Time Jacker, Aaron Crash [most important books of all time txt] 📗

Table of Contents

Summary

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Books, Mailing List, and Reviews

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Patreon

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Books by Shadow Alley Press

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Copyright

About the Author

Summary

IF YOU COULD STOP TIME, what would you do?

Jack Masterson wanted to be a cop like his dad—what he got instead was kicked off the force for doing the right thing. Sometimes fate can be cruel. Now Jack works a crappy job as a bank security guard. But when a bank robber unloads a shotgun in his face, Jack raises his hand...and stops time.

In an instant, he’s gone from rent-a-cop to Time Knight. As the sixth son of a sixth son, Jack’s drawn the attention of a sultry succubus and a horny angel, and now he’s got both heaven and hell talking dirty in his ear. It’s high time for Jack to get laid and get paid, but when his old crush gets kidnapped by a monster that feeds on people’s lifespans, Jack’s moral compass can point him only one way—straight to the gates of hell to stop a shift in the Time War and save the day.

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Chapter One

JACK MASTERSON STOOD at the security station, master of all he surveyed. Having five dead brothers had given him a certain perspective. He didn’t take shit from anyone, and that included the Plum Creek branch’s turkey-necked manager, who was in his office, glancing nervously out onto the floor, or the sweaty guy who’d just walked in and stood there awkwardly.

Jack knew the sweaty guy was going to be a problem, but you couldn’t just pistol-whip someone who looked suspicious and sweaty. You watched them. Then, if or when they lost their shit, you dealt with them quickly and efficiently before people started whipping out their phones.

At the bank, people trusted Jack, though most everyone knew him as the asshole with a heart of gold. You needed an asshole sometimes.

Jack wasn’t actually a bank employee. He worked for Vigilance Incorporated, a security company that had contracts with any number of banks, financial institutions, and whoever else needed a guy with a gun. Jack wore the dumb black-and-blue uniform, which included black shoes he spit-shined himself. He’d wanted to be more than a glorified mall cop, but sometimes a few bad minutes could change things forever. In the end, life didn’t promise you a damn thing. Jack knew that—he was fine with that—and now he was making do. Staring down thirty, he knew it was time to move on from Vigilance Incorporated and either get into cybersecurity, where the money was, or just say fuck it and join his buddy working for Securitas International, which would mean a move to Europe probably, and then lots of travel after that.

Jack wasn’t sure he’d get that job at Securitas since he didn’t have very good personal skills. One of Jack’s dead brothers—one of many—had told him you had to go along to get along. Andy had that ability. Jack didn’t. Andy was dead. Jack wasn’t. And Jack knew however much life could fuck you, life was better than death, full stop. Death was the big quiet. Death was forever.

And Jack was going to do everything he could to avoid that big quiet.

The sweaty guy wasn’t right in the head, that was obvious, but Jack scanned the other customers for accomplices. He wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of ill-considered heist, because the security guard was always the first to get shot. But it was mostly old people who still banked. The thing about banking and the younger generation? They just used their phones. For Jack it was easy—most of his paycheck went to his mom. That was a whole other story.

Sweaty guy went up to the teller. It was Annie, dammit. Annie Blackburn was girl-next-door gorgeous, with soft brown hair, gentle brown eyes, a nice smile—a plain girl who liked to smile and was sweet. She might be a little thick around the hips, but Jack didn’t mind. He liked women shapely. Annie had just gotten out of a near marriage, and Jack had been talking to her, trying not to be the asshole he was, to see if she was ready to start dating again. From all accounts, Annie was still in the grieving period. Jack didn’t have all the details, only that she’d been wearing an engagement ring and now she wasn’t.

Annie threw Jack a nervous look as sweaty guy stopped in front of her.

Jack unclipped his holster strap so he had access to his Beretta 92FS 9mm and started walking over real casual-like. The future perpetrator—that was how Jack was thinking of him, anyway—was wearing an old army coat over a greasy black T-shirt that matched his black jeans and black boots. His long, stringy hair was damp from his sweat, and his beard was rough and ragged. This guy might be just a homeless crazy, or he might be dangerous. Why was he sweating?

Walking up to Annie’s station, Jack nodded.

Annie grinned, relief on her face. “Hi, Jack! This is Hugo Mundi. He was asking about the ghost.”

“There’s no fucking ghost. Are you okay?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah. It’s just strange. Don’t you think?” Her eyes were pleading with him to do something.

Hugo squinted. “The security guard. Jack Masterson. There’s a ghost here. You’ve heard the weeping. My mother worked here. Evelyn Mundi. She’s gone. Rocky Mountain Bank has been here since the ’70s. Annie says there’s a ghost.”

Jack