Saint Pain (Zombie Ascension Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ass about the supposed hidden trove of guns. Vincent never mentioned the guns to Vega.
    Mike Taylor knew Vincent used to be one of the country’s biggest black market gun dealers, and they rarely talked. Taylor was an old man, but Vega enjoyed his company. He was a lot like Bob, her old mercenary team leader. She enjoyed listening to Taylor’s stories. His stories always had a happy ending. When Taylor was around, she would get a few laughs and she could forget about reality for a little while.
    “What do we know about Sutter?” Vega asked. “Anything new?”
    “Ex-military,” Taylor said. “He’s got some ex-military members with him. We know they’re staying at that big ass train depot, and they don’t like people coming close to their turf.”
    “Why would he stay here?” Vega asked. “If he has the people and the supplies, why doesn’t he move out? And why would he want us to join him? He would have more mouths to feed.”
    Taylor shrugged. “Why do we stay?”
    “What’s he trading?” Vega asked.
    Taylor shrugged again. “We should set something up with him. Get someone on the inside maybe, if it comes down to it.”
    Vincent interjected. “Not so difficult to figure this out. He ain’t moving on because there’s plenty around here to trade. He knows about us. He’s trading people. Nothing more complicated than that.”
    “You’re guessing,” Taylor said.
    “Educated guess. And the way you go on talking about guns that don’t exist, I start to wonder if he thinks there’s something else around here. He can sit fat and happy in that castle of his because he’s got women and children right here.”
    The implications hung in the air for a moment as they all figured it out.
    “He’s farming us,” Vega said.
    “Nobody would do that,” Bill said, his voice a whisper as if he couldn’t possibly believe that people were capable of such evil. “No way.”
    “So let’s just keep everyone here, and wait for him to come for us.” Taylor raised his voice now with the realization that it was a waste to pretend he and Vincent could agree on anything. “Let’s just wait for him to decide what he wants to do. You’re keeping your guns for a rainy day? Thinking maybe we shouldn’t defend ourselves because you feel entitled to all the shit that you stole?”
    Vincent approached him slowly, and both men met in the middle, sizing each other up.
    “You think you own this city,” Taylor said. “Until your ass ends up dead because another thug gets tired of your bullshit and takes over, or you get dragged into jail. You’re just like every other gangster-wannabe this city has seen. You never cared how many people died before, so long as you got to be on top. Why would you care now?”
    The fire in Vincent’s eyes flared out. He lowered his head, his shoulders slumped, and walked out of the house. Taylor stood there as if he was still waiting for the blow to come.
    Vincent once confessed to Vega that Griggs, the former detective-turned-skin flick director used to bother him; whenever Griggs brought up the “baby killing” and argued that he was responsible for the things people did with guns, Vincent thought about it. He didn’t let it go. It used to bother him before, but after everything he’d survived and seen, Griggs had stung him.
    Taylor shook his head, confused by the exchange with Vincent. “You have to talk some sense into him. His head’s not right. Hell, none of us are right. He can’t get over himself yet. He can’t let the past go. Has he said anything about those guns?”
    “Take everyone who will follow you out to Sutter,” she said. “Don’t come running back when you find out they’re wasting time with the same arguments we’re having now.”
    Let the past go. Let the nightmares go. Taylor was all talk, and poor Bill was just a muscle head without a clue, a giant with a heart of gold. They were survivors, too, but they were naïve. They wanted Vincent to let go of