. Not for his own breath, but that of the will to live with her for love.

This the first installment of the book which is followed by a 25 year later sequel and a prequel. If you love front to back action, surprise endings and seductive liaison, then enjoy!

Excerpt
Chapter 11 Who Am I?



What madness is this that has come over the world? Robert panted from the run. The wet clothing gave chills to his skin. The cool air was brisk against the damp polyester of his suit. He rested on the dirt of the earth in the field.


The trees pined with an immense spread as to cover the day light. The ground was hard from the previous frost and lack of sun light. The trees bordered the freeway but stretched for miles before end.

Robert tucked himself inside of a ditch along a soiled embankment. The night arrived. The tint of the woods shadowed deeper than the clear of the sky. Only the moon was visible from a distance.

Who am I? I ask of myself. Had Herschel stabbed me to death and do I now reside in a grave? Perhaps my body lies cold but my senses continue to transfer. Could it be that this circus hour of events has been brought on by my paranoid thoughts or by a thoughtless space of imagination?

As ice my hands feel. With no feeling of circulation, my feet numb. Should I wish for someone to cover me with dirt and bury me as I lay? I cannot create a fire for the helicopters that lurk overhead seek the very heat of my flesh. Be it of the dead of winter is that which is responsible for my invisible camouflage unto their infra tracking.

Is this illness in which I have been handed really a regression of a delirious head? Why has my mind became as the victim under my own negotiations? This can't be myself. This can't be the powerful reality at hand. Thompson holds these mysteries and answers to my wonder.

Who's eyes are these that rest in my skull? They see so much but confuse my brain as they are the misconception of true verity. Without to rest my eyes from days past has left my face to hurt.

This invading darkness of skies that taunt me is the never ending attack that seeks my never ending vesture for fight. A long battle drawn the fist of an invisible enemy. Oh the world has become a blanket of a vast plane of withered life. Only the glare of the moon's light to rest over my eyes is the proof that reminds me that the heart of my body still has a pulse.

The very tides that beset me are the struggle to flood above my head and steal the air of my lungs. Courage I hope will walk beside me.

My conscience is an imagination. My reality a dream. My breath like iron. My thoughts spin like vertigo. The warmth of my hands is hiding from me. The times as I stood under the hot rays of a sun's cry are the presence of my thoughts.

I'm not crazy. Everyone else around is dully insane. Therefore to talk to myself would be an honor of an intellect without reprimand. My ownself to trust is all that I can do. Let it fall I must not. The morsel of bravery to stand against an entire town.

The cold temperatures caused Robert to drift into a brief dream while he slept. He sat across from Lisa as they were in a session. "You know Ms. Davis, they say that color does not exist unless it reflects light upon it's shape. That's kind of like a person who is happy and content also honors a secret. Hidden inside are things that keep him or her emotions lively.

Some would envy such and suggest them to have a secret as said person is joyous in life with the things that make up his world. Some consider him to hide the secret with such an exuberating love for life. When indeed the person's joy is from God, family, and the love of life.

When the sun gives us light, that same light shines on us with a million shades of hue, only for our pleasure to view. As you sit before me in the warmth of this room all I can feel is the heat of the sun.

It's no secret within myself that you bring out these feelings of endless nerves which I am thankful for to be so blessed.The burning of the sun that lights upon your beauty is as a halo's glow. The biggest threat to a man is his own self as to fall into a society which loves only himself. However, the most beautiful dream of a man is the one he knows to beware of such existing feelings.

I don't want to keep any secrets from you. I love the crippled sway of your loose strands that fall out of place. I love your skinny fingers that have mesmerized every touch to cause lustful hurt. Your smile has struck me with a hard addiction. For this is the creation of weakness and the death of my own ability to restrain.

Marveled at your sight, I am stabbed with a cruel anguish. The pain of having never had to known how it's like to hold you or kiss your skin or cause your forehead to condense through the touching of your arousal would be my loss.

I guess this is the beautiful dream of a man, but reality is to make the dream more vivid with physical eyes and touch only. For we can see clearly who we are loved by through the way we show our compassion from our bodies. Our eyes are the dream and the hands are the definitions of love."

