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Song Flash Fiction ~ Gods of Ocean Tides

First song fiction of the year. God of Ocean Tides by Counting Crows. To me, this is not a happy song… Anyway, you can check the video out below, if, like me, you’ve never heard it. And here is the resulting story…

It’s time…

That’s what everyone told Ethan. It was time. To move on, let go, abandon that part of him that wasn’t ever coming back. Cut it out like some kind of cancerous cell and pray the operation was a success. That it hadn’t infected him to the point he’d never be free. Never find a way to keep living.

Like he fucking cared. There was no living—not without her. So all those threats—that he’d spiral into some dark abyss. Lose years of his life in his depression. Time he’d never get back—didn’t hold any weight. They were like her—ghosts that followed him down the highway. Mirages that faded the closer they got.

The way he wanted to fade. Just disappear along with the pain. All his years of fighting. Of facing death. It seemed so fucking poetic that he was the one who’d survived. Who’d crawled out of the wreckage. Who had to face every damn day wondering why.

The pair of dogtags hanging around his rearview mirror clinked as he stopped his truck. Ethan looked over at them. At the way they kept swaying, reflecting bits of the setting sun. That’s all he had. All that was left. Two silver pieces of metal. The only part of her he’d gotten back. He’d tried. Had searched the damn area until he’d passed out from the blood loss, but she’d just been…gone. No body. Nothing but her tags and endless questions. Unfinished business that was slowly driving him mad.

The sound of the water drew him out of his seat—down to the beach. Gulls cried overhead, the scent of brine heavy in the evening air. A light breeze rippled the surface, distorting the orange and red lines reflecting off the sky. He’d always loved the ocean. Had found solace in it. Now…

Maybe it was time. Not to move on but to stop the pain. Finish what that damn war had started. Join her.

She’d be angry if she could hear his thoughts. He knew that. She’d always been so much stronger than him. Always rising to any challenge. Finding the good in everything—even the shit that crippled others. He’d loved that about her.

He looked at the tags. He wasn’t sure why he’d grabbed them. Maybe he’d subconsciously wanted them with him when he found the balls to end it. Walk into that water and never look back. It was easy. All he needed to do was take that first step.

“Lieutenant Adams.”

He spun, eyeing the man standing on the edge of the boardwalk. Hard eyes. Strong stance. No uniform but that wasn’t anything new.

The guy glanced at the water, then back to Ethan. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“Obviously not hard enough, since we’re having this conversation.”

“I was…motivated. I was hoping we could talk.”

“I’m done talking.” He turned. Gripped those tags harder—until he edges bit into his palm.

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right topic to talk about?”

The hairs on Ethan’s neck prickled. He’d spent years honing his senses. And he knew when he was being played. “Whatever it is you think I want, you’re wrong. Fuck off. I’m done.”

He took a step, the surging water rushing against his boots. This was it. How it had to end.

“If you’re hellbent on drowning, I won’t stop you, but I thought you might want to know the truth before that happened. Closure and all that.”

Shit. The guy knew how to press Ethan’s buttons. He looked at him over his shoulder, the edges of his pants dipping into the ocean. “Okay, I’ll bite. What truth?”

“About how someone can simply disappear without a trace. Especially when everyone else was there. Dead, but there.”

Three steps, and the asshole was in his grasp. Fingers tightened around his throat, the bastard’s eyes wide. There was movement in Ethan’s peripheral vision, but he didn’t care. He’d make sure the fucker died before he did. “Talk. Now.”

Ethan loosened his grip just enough for the guy to get some air—form words.

He didn’t grab at Ethan’s arm. Try to break his hold. Instead, he smiled. “Anna Cartwright. She’s not dead. And if you ever want to see her, again, you’ll come with me. Or quit and keep walking. I don’t really care either way.”

Ethan dragged the guy closer. “If you’re fucking with me…”

“Is that a yes to talking?”

“Yeah, it’s a yes. And if I don’t like what I hear, you’re dead. Doesn’t matter how many guys you have shadowing you, I’ll kill them all. It’s what I do best.”

“I know. That’s why I’m hear. To swing a deal. Anna in exchange for what you do best.” He waved at Ethan’s truck. “Get in. We have a long way to go.”

And that’s it for me. It did not go at all how I thought it would but… that’s part of the process. Here’s who else is playing along this week. Enjoy.

