Going Thru Hell: Reign of the Braiders

Synopsis

KYLIE RIPPONS is a SpongeBob pajama bottom wearing, Dodge Ram 1500 4x4 driving, USDA certified klutz, coffee-addicted mortal, seeking a normal life despite the constant harassment of gods and the ability to braid time.

Constant immortal harassment forces Kylie to take drastic action, and she must braid time to save friends, her son, and herself, as the gods drive her into situations in which she must choose: kill a friend and permanently hide her son, leaving him motherless, or become a slave in exchange for his safety, leaving her soulless and insane.

If only the gods allowed for personal choice.

Going Thru Hell

Copyright © 2013 - 2021

Published by Rough Road Productions

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Rough Road Productions

Discover Outcast Book Club

Dedication

Daron and Filly: thank you.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

More Books by T.J. Loveless

If you’re going through hell, keep going.

~ Winston Churchill ~

Chapter One

I wanted to bang my head on the desk, but the boss would charge for damages.

Glancing around the tiny cubicle, I tried to find anything heavy to throw at the gabby and arrogant immortal. He'd only laugh at any pathetic attempt to shut him up with pencil holders and files. The PC tower might work. I shook my head, the paycheck didn’t need a hit.

The gray padded walls and built in desk didn’t allow for much, and I regretted not keeping at least a picture frame or two. The edges might cause him to give a funny yelp. He might not like it, but I’d be entertained.

To make matters worse, the immortal in question couldn't be seen by anyone else. By staying in the fourth dimension, beyond mortal senses, Amun pestered me while normal humans remained ignorant of the truth.

I’d give almost anything to be normal.

I pulled my purse from under the desk, rummaging for objects to use as missiles. I gave up. Co-workers would have great stories of me throwing various objects at thin air. Last Christmas party notwithstanding, I didn't need more rumors circulating.

Go. Away. I narrowed my eyes. Tall, muscular and handsome, Amun was built like other male immortals I'd had the displeasure of meeting. The only difference seen in the bronze skin, beautiful mahogany colored eyes, and straight black hair. He always wore a stupid St. Louis Rams t-shirt, both wrists encircled by badly inked ram tats. Perfect picture of an idiot.

Why should I endeavor to please you? His voice silky smooth, making promises he would never keep.

Did it ever occur to your ego-filled, arrogant mind to be nice?

No. I am a god. You should do as you are bid.

You lose. Get out. No deal.

I pulled up the latest Excel spreadsheet, inserted ear buds, and cranked the MP3 player to drown his ranting. A deep breath, and I concentrated on the computer. Four accounts to reconcile today, I didn't need the constant distractions of immortals. Despite the job’s monotony, I needed to pay bills. Eat, buy chocolate, and a daily triple shot mocha latte, the essentials for sanity.

Amun wasn’t the only one pestering me, various immortals visited through the day. All wanted the same thing they’ve demanded since puberty hit fifteen years ago. To use the rare, inherited genetic mutation giving an ability no human, or immortal, should possess under any circumstance.

Anger bubbled below my skin, the need to lash out bringing several bright threads of various timelines to the forefront of the inner boob tube. Instinct pushed hard, to get rid of them with a floor show. Logic reminded me of the cost. I swallowed and concentrated. Far greater stakes sat on the table.

I sent several silent thank yous for a great MP3 player on a phone with wonderful battery life. The little slice of technological heaven proved worth every penny.

I watched the clock, smiling. Friday, and twenty minutes to quittin' time. A vacation waited with my name written in the skies above. Four years since the last vacation - four long, lonely, overworked years. Stretching before me: three weeks to do as I pleased.

I straightened the desk, letting the new playlist soothe. Plans in place for the evening, tomorrow I would decide what to do with the long vacation. Tonight involved the Frog and Toad Pub.

The elevator doors slid open and Lance smiled. The office Lothario, I remained the unconquered. I'd seen where he put his key. My lock didn't need that kind of oil.

Kylie! Going with me to The Frog and Toad? He graced me with a charming smile, and eyed me like a cut of beef on display.

I'm going. Not with you. I pointed at him. I'd had my fill of dominant males for the day.

Tell him you can get much better than some wanna-be lover. Amun’s size filled the elevator almost to capacity, gracefully moving behind me as I flinched. I moved to the other side, in a vain attempt for distance. For the first time, I wanted another human to see the idiot, tired of appearing to do things without reason.

Feeling bad about turning me down? Lance grinned.

More like wincing at the thought of going on a date with you.

I faced the doors, not wanting to look at either male, similar in arrogance. I shifted, the elevator in a controlled drop to the first floor. Arms crossed, I tried not to pout. What was it with some men who thought only to wear a woman down until she did exactly as he wanted?

