Novels by Author Efe Boyd

The sterile scent of bleach and cheap floor wax hung heavy in the air of the general ward, a smell Jake had come to associate with the absolute nadir of his existence. He lay still, his eyes fixed on the heavy wooden door at the end of the room. Through the thin, peeling walls, he could hear the rhythmic patter-patter of Jane’s soft footsteps. He heard the gentle murmur of her voice as she comforted another patient, her tone like a soothing balm in a place defined by misery.Jane. .The only soul in this rotting city who hadn't looked at him like he was street trash. When the hospital demanded a five-hundred-dollar deposit he didn’t have, she had reached into her own modest savings—her rent money—and paid it just to keep him in that bed. To a nurse, five hundred dollars was a fortune. To the man Jake had become three minutes ago, it was less than the dirt under his fingernails..Jake looked down at the battered, cracked screen of his "scrap" phone. The device was ancient, but the dis

The air in the room didn’t just change; it curdled.The moment Jake’s mental finger collided with the glowing [ACCEPT] button, the sterile, silent atmosphere of the Eastside Medical Clinic was shattered by a sound only he could hear. It was a digital roar, a tectonic shift in the fabric of his reality. .A sudden, sharp weight settled into his marrow, as if his very skeleton were being reinforced with lead and electricity.The blue screen, which had been flickering like a dying bulb, suddenly solidified into a deep, crystalline sapphire. The light was so intense it cast long, dancing shadows against the cracked hospital walls, illuminating the dust motes like tiny diamonds..{ The System has been linked to the Host. The System is now part of the Host... so is the Host part of the System. }.Jake gasped, his back arching off the thin mattress. It wasn't pain—it was fullness. For twenty-four years, Jake had felt like an empty vessel, a man defined by what he lacked: money, family, lov

The heavy, oppressive scent of antiseptic was the first thing to greet Jake as his consciousness clawed its way back from the abyss. It was a sharp, chemical sting that seemed to coat the back of his throat, smelling of industrial bleach and cheap floor wax. Five hours. That was how long the darkness had claimed him.Jake’s eyes flickered, his eyelashes matted with dried salt and grime. When he finally forced them open, the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights of the hospital ward stabbed at his retinas like white-hot needles. He let out a low, ragged groan that vibrated through a chest that felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Every muscle in his torso screamed in protest as he tried to shift his weight, his fingers digging into the thin, scratchy hospital sheets. "Easy now! You’re still not fully recovered. Don't go trying to break your stitches before the ink is even dry on your chart.". The voice was melodic, yet firm—like a silk ribbon wrapped around a steel rod. J

The first thing Jake became aware of wasn't the light, but the smell. It was a sharp, sterile scent that stung the back of his throat—bleach, rubbing alcohol, and that distinctive, heavy aroma of sickness that only exists in public wards.His eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above him was a grid of stained acoustic tiles, one of them sagging from a leak that had long since dried. A harsh, fluorescent hum vibrated in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat of a nearby monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep.The sound was relentless. Every pulse felt like a tiny hammer striking the inside of his skull. Groggily, Jake tried to shift his weight, but a flare of agony shot through his ribs, stealing his breath. He collapsed back onto the thin, stiff mattress, his head spinning so violently he had to squeeze his eyes shut.The darkness behind his eyelids was worse. That’s where the memories lived.They trickled in at first—small, jagged shards of the previous night. The cold air o

The name left Jake’s lips like a prayer, but the moment it hit the air, it turned into ash. "Anna?"His head snapped toward the sound of the laughter he’d heard. .He prayed it was a hallucination—a trick played on his mind by five hours of heatstroke and dehydration. But as he turned, the reality hit him harder than any physical blow.There she was. Anna.. Her black hair was swept back perfectly, her brown eyes sparkling under the boutique’s recessed lighting. She looked stunning, her curves accentuated by a dress that probably cost more than Jake’s bicycle. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking up at the man standing beside her. He was a mountain of a man, radiating an aura of cold, calculated violence. Tattoos snaked out from under the cuffs of his tailored shirt, crawling up his neck like dark vines. His face was stern, marked by a grin that didn't hold a shred of kindness. He didn't just look like a thug; he looked like the man who owned the thugs. He stood with the rela

Jake grinned slightly as he pedalled away from his final stop. Today hasn't been so bad after all. Though his morning had been bumpy—marked by the bitter encounter with the old man who had cheated/ scammed him—that didn't mean the entire day was a wash. In fact, he had pushed himself harder than ever before..Apart from that one sour customer, he had managed to deliver dozens of packages to various parts of the city. He had worked with a frantic, desperate energy, riding so fast and for so long that his legs had eventually gone numb. When the terrain became too rough or the alleys too narrow for his rusty bicycle, he simply dismounted and moved on foot, his lungs burning with every step. He didn't do this out of a love for the job. He did it for a reason—or more specifically, for a person.Jake eventually pulled up to a local clothing store. It was a well-known spot in this part of town; it wasn't the kind of place where the city's elite shopped, but it was the highest-grade store ava