Century Hill

By Mychael Black

Kris Shepard is a damned good thief, and he doesn’t believe in ghosts. So when he goes to the Century Hill Asylum for his latest drop, Kris figures he’s got nothing to worry about. No matter what the locals say about haunted and cursed. When he meets Lane Solis, his new client, Kris decides he might have to think again. Lane is like no one he’s ever met, from the amazing looks to the Death tattoo on his back. When Lane locks Kris in for the night, all manner of creepy things start to happen, and Kris has to decide if he’s going crazy, and if he and Lane will ever be free to be together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arian Derwydd Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955467254

Mychael Black

Alter ego of Katherine Cook, Mychael focuses on gay erotic romance stories in many genres. She lives in the eastern US with her family.

Book preview

Kris Shepard is a damned good thief, and he doesn't believe in ghosts. So when he goes to the Century Hill Asylum for his latest drop, Kris figures he's got nothing to worry about. No matter what the locals say about haunted and cursed. When he meets Lane Solis, his new client, Kris decides he might have to think again. Lane is like no one he's ever met, from the amazing looks to the Death tattoo on his back. When Lane locks Kris in for the night, all manner of creepy things start to happen, and Kris has to decide if he's going crazy, and if he and Lane will ever be free to be together.

(This title was previously published but has been revised.)

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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Arian Derwydd Books, LLC

https://arianderwyddbooks.com/

Century Hill

Copyright © 2021 by Mychael Black

ISBN: 978-1-955467-25-4

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

Chapter One

Find him! He can’t run that goddamned fast!

I flattened myself against the wall, praying the shadows kept me hidden. I saw several of my pursuers run past the alley entrance, shouting that they’d kill me when they found me. I’d be long gone before they could make good on their threat.

Half an hour passed, and I hadn’t moved a muscle except to breathe -- steady, in and out, in and out. If I kept up the rhythm, I’d be okay. I’d been through worse.

Only when I was sure that they’d given up did I leave the safety of the dark. This was stupid. I was smarter than this. How had they seen me at all?

Inching out cautiously, I peered up and down the street. It was deserted, dark, and quiet. The only sound was the relentless pounding of my heart, and it was loud enough that, for a moment, I wondered if anyone else could hear it.

The idol in my backpack was getting heavy. I just wanted to deliver the damn thing, collect my fee, and be done with it. Coming back to this dank, roach-and-rat-infested sewer of a city was, without a doubt, the lowest point of my career. I swore to stick to high-price jobs, no more acquiring relics that were older than dirt, especially for mysterious, no-name fuckers who didn’t even have the decency to pay half up-front.

I took off at a steady run toward the alley a couple blocks down. Digging my keys out of a zippered pocket, I skidded around the corner and nearly ran right into a stinking, overfilled dumpster. I hopped onto the bike hidden behind it and cranked my baby up. It rumbled to life beneath me, the purr sweet as fuck. I sped away from the shadows and out onto the street with nearly eighty horses vibrating between my legs.

Brock City flew by in a blur, and, before long, I was crossing the city limits and entering Carter County. The road wound uphill, a straight shot from Brock City to the rotting carcass that was once Century Hill Asylum. Who the fuck buys a ruined, century-old mental hospital, anyway?

Century Hill Lane cut a zigzag up the side of the hill, and I slowed down as I started the ascent. Too many deaths out here had given the road the uninventive but wholly fitting name of Highway to Hell. Little white, weathered crosses dotted either side of the road, though most were on the slope side. The trees were thick down the hill, perfect for wrapping a car around. My friends and I used to come up here when we were teenagers, daring each other to touch the faded, ruined wall that surrounded the hospital. As with most places like this, Century Hill Asylum was reputed to be haunted. Not that I believed the rumors, and the recent purchase of the place