Bronwyn | Jessica | Gwendolyn | Siobhan | Kayleigh

Promptly Penned ~ Make a Scene

Welcome to the first 2019 edition of Promptly Penned. And it looks like we’re starting off with a bang, lol. Here is the prompt…

Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.

It can appear anywhere in the story. I think we all know mine will be dialogue, lol. I’m going to dive a bit into what will be my next WIP… Six’s book from Wayward Souls. Six is kinda a cool guy. Has a bit of an extrasensory perception thing going, though he doesn’t see himself as that. Just a guy who sometimes gets lucky. Anyway, here’s a brief (LOL. Right. I freaking hope it’s brief) bit. Not sure if this will make it into the book, but it’s fun to dive a bit into his head while working on Colt’s book.

“Well, this is a clusterfuck.”

Casey “Six” O’Reilly groaned as Kameron’s words hit home. She only ever said that when shit was about to go sideways. Not because of bad intel or them making a mistake. But because she was about to take matters into her own hands.

Which likely meant a brawl.

He snagged her wrist, tugging her against him. The flowery scent of her perfume surrounded him, making the air dense. Saturated with her essence. One he’d gotten so accustomed to, he noticed when his clothes didn’t smell like her. When it didn’t fill his truck or cling to every surface of his loft.

Odd, since they were just colleagues. Partners for most of their cases the past six months. Six wasn’t sure why he’d gotten teamed up with her. Why Cannon seemed to think they were a good match. Six was calm. Level-headed. Had a habit of seeing the way things would play out before they actually happened.

Kameron Monroe was about as impulsive as they got. Always looking to charge in. A complete contrast to how she’d been in the service. She’d worked MI, Military Intelligence, and had always come across as quiet. Subdued. 

He’d heard a rumor she’d been involved in an IED incident during a routine reconnaissance trip into a shit two-bit town near Jalalabad. Had been one of only two survivors from the eight-man team accompanying her. Six had also heard she’d had to evade Taliban forces, half-carrying her injured teammate for two days before finally getting picked up.

Since then…

His sources said she’d changed. Had remained in MI but had put herself through some brutal training, coming out the other side skilled in far more than hacking codes and image interpretation. 

Basically, she’d turned herself into a warrior.

Not that he minded. Having a partner who could throw a punch or kick and have it land—take out a tango—was invaluable. Being able to take a few hits and keep fighting even more impressive. And knowing she could handle herself with a variety of weapons… It made his job that much easier.

Except for the part where the damn girl went looking for trouble. Was quick to not only jump into a fight but start one. She was cocky and reckless, and giant pain in his ass.

And he was hopelessly falling for her.

Which made pairing up with her borderline torture. Spending endless hours with her, so fucking close but stuck in the damn friend zone was taking a toll. He was edgy. Restless. And so preoccupied that his sixth sense he’d been so aptly named for took a damn siesta. Just shut down because it was too busy focusing on how their future could play out. If he’d just grow a set and make a move.

Shit. Cannon knew. 

That’s why he kept matching them up, the sadistic bastard. He was pushing Six. Daring him to lose his cool. To go outside his comfort zone. And Six would kick his buddy’s ass as soon at they got back, but for now…

Kameron looked up at him. Hazel eyes catching the lights behind the bar. Making those beautiful irises gleam. Her blood-red lips curled into a smile, and he felt his damn heart kick him hard in the chest. An actual thump he was sure moved his damn shirt because it hurt. Staring at her like that. 

She arched a brow, glancing over at the men gathered around their mark. A dickbag named Clive Martin—wanted for assault, among other nasty habits. Cannon had sent the two of them to hunt the bastard down, then bring him in—a nice twenty-grand to show for their efforts. They’d followed his ass all the way to Vegas. Not that they’d tell Cannon that. Crossing state lines wasn’t exactly encouraged. Not when each one had different rules bounty hunters had to follow. And Six was pretty damn sure the Nevada authorities wouldn’t take to kindly to him and Kam claiming their prize in a bar off the Vegas strip.

“Something wrong, partner?” Kameron stepped in closer, pressing against him. Something she did on purpose to distract him. Sway him.

Six clenched his jaw. He would not develop a boner in the middle of a biker bar when they were greatly outnumbered. “Yeah, you. You’ve got that look.”

“Do I? Which one is that?”

“The one that says we’re not getting out of here without spilling some blood.”

“I don’t plan on it being ours, so—”

“That’s not the point.”