The bell dinged, the doors slid open, and I marched to my four wheeled baby, a Dodge Ram 1500 4x4. I dug around the purse slung over a shoulder, seeking the keys. The key fob was big and easily identifiable by touch, yet found a way to hide. Giving up, I looked in the bag and rearranged the contents several times before pulling out the keys, holding them aloft in triumph. Realizing I stood with an arm in the air, and looking a bit moronic, I opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

Denver rush hour traffic will make or break a driver. Hundreds of thousands of souls rushing as far from work as possible, ready for the weekend. Every highway, by-pass, and interstate filled with lead footed drivers.

NASCAR had nothing on Denver.

Unlike the pictures of Los Angeles during rush hour, Denver drivers pushed their vehicles to eighty plus, swerving around each other in a deadly, metallic dance of colors and steering wheel creativity. Asphalt filled with the all-guts-no-glory mentality.

I loved rush hour. Adrenaline flooded my system as I maneuvered a two-ton killing machine around tiny sports cars and jalopies better suited for the junkyard. My big ass truck purred at the demands, music blaring to a favored rock band, stress and worries in the back seat as I navigated home.

The house felt empty and too big. But I owned it outright, no mortgage or liens, thanks to Grandmother’s parting gift. Originally bought with thoughts of raising a family, it remained unfilled, only four rooms in use. Considering I rarely went on dates, four years passed, and the goal remained elusive.

At least three hours before I headed to the popular English style pub, I opted for a hot shower, change of clothes and some TV time with my favorite eye candy recorded on the DVR.

The Friday night routine grew old a year ago, but I needed girl time and a large pint of good, microbrewed beer. Plus a heaping plate of their famous chili fries. I'd lick the fat off my arms the next day, but I craved those fries all week.

In jeans and a t-shirt won in a blogger’s contest, I settled on the leather futon. A small, handmade coffee table in the shape of the Starship Enterprise completed the ensemble. The living room was painted a light taupe, but nothing decorated the walls. A small, cheap desk stood against the far wall, holding a rarely used computer. A big picture window looked over a yard in need of landscaping, with an old oak tree shading the front of the house. The hardwood floors appeared too large, lacking rugs to break up the room.

Plopping my bare feet on the table’s glass top, I grabbed the remote and searched for the latest recording. I settled in happily, a Dr. Pepper in one hand and a sexy actor on the screen.

You should spend your days helping us, Amun's deep voice echoed against the walls.

My head fell backwards, trying not to bang my head on the back of the futon. No, I need to get a good buzz, chili cheese fries, and to forget the lot of you exist.

We will not leave you alone. You must do as we bid.

I contemplated doing the requested tasks if it guaranteed he'd permanently go away. But they would only return and demand more. Give a mouse a cookie. They didn't give a damn about the price I paid. Mortals equated disposable.

Power trickled along my skin, causing a shiver. The incident at the age of thirteen flitted across my mind.

Get out, I mean it. Nothing you say will convince me to help.

He ignored the dismissal and sat next to me. I facepalmed, wishing I could simply pick up the hefty ass and toss him out. In reality, I'd only create a few painful hernias.

Our lives depend upon your help. He grabbed my Dr. Pepper and took a swig.

Ewww. I don't care about your survival.

Shall I threaten your race then?

Heat exploded in my chest, filling every inch of skin, lighting me on fire. Par the usual, immortals threatened humans, mortals of every age, all genders.

Not the first time.

Do not threaten my world. I'm pretty sure you remember what happened last time?

He growled low in his throat. I'd won for the short term.

Immortals suffered defeat thousands of years ago, and their memory was long. Wars between mortals and immortals carried a large premium, often paid in human lives. My ancestors paved the way, braiding strings of destiny and time to save lives. Paying the cost for our safety with their very souls.

Get the hell out of my house, or I'll do a nice little parlor trick and cost be damned.

He disappeared. Flooded with adrenaline, I needed to find a relief valve. Maybe hit the gym. Anything to get rid of the stress and keep them from knowing the truth: I preferred to run, not fight.

I decided on the gym. Last year I'd decided to lose weight, get in shape. Round is a shape, just not the one I wanted. The exercise not only left me a fit size eight, it helped to calm the explosive temper inherited from Dad's side of the family.

The next four hours were spent running and swimming. Exhausted, calm, I left the gym and took another long hot shower.

Home past midnight, muscles exhausted, and mind blissfully calm, I dressed in SpongeBob pajama bottoms with a matching yellow camisole. Fuzzy bunny slippers and a beer from the fridge, I settled on the couch. I pulled up my favorite show, set in the post-Civil War west as they built the railroad. A tough warrior, dealing with a painful past and hiding a soft heart. The crusty bad boy with a soft gooey middle.

I sensed a gentle swell of power, the smell of desert wind preceding the appearance of a favored goddess, the Persian, Anahita - the ultimate female immortal. Goddess of water and fertility, patroness of all women, and the goddess of war.

Hey, Annie. How are you doing? I smiled.

Hello, young one. I smell Amun. Visiting you again?

Yes, ma'am. Wants a few strings pulled. I set the beer on the coffee table and rubbed my face.