Robert rested his hand onto her back and pushed her into a slump. The tips of his fingers were like silk that screened from her lower back and massaged their way to her neck. "When it rains people sit under shelter or behind walls and witness the pour of the clouds. For an instant to thought how would it shock you to close your eyes and walk into the storm? Your clothes drenched and your skin shriveled.

The running coldness of the water upon the drought day of the summer puddles and streams over your feet. Knowing others are watching as you stand free. To smile in the evanescence of nature is the perfection they see as they stare. The hearts of the earth and the rain shower I become one with."

Robert awoke and became alarmed from the squeal of the canines that hunted after his scent from afar. Their growls turned into an unwanted onslaught of anger. Their vicious drool was before me with no understanding for my appeal.

I grasped my adrenaline and climbed as though a mountain. To my heels I fiercely stood. Under their attack I was waged. The degrees of an arctic temperature was that of becoming a part of the woods. The environment calloused from the climax of burning weather. The red of my face was the blistering thirst to set a kindling warmth.

The dreadful jab of claws that thorned me was the mark from one of the predators that sought me. I stumbled but kept my bold stance in balance. The large shepherd mongrel seemed rabid. He hated me even without to know my heart. Only the voiced command of it's master officer could separate his fangs from my wrist.

I could not feel the sting of his gnaw for the cold deadened the sensation. The weight of the

dog was a burden. Robert picked him up from the drape of fur behind his neck. He fell to his knee and felt about the ground underneath his shin.

The beast's eyes were ravenous with an evinced show of rule through his bite. Robert laid onto his side and extended his arm. He took the huge rock that sat under the sediment. He secured it between his thumb muscle and forearm.

With fatality he crushed the face of the dog relaxing the snout tendon. The sight of the blood embedded a strong hold against the defiance that lay blame over him from the puzzled actions of the town.

He back tracked his steps and angled his direction to exit the woods. He came out just behind the vacant squad vehicles. He opened the door of one of the cars and pressed the yellow trunk release button.

He walked to the open metal hood and fumbled through the contents therein. He took the long crowbar tool and laid it over the brass loop that clipped onto the latch of the boot. He slammed it repeatedly with might until the metal bracket bent upward. He hopped inside and pulled the lid closed holding it by the broken lever as it was incapable of functioning in a locked position.

After some time had passed, two officers had entered the vehicle and cranked the engine. The ride from the back was harsh. Every rugged form of the road was felt. Finally, the car stopped and the two doors shut. Robert let the hydraulics of the trunk pick the lid up slowly. He saw the two men place heavy masks over their faces as they were now parked inside of the juvenile center.

He stayed low from their range and entered the door from which they left to swing. The two men crept down the still hall and entered a room where two children slept. They stood above them and woke them. They waved their index fingers from side to side approximately two inches from their eyes. With immediate timing they snapped their fingers rendering the kids under a hypnosis.

Robert held his gun high and entered the room slowly. "Turn around," he demanded. The men rose fearlessly and faced him. Light headed he became from the rush of blood that surged his body. He held a tight grip with his right hand and placed the bottom side of his palm to wrap around the under side of the handle.

Robert's eyes sagged from the endless insomnia. His arm bruised and swollen from the dog bite. The cuff of his shirt was ripped to the shoulder. The dirt which he rested upon caused his appearance to dinge.

"Where is the cage? Answer me!" The men flinched not. "Remove your masks now. Don't mess with me! Game time is over. Now I'm only going to ask this twice. Where is the cage?"

"Why only twice?" the man asked.

Robert cocked the grid hammer of the revolver and said, "Because that was your warning."

"You're scared. You couldn't shoot anyone. Remember your uncle?"

"Tell me damn it!"

"Where do you think the cage is? No clue right? Perhaps its in your head? You wonder about what's going on don't you?"

"Don't play with me!"

"Your skills are weak. The psychological achievements of your time means nothing anymore. For you cannot use calmness to persuade me, you show force."

"Guess what?" Robert pulled the curved trigger and fired one bullet in to each leg right above the knee caps.

The man blurred a scream that woke the building. Robert returned the barrel to the first man. The gun oozed smoke and the metal of the revolver became hot. He eased the prints of his thumb to push the lever down and up. "Now that was your warning. Remove your mask."



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