A Black Mass Over Highway Ninety Novels & Stories

he asked, referring to Ethan's parents. Ethan exhaled heavily and rubbed a hand over his tired face. "Not yet," he said quietly. "I don't need another distraction tonight." A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips. "Mother will skin me alive." Pete gave a faint nod. "Then we wait until he contacts us again." The vehicle sped through the empty highway, the darkness outside broken only by occasional streetlights. After several minutes of silence, Ethan spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do you think she is, Pete?"

I sent a message to my mom, and she responded in second, "Yes you are my son, meet me at the corner of Alfred street and Donna's Cafe there is an ally we can get this done. We recorded what we needed, Darren installed the app on my phone, we tested, and I was heading to meet my mom. She was waiting for me in the alley, she looked like a rat, I have no idea how can I call this woman a mom at all, but I had to one last time. Also we are running out of time, the trial is about to start in 2 h and I needed evidence to save my dad.

Cracked, oil-stained asphalt stretching endlessly in both directions—the highway. The highway. The same one from the nightmares. From the legends. From the whispers that had followed Riven since the first blood oath was sworn and the first ghost was born. Streetlights flickered overhead, buzzing weakly. No stars. No moon. Just darkness pressed low and heavy, like the sky itself was watching. Luca stood beside him, hand still locked in his. Solid. Real. “Do you feel that?” Luca asked quietly. Riven nodded. “Yeah. We’re not out. We’re… inside.”

The logging industry took a nasty downturn in the ’90s and many towns suffered the consequences. The highway itself was a curiosity. Among the hills and valleys, ghostly figures floated on the shoulder of the lonely stretch of road. Their incorporeal bodies mimicked their death state. The visceral display added a heaviness to the interior. The engine revved into high gear and Nerea sped up. Plume gripped the handle on the roof. His knuckles were white, “Why did you have to take Highway Sixteen?” The Seelie spent much of the trip tense and terrified of the death trap he rode in.

#ROAD_TO_ABUJA 💦🔞 #Chapter_9 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃

Broken Pieces James pov The Blue Moon Motel sat like a forgotten relic on the edge of Highway 49, its neon sign flickering weakly in the gray morning light. Three hundred miles from Silverstone territory, it existed in the liminal space between pack lands—neutral ground where supernatural beings could rest without fear of territorial disputes or political

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

Fuck Becca! Blinded by my envy, I failed to notice that I'd drifted out of my lane. The highway's average speed was a hundred miles per hour, but I had already pushed it up to a hundred and twenty. Before I knew it, my car veered towards the safety rail and into the path of a massive transport truck hurtling in the opposite direction.

It’ll only make me the bad guy to the people around us. But what will I do?! Will I just let her? Suddenly someone pulled the old woman away from me. (VENAL POV) The traffic lights signaled a go for the vehicles, but the queue in our lane couldn’t pass because of the people who were violating the rules of the road. And the impatient driver next to me was honking more than he should. I peeked into the rear mirror and saw Master Dryzen's eyes open. He slept during the ride and expected us to be at our destination before he woke up. But we were stuck in the traffic jam, with frenzied honking around us. The noise around gets his attention.

The heavy steel plate hit the asphalt with a deafening *clang*, and before the smoke from our exhaust could clear, the dark ridge above the highway erupted. It wasn't a roar; it was a landslide of iron and thunder. Eighty Harleys descended the steep, mud-slicked logging trail in a synchronized drop, their engines screaming as they hit the asphalt at sixty miles an hour. Ruan led the charge, his black-and-chrome beast a blur of lethal momentum as he jumped the drainage ditch, the massive frame of his bike slamming directly into the first line of ballistic shields. The blockaded highway turned into a slaughterhouse in three seconds.