You do not sleep often enough, young Kylie. I am here to watch over you. Things have happened, Braider, which will have direct bearing on your world.

My nerves bristled. What do you mean, Annie?

Others are trying to change the past. Gods want their previous lives returned, and are willing to kill for it. You still have time. Rest, my young one, and I shall watch over as I did all those years ago. She brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, the touch light and tender. I nodded and went to bed. Too bad she didn't explain what the hell she meant by changing the past.

Chapter Two

I woke tangled in the duvet, sweating and breathing hard. Unraveling frustrated my fuzzy brain, but I slid out of the mess, landing face first. The hardwood floor was cool, and I decided to stay until lucid. My breathing slowed, and, with several grunts, managed to find my feet. Coffee was the first business of the day. Like a drunk on Friday night, the world tilting at crazy angles, I stumbled into the kitchen. Bless Annie. The smell of rich, dark, strong brew perked my senses. The goddess knew her coffee. I grabbed heavy cream from the fridge, a favorite mug and poured a steaming, lovely, blessed jolt of cafe au lait. I sat on the counter next to the coffee pot, three mug minimum to jump start the gray matter.

I recently remodeled the kitchen, including new honey oak cabinets, cobalt blue quartz countertops and tiled floor. It appeared empty, a coffee pot the lone appliance. Despite the gleaming, stainless steel commercial stove and fridge, nothing decorated the space. Loneliness bounced off newly painted walls, echoing against the high emotional walls I fought to maintain. With a sigh, I shook off the melancholy, rinsed the cup and carafe before heading to dress for a lovely Saturday morning.

Dressed, hair in a ponytail, I sat in front of the computer, searching. Denver offered many options, G rated to Las Vegas style. I rarely left home, but maybe it was time to explore beyond my personal Bat Cave. I scanned uncounted websites, killing the ideas one by one for various reasons.

After a few hours, I gave up and decided to go for a drive. No direction, no itinerary, only the truck and me, music and no plans. I packed a bag, grabbed the keys, locked up and called a friend to house sit.

The bright summer sun glinted off the windshield as I sat at a light before the I-25 on-ramp. I decided to head south and east. The phone’s playlist bluetoothed to the radio with the volume cranked, and eighties' hair bands blared.

I watched the majestic Rockies disappear in the rearview mirror, driving through the high plains and into Kansas. The landscape changed slowly to endless fields of grass over softly rolling earth. I turned south and drove into Oklahoma. The cities were few and far between, open plains filled with cattle, horses, and barbed wire fencing.

I didn't stop until reaching Oklahoma City. Raised in the mountains, the open landscape combined with big city tall buildings and spatial neighborhoods, surprised me. Denver felt frantic and crowded at times, but OKC promised open air and a laid-back lifestyle.

I chose the Sheraton, built on the east side of town. Three stories and constructed to blend with the landscape, it offered the rest and calm I sought. My room was on the second floor, decorated in muted shades of blue, heavy drapes over the picture window, a small loveseat, and big fifty inch HDTV mounted to the wall. In the corner, a small stainless steel sink, black granite countertop, and light stained cabinets. The only appliance a small four cup coffee pot.

The bathroom echoed the room decor, helping to ease chaotic thoughts. I took a shower, pulled on Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, matching black camisole, and climbed into bed. My hair dried in long curls, in the morning I would resemble Bozo the Clown. Tired, I shrugged and rolled over, snuggling under the covers.

No matter where you travel, I can find you.

At least it wasn't Amun. The immortal was Norse in flavor, worshiped in ancient times for his strength, and definitely his father's son.

Magni, you should know better. I sat up, keeping my legs covered. Hell, I kept the duvet under my armpits, the sons of Thor were known womanizers. I checked the urge to slap the crap out of him.

Why are you not helping the gods of your ancestors? Like Amun, Magni was tall and powerfully built. I had yet to meet a male god under six foot six. Magni's eyes as green as the leaves in spring, champagne blond hair, with perfect pale skin stretched over bulging muscles. Most mortal females, and a few immortal ones, would give their left ovary for a night with any of them. I knew better.

The gods of my ancestors? Really? Which ones? Hmm, let's see. I'm also Native Alaskan and English. Oh, wait, you want me to only serve you, right?

You carry more of our blood than any other. You understood I meant your Norwegian and German ancestors. He stepped closer, one hand reaching for me.

No. I'm not serving any of you. Get out. An electrical charge danced along my skin. Shit, he was going to try and force a reaction by tugging on the power.

I stood, feet shoulder width apart, arms at my side, palms facing Magni. Curls blew around my face as the ability bubbled to the surface, a secondary power shimmering over me. I am tired of telling you to get out. Would you like a taste of what you are pulling on? I choked on the strings appearing in my head, could see and understand the consequences of every action. The bright colors tempting to braid into something more beautiful.

"No, wait, Kylie, wait, I shall go. We will leave you alone for one week. You