“Johnny,” Roarke said, almost warmly. “You brought the Rider. I was beginning to think you’d lost him.”
Roarke laughed. “You can’t save him. You can’t even save yourself. But I’ll make you a new deal: give me the Rider willingly. Let me ride that skeleton like a stolen car. And I’ll let the boy live.” ghost rider spirit of vengeance 2012
“I’m not here for you,” Johnny said, pulling the chain from around his neck—the one thing that kept the Rider chained. “I’m here for the kid.” “Johnny,” Roarke said, almost warmly
“You wanted me, Roarke?” the Rider growled. “Come take me.” “You can’t save him
The sun was rising. Johnny drove east, into the light, the ghost of a grin on his face.
The Rider turned to Johnny—no, not Johnny. The man inside. The one who had invited the monster in, not as a cage, but as a partner.
The Rider tore through the cultists like wet paper. One glance, and their sins turned to ash—Penance Stare, but faster, meaner, leaving nothing but smoking clothes and the smell of guilt. Roarke’s lieutenants, rotting things in human suits, lunged with blades that dripped acid. The Rider caught one by the throat, lifted him like a doll, and absorbed his essence—black veins of sin draining into the skull, feeding the flame.