The Raiders
By Evan Gilbert
2.5/5
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About this ebook
Kentrell Lewison has moved up the career ladder from gangbanger to male hustler to grave robber. And that brings him to New Orleans, where he intends to pull off his biggest heist yet—raiding the mausoleum of multimillionaire Benoit Bonner. With his fellow thug Rashawn, he breaks into the tomb, but instead of hitting the jackpot, he unleashes a voodoo curse... and something unexpectedly, incredibly hot.
A part of the Dreamspinner Press 2010 Daily Dose Set, Midsummer's Nightmare, which includes 30 M/M stories of supernatural romance that may feature an edge of suspense and heart-pounding fear; a taste of the paranormal worlds of ghosts, vampires, and werewolves; and even the stuff of nightmares and dreamscapes.
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Reviews for The Raiders
2 ratings1 review
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5The idea behind this story is quite clever, it is well written and the characters are fun.
Two gay men come back from the dead (after 67 years) to obtain new bodies. That is wonderful for them, and their happy ending is what the story focuses on. I couldn't quite get over the fact that they "stole" two young men's lives, though. Even if those two young men didn't like gays, this sort of "implied punishment" just made me cringe.
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The Raiders - Evan Gilbert
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By Evan Gilbert
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The Raiders
By Evan Gilbert
Kentrell Lewison has moved up the career ladder from gangbanger to male hustler to grave robber. And that brings him to New Orleans, where he intends to pull off his biggest heist yet—raiding the mausoleum of multimillionaire Benoit Bonner. With his fellow thug Rashawn, he breaks into the tomb, but instead of hitting the jackpot, he unleashes a voodoo curse... and something unexpectedly, incredibly hot.
TIMES WERE tough.
Kentrell Lewison had less than twenty bucks to his name when he stepped off the bus in New Orleans. Much of the city still lay in Katrina-wrought ruin, and the economy overall just plain sucked. Jobs here, as in the rest of the country, were hard to come by.
Kentrell was smiling.
He stowed his backpack in a locker, feeding enough coins into the meter to cover 48 hours’ rental. He shouldn’t need any more time than that. It was 11:15. The summer night was hot and clear. Perfect business conditions. He left the station and went straight to Bourbon Street.
He had just been a kid the first time he came to the French Quarter, three years before the infamous hurricane that would all but drown the city. Apparently an ocean wasn’t enough to wash out the perpetual smell of upchuck and pee. Or keep the party people away. Kentrell slipped his way through the Friday-night crowd, making eye contact with men and women alike. Maybe he’d get lucky. There were