She lifted her hand—ran a perfectly manicured nail along his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about duking it out with a few red-neck boys. I thought you Delta soldiers chewed on tanks and spit out bullets?”

“We do—back in Washington. Our licenses don’t have this long a reach. Which I told you before we followed the bastard here.”

“That’s only an issue if we get arrested. Which we won’t.” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Six, it’s not going to be much of a fight. I’ll take the two on the left. You take the two on the right, and we’ll have Martin all to ourselves.”

“Is that before or after the bartender calls the cops?”

She sighed, then took a moment to scan the bar. The hairs on Six’s neck prickled and he knew he was about to regret allowing her to talk him into this. And he didn’t need his damn extra senses to see it coming. It was a giant neon sign flashing above them. 

FUBAR.

Yup, things were about to get fucked up but good.

Kam paused, her eyes doing that shifting thing when she was working out a puzzle, before she gave him another stunning smile.

“Kameron—”

“Relax. You’re right. We need a different approach. So, stay here until you get my signal, then ride to the rescue like a good little soldier.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing bad. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped her hand free then took a few steps away, glancing back at him still smiling. “I have to go make a scene.”

And that’s it for me. I hope you enjoyed a bit of a preview into Six and Kameron. Now, hop on over and give the other two ladies a read.

Jessica | Siobhan

First Time ~ Meeting

There’s a new feature this year called “First Time”. This will be a recurring subject highlighting the first time a pair of our characters do something. 
This month, it’s First Meeting, which is pretty self-explanatory. All of us will include an excerpt where our chosen characters meet for the first time. Sometimes it’ll be already published works. Others, a WIP, or maybe just something we wrote on the blog, once upon a time. Anything is fair game, which makes it fun.

Of course, choosing which couple (or more, lol) to highlight is the truly hard part. I feel like I’m picking favorites, lol. I’ve been debating between Rigs and Addison, or Cannon and Jericho, which is releasing in February. I decided to go with Rigs this month…

It’s not the entire first chapter, lol, but still not short. SORE-ry. Not sorry.

Amazon, and KU

 

It’s for a good cause. Embrace the suck. Nothing new, there.

He repeated the mantra in his head, turning right at the corner of the building, and smacked into a woman standing with her back to the pathway. He inhaled, juggling both their weight as he took several stumbling steps forward before finally regaining his balance. Soft skin passed beneath his palms as he smoothed his hands down her arms before cupping her elbows and keeping her steady until he knew she wouldn’t fall. The woman grabbed ahold of his forearm for a few more moments, digging her fingers into his muscle, before gradually letting her hand fall to her side.

Did he miss the warmth of her touch?

“Shit. Er—sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you before I was on top of you.”

Damn, had it sounded sexual other than inside his head? Because for the first time since Ice had dragged his ass out of the rubble amidst a blanket of gunfire, Rigs felt sexual. Maybe not like his old self, but there was a definite stirring in his pants—the kind he hadn’t experienced since before nearly dying. Since simply getting through each day took every ounce of effort. Yet, one touch of her silky flesh beneath his palms, and bam—his dick took notice. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t a full-on boner. Just a twitch. A small surge of blood. But after being basically dead meat between his legs for eighteen months, it felt like a raging hard-on.

Of course, she hadn’t turned and raised her gaze to his, yet. Hadn’t done much of anything other than gasp and breathe. But he knew, in about three seconds, the warm feeling building in his chest would be extinguished. Turn cold and unforgiving like her stare.

She shook her head, inhaling roughly when the motion seemed to shift her balance, again. Rigs stepped closer, holding her tight and praying his dick didn’t decide to swell to full attention. Because there’d be no way to hide it from her. Not with her body hugging his, her ass rubbing against his crotch. Damn, another few passes and he wouldn’t be able to will his growing erection away. Wouldn’t be able to do anything besides apologize after the fact.

The woman steadied herself, her small hands covering his at her waist. “That’s okay. I hadn’t realized I was standing so close to the corner. Guess my count was off.”

Her count was off?

“If I’d been completely focused, I would have noticed you in time to side-step around you.”

She chuckled, gently untangling them then taking a step away as she half turned. “No, really…”

Her voice cut into a gasp as her head whipped around, throwing her off-balance. He caught a glimpse of wide eyes in profile before she tanked to the right. Rigs lunged for her, catching her before she’d tumbled onto the stone path, then tugged her against his chest, again. He splayed one hand across her stomach, the other up by her rib cage as he kept her balanced.

