Del Sol SFF Review

I’m called Guerra the BridgeMaker. I’ve accomplished something no other lost soul ever has. I’ve broken through the barriers that separate the Nine Rings of Hell. All it cost was the afterlife of the people who followed me. But this isn't that story. This story is about what happened next.  A thunderous boom echoes across the desert as the nighttime sky shatters. Ayala's limp body passes through one Ring of Hell and into another. Close behind her is what is left of our cohorts. Their torn and shredded bodies are now nothing more than a bloody slush. The half-eaten face of Whatever-His-Name-Is spins through the air like a flipping coin. Too bad he already lost the toss. I follow behind them all, careening through the air, still holding on to Whatever-Her-Name's hand and severed forearm.  As I soar across the splintered midnight sky, I watch it stitch itself back together. Turning my head, I see the soft mango-colored dunes getting closer. I can't help but smile at my acc...

CHAPTER ONE: NIGHT RUN   Boston was not from Massachusetts. In fact, he wasn’t sure where the nickname originated. Maybe because he had one of those faces, a sort of slack jawed, relaxed look that allowed him to acquire a moniker that had no relation to who, or where, he was? Boston was an accountant. Or at least that’s what he told people. Not because he was into some next level dark net covert government engagements or some organization where they use euphemisms like “wet work” and where  accidents  happened on a global scale just so gas prices could remain “average.” No, Boston just did not care to talk about what he did, and he had plenty of scars and not enough friends to seem legit. It wasn’t that he accepted the nickname or dissuaded his coworkers or friends or the occasional girlfriend -- not that he kept romantic entanglements entangled too long -- from using the nickname. Fuck, his cousin had been calling him Boston since they were both in grade school. Now they...