Story of Thaddeus Black

Damien Dsoul

Description

The sequel to 'The Story of Michael' finds Thaddeus Black, a New York City private detective, travel to Nigeria and search for his missing son Michael who himself had gone searching for his kidnapped girlfriend. Thaddeus is reluctant to take up the case, but changes his mind when he realizes how connected he is with the missing child... even more so as he is brainwashed and becomes involved with a ruthless militant army kidnapping white couples around the sub-Sahara region of Africa.Discovering the extent of their activity, his life now hangs by a thread as he seeks to find a means of escape.

Sujets

• Erotic literature
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 30 janvier 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783335084
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Story of Thaddeus Black
Damien Dsoul




The Story of Thaddeus Black
First published in 2014
This revised edition published in 2017 by
House of Erotica
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2014, 2017 Damien Dsoul
The right of Damien Dsoul to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Prologue
The sun’s heat tempered the earth as it rose over the top of the mahogany trees. A cold burst of wind drove through the crown of the trees, bringing dust and speckles of sand synonymous with the North-East trade winds, otherwise known as Harmattan. Dry leaves fell from tree branches and withered as they laid on the earth.
A beat-down truck bounded down a rugged cut-out road, raising a trailing cloud of sand and dust in its wake. The road was edged on either side by withered grassland. The truck shook and rattled as it drove over the rugged terrain. The man behind the wheel, a reedy-looking farmer in his mid-forties, with a face as rugged as the road he was driving, hurled unending curses as he applied every muscle in his arms toward navigating the truck. His thirteen year old son sat beside him. They both jumped in their seats each time the truck went over a bump. Part of the wheel’s steering guard was torn out to reveal the rusty circular steel. Each time his hand worked the gear lever it gave a distinct groan like he was a few jerks from making the vehicle fall apart. His son gazed at the tall trees they passed, happy he wasn’t the figure of his father’s wrath. The truck drove around a bend, bringing them within sight of their farm.
The farmer’s name was Aaron, and he was so relieved when eventually he brought the truck to a halt three feet off the pathway under a seabed of dry grass. He cursed again as he turned off the ignition and the truck jerked abruptly twice, then gave a rattling convulsion till it’s engine died. Only then did father and son alight from the vehicle. His son climbed the back of the truck and threw down their farming utensils: two pairs of machete, two pair of hoes, a shovel, a spade, and three large plastic basins that they would use to harvest their crops from the earth.
Aaron unfurled a brown-stained towel out of his pocket and wiped thick pool of sweat that drenched his brow above his straw hat. He gave his back a sharp twist and sighed reassuringly when he heard his back joints crack. Driving his truck for lengthy hours hurt his back a lot. His features were ringed with furrow lines of one who’d spent a lifetime dwelling in the misery of been a low-income farmer. The village’s end of season market was set to commence in four weeks and he was far from meeting his quota of cassava tubers and maize crops to sell. His wasn’t the only farmland around. Other farmers would be here within the hour. He’d decided to arrive early and start his harvest before others beat him to it. The sun had rising some feet above the crown of Neem trees. It was going to be another blistering hot day. The air tasted crisp as he inhaled a lungful before going over to assist his son.
He rested the hoes on either shoulders and held both machetes in each hand while his son lifted the rest of their items along with the three basins on his head. Together they trudged into the green forest of trees. Aaron steadily worked the remains of a chewing stick in his mouth. His feet crunched littered dead tree branches and fallen leaves. His son walked behind him, following his footsteps. Neither of them spoke; here there was no need for conversation. The heat in the farm was intense. They bypassed several leftover traps the other farmers had placed behind to snag wild rabbits or wandering coyotes. The silence was surreptitiously broken by crows in the trees and crickets jumping away from their path.
