The Hood: Bloodline

By Charlie Baxter

A whirlwind of change has bombarded the last six months of Sam O’Sullivan’s life: enrolling in community college, a new relationship, amateur boxing, and midnight prowling as Roseburg’s masked vigilante, the Hood. Amid a rash of auto thefts in town surrounding her eighteenth birthday, Sam struggles to understand her recent out-of-control violent impulses. Do they come from the birth parents she never knew? To make matters worse, Becky Glass, a nosy small-town reporter, is closing in on her secret identity. Sam will have to balance life and love as she makes her stand against the truck thieves, the press, and her BLOODLINE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie Baxter
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224343874

Charlie Baxter

Charlie Baxter is the new author of “The Hood: Origin”. Charlie lives in the Pacific Northwest, U.S., has a loving, supportive significant other, Lilly, and enjoys good food and bad music.You can reach Charlie Baxter by email at [e-mail] .

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The Hood: Bloodline

By Charlie Baxter

Copyright 2024 Charlie Baxter

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or noncommercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Discover other titles by Charlie Baxter:

The Hood: Origin

Thank you to Lilly, who always cheers me through all my endeavors.

Thank you to T and R who were my beta audience. Reading my work to you has been my great joy.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 1

Saturday, 4/1/2006

Easy pickings. The driver’s side door of the old Acura faced away from the street in the guitar shop’s parking lot. The simpleton probably even left it unlocked.

A nervous man in a dingy coat grasped the car handle in the chilly spring rain, tugging at it. No luck. He reached into his knapsack for a jim. His contract was for trucks, but he doubted his boss would balk at a four-door.

Unable to catch the mechanism with the jim, he returned to his bag for a twisted coat hanger and a small, jagged stone. A broken window would bring the price down a tad, but would still be worth his while. He set the rock into its cradle at the end of the wire with a shaky hand.

SLAM!

Before he could pull back the window buster, his nose crushed into the door frame. The fangs of a stun gun jabbed into the side of his neck accompanied by a loud, electrical crackling, dropping him to the pavement.

You're not in Tacoma anymore, Bub. ... or Spokane, or wherever it is that you're from.

He felt his wrist gripped in a plastic zip-tie, jerked into the air, then the other joined the trap. He was lashed to the car door.

Is there anyone else here?

The man tried to focus on the hooded, masked figure crouching over him. It blended in with the night, except for the long, auburn hair that draped over its shoulders.

Before he could speak, it gripped his collar and backhanded his cheek. TALK!

He mumbled excitedly. I'm the only one this time.

This time?

The wide-eyed criminal gulped.

Who’s in charge?

I swear I don- I don’t know the guy. But-b- the other guys just call him ‘Boss’.

Though a mask shrouded his captor’s face, its black eyes bored into his, searching, squinting. It shook him with both hands now. Where are the trucks?

The man shut his lips.

The masked one smashed his head into the door. Where the hell are the trucks!

I-I don't know!

A right to the jaw. Don't give me that crap. Where did you stash them?

I don’t know! I don’t know where they go. I pass them off, and they take care of it, he cried. You gotta believe me!

It grabbed him beneath the chin with its left hand, cocking its right. Where do you unload them?

He turned his face, bracing for impact. On Northeast Frontier, off Rifle Range!

The phantom turned its head up at a low crackling from the street. Releasing him, it stood. You’ve been very helpful, Joe, it growled. See you on the morning news. Reaching into its cloak, it pulled out an envelope, stuck it under one of the Acura’s wiper blades, and dashed away.

Are you going to just leave me here? Struggling to escape from the car door, he watched in horror as the phantom stalked into the mist without a response.

#

The VW bug rolled through the Roseburg streets toward Rifle Range in the hills on the outside of town. Brent, a scrawny teen with shaggy blond hair, hunched over the wheel, wide-eyed as he maneuvered the winding roads in the dark. You left him there, eh?