They got to their acre of plantation which had row of wooden sticks jutting out of individual heaped mounds of earth from which sprouted tendrils of green stalk. The green stalks had grown to wrap themselves around the wooden sticks. Aaron approved of what he saw, though he realized a large plot of yams had yet to show signs of growth. No matter, he and his son would get to work uprooting the ones they could between now and noon. They would return home by that hour with whatever they could take and return later in the evening to harvest another batch. It was going to be a hard, gruelling work. Aaron would have preferred his two older sons here to assist, but they were off in school; mother was home attending to the last child. It was left to him and his youngest son to get things done.
His son lowered the basins on the ground and they got straight to work.
Aaron was bent over, lost in what he was doing, excavating through the earth mound in front of him with his hoe. Leaves of grass stuck to his sweaty back; he breathed heavily from his exertions. His only solace was his mouth grinding his chewing stick harder as he went from stalk to stalk. He stood up when his son came stumbling from the north end of the farm, haphazardly stepping over some of the mounds. Aaron’s features curled in anger and was about lashing at the boy when he noticed the terror in his eyes. His son tried to speak but his mouth fell open and closed back rapidly with stuttered gasps. He half turned and pointed in the direction he’d ran from. Aaron had his eyes focused on him and didn’t realize where his son was pointing.
“What is it, boy?” He growled impatiently. He smacked his son’s head to speak, but still the kid remained speechless. “Come on, out with it. What is it?”
His son was still gasping with fright. “Daddy . . . daddy, come! Come see! Please, come!”
Aaron dropped his hoe and allowed his son to lead him through the maze of crops at the direction he’d ran from. Aaron’s anger was still burning in him. Already he pictured the head-slapping he was going to give his son should whatever he wanted him to see be something trifling that was going to waste his time.
“What the hell is it you saw-”
The words died in his throat and the stub of the chewing stick fell from his mouth as he pushed past the stalk of maize and saw what his frightened son had so wanted to bring to his attention. His son clutched his pants, shaking with fear. Aaron too was frightened out of his wits.
There was a white man lying face forward in the middle of his farm. He was naked except for the remains of a loin cloth that barely covered his flesh. His body was partly covered with dirt and leaves; his hair was caked with mud. Flies danced around him. A flock of crows hovered around cawing with excitement.
Aaron told his son to go back and fetch one of their machete. His son disappeared the same way they’d come and returned with the item his father wanted. Aaron took the machete from him and edged toward the body. He waved it in the air, frightening the crows away and prodded the man’s body. He got no response. Aaron had never been this close to death before and it unnerved him more than any experience he’d had in his life. Still he couldn’t help but see if the man was still alive or dead. He dropped the machete and leaned closer to turn the body over, holding his breath from the foul smell around him.
His son let loose a shriek at the sight of the dead man’s face. His cries got the crow birds agitated and some of them shot into the sky, flapping their wings and making loud cries like they were in danger.
The dead man’s eyes hung open lifeless. His face and torso was covered with mud and dirt; a trail of dry blood caked his mouth and nose. Aaron fell back repulsed by the sight and did a quick sign of the cross in front of his face. His son was still screaming and Aaron turned in time to see him racing away from the scene. He grabbed his machete and went after him, leaving the corpse back to the crows. Only one thought hovered on Aaron’s mind as he and his son gathered their things and hurried back to the truck.
This was the work of the Black Path.



Part One
One
He barely slept. His eyes came awake a couple of times in the middle of the night, always looking at her, watching her sleep beside him. Sometime in the midst of his wakefulness, sleep claimed him. It was a relief it did because when his eyes fluttered awake the last time, he perceived daylight appearing behind the window curtains. Constance was still asleep though. The sound of her breathing was all he heard.
Thaddeus Black raised his side of the blanket and slipped his legs out the bed and got up. He stretched his arms and yawned. He was naked, and unsurprisingly he sported an erection. His bladder felt like bursting, too.
He found a pair of slippers and walked light-footed out of the bedroom. Thaddeus bumped into something in the corridor and wanted to curse out loud but forced himself to hold it in. He looked either way trying to recall which particular door opened into the bathroom. His eyes were still groggy with sleep. Thaddeus found the door he wanted and stepped inside, did his business in the toilet then flushed. It was a big bathroom, unlike that