Yeah, The cops will pick him up in a little while, I’m sure. Left here. His girlfriend, Sam, was dressed from head to toe in black. She wore boots, a heavy duck canvas vest, which had a high collar that covered her mouth. A thick hood fell all around her seat, and a mask circled her eyes. She scratched her short black hair under the red wig. The elaborate costume facilitated her new nightlife of stopping petty crimes. Honestly, custody’s probably safer for him anyway since he snitched.

Brent shook his head. He knew that Sam could handle herself. She had proven herself a fierce fighter with an animal instinct that kicked in whenever challenged. Despite knowing all of this, he worried when she went out, and he accompanied her by radio any time he could. So, what’s the plan?

Sam’s fingers flexed and clenched inside her leather gloves. Find them. Gauge whether or not I can take them. Go from there.

The young man’s complexion grew ever paler as they passed the last street lamp before the country road started. Just be careful, okay?

They kept quiet as they neared the rendezvous point. When they were a couple of blocks away, Brent shut the lights off. I’ll turn around and be right here in case we need to get out fast.

Got it. As the car lurched into park, she popped the door open.

Hey. He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could exit.

Hmm? Her wide, shining eyes didn’t match the rest of her drab, intimidating outfit.

Be careful, Hood, he whispered, then pulled her in for a kiss.

She returned it. I will. She clicked the door shut and dashed down the road.

#

She crept through the yards, being mindful of any vicious dogs that might alert its owner, or the car thieves, to an intruder. She kept her head up, searching the clear night for any out-of-place movement, listening for car engines, keys rattling, voices whispering. There was nothing. She posted herself in a backyard garden, standing behind a fence. A thick tree covered her back, making it unlikely that the homeowner would be able to spot her, even if they did happen to be taking a midnight smoke on the porch during the drizzle. Her spot gave her a view of the intersection named by the thug, as well as the short dirt road that ran along the side of the fence. Across the road from her stood a couple of small, run-down garages, the kind you see the same cars in front of week after week, doubting that anyone has used them for decades. Directly behind the garages rose a small, steep bluff, affording privacy in an already out-of-the-way area.

The first twenty minutes passed without more than the chittering of crickets or distant crow of a confused rooster.

Anything? Brent asked over the radio.

Nope, Sam whispered. I’ll give it another fifteen, Sparky.

A truck eased onto the lane, its lights off. The tires crunched over the pebbles as it backed in between the two garages.

They’re here.

What do they look like? Brent asked.

Sam peered through the leaves of the tree that hid her from plain view. I can’t tell. There’s two of them in the truck, but that’s all I can make out.

The truck puttered, idling in place, neither person getting out of the vehicle.

What kind of truck is it?

I don’t know. You think I know anything about cars?

Brent sighed. What color is it? Can you make out a license plate number?

Sam grunted in frustration. It’s white. And no. There’s no plate on the front, and the rear is away from me.

Is there any way you can get closer?

No. The only thing between me and them is this fence. I’d have to back-track a block to cross the street.

She stared at the waiting vehicle for another minute, radio silent.

I’m gonna do it. She said.

Brent’s anxiety flared. Are you sure?

She offered no response.

He said, Be careful.

Sam retreated across three yards, finding a dark house before crossing into its front yard. There were no street lights. She darted down the lane with an even stride, tucking the cape to her side. Nearing the corner, she crossed to the far side of the street, crouched out of view of the truck. She made her way to the back of the building. The bottom of the bluff skirted the back of the old, tin garage, creating a wedge of earth and metal. Rain plinked in time on the roof. There were no signs of human life besides the low rumble of the truck’s motor and the smell of exhaust. She switched off her receiver, maneuvering across the uneven ground sloping toward the building. She kept her breath even as she approached the corner.

As she took the last step that would allow her to peek her head around, her foot slipped on the loose earth. She held out her hand to steady herself on the building, but the damage had been done. Her foot and hand crashed into the building simultaneously, disrupting the still night with a booming clatter. The truck ground into gear and skid off, turning onto