Her heart kicked against his palm, and he didn’t miss the increased rhythm. The shiver that shook through her, or the sound of her frantically drawing in air.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, again, visibly pulling herself together. “No. I just…I thought for a moment there was a flash of…” She sighed, then slowly slipped free. “It’s nothing. Thank you.”

Rigs stayed close, sweeping his gaze the length of her. He took the opportunity to study her before she finally turned, and it all fell apart. To take in her blonde hair swept up into some kind of clip, and the silver pair of earrings dangling from dainty lobes. Her black dress skimming her form, flaring out just below her waist. It went over one shoulder, exposing the long sleek line of her neck and the hint of her other shoulder blade. Her pale skin gleamed in the early moonlight, and he wished he could hold on to her a bit longer. Give himself time to memorize the feel of her smooth flesh against his hands. The beat of her heart against his palm.

Instead, he slowly released her then stepped back. She shifted her weight, and the gently flowing skirt swished around her knees, showing off black boots with only an inch of height.

She finally turned, but before he could see what color her eyes were—or hide the left side of his face like he normally did—he caught a scratch of claws on stone. Rigs spun just as a large dog jumped over one of the planters, landing square on his chest. They fell back together, hitting hard. A tongue swept up the side of his face—right across the raised scars—followed by a playful bark.

“No. Blade. Leave it.”

Her voice barely sounded above a whisper, but the dog stilled, turned ever so slightly before retreating, circling her ankles then sitting at her left heel.

Rigs pushed onto his hands, watching her as he shook his head. Just his luck, he’d bumped into one of the dog handlers—maybe one still in training because the dog’s behavior seemed…off. Though, he’d thought all the bomb-sniffing dogs had left once the auction had started.

The woman reached down and clicked a leash on the brute, her other hand rising to her mouth. “Oh my god, are you okay? First, I nearly trip you, and now, this. I’m so sorry. I’d just let him off to have a bit of a run—he gets nervous around people sometimes, and there’re so many inside. We’re both doing some training—adjusting, really—and we needed some air, but I thought we were alone out here. Did he hurt you?”

Rigs laughed. Fuck, he tried not to, but her words came out as an endless stream, all pushed together as if it had been one long word. And the way she was staring at him—Christ, it knocked him off his feet in a completely different way. No horror. No revulsion. Not even idle curiosity that he got from people who wanted to know how he’d gotten the marks.

No, her face was relaxed and flushed, and so damn pretty, it made his chest hurt. Right in the center. Over his withered, shredded heart. She extended a hand—off to the right and not really close enough to help him up—but he didn’t need it. He rose easily to his feet, brushing the dust off his pants. 

She jerked upward once he’d risen, lips pursed, her gaze searching in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. He’s a big boy. What was his name?”

She smiled as she angled to better face him, one hand gently stroking the dog’s head as it sat at her feet, tail thumping, tongue lolling out one side. “Blade.”

“Blade. That’s…different.”

“It’s after the movie. The trilogy. Wesley Snipes. Vampires.”

“Right. He was some kind of half-breed savior or something.”

“Anyway, I’m really sorry. I don’t usually let him loose away from home. He gets…excited.”

“And playful. Haven’t known a bomb dog to tackle someone who isn’t carrying explosives.” But, maybe the animal just had really good instincts. Could smell that Rigs had made a career out of blowing shit up. For all he knew, he had C4 in his blood. Sweated powder out his skin.

If anything, her smile widened, and he swore he heard her chuckling. “Actually, he’s not one of the bomb dogs.” She fidgeted with the end of the handle. “He used to be. Served two years in Afghanistan, but he was…injured. He recovered,” she added as she scratched Blade’s head, again. “But he’s…got some issues. No one would take him, would even consider trying to retrain him. Except I have this friend, Carl, who’s amazing. He trains animals for movies and law enforcement and for personal assistance, and he’s always rescuing them off of death row—giving them a second chance. He figured we’d make a good match, since I needed…” She sighed. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

He didn’t miss the breathy quality to her voice or the hint of flush on her cheeks and neck. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought there was something sparking between them. One of those instant attractions he’d heard about but had never experienced.

“It’s fine. I did nearly bowl you over. So, he’s part of the security here, then? You’re training?”

“Not exactly. We’re just…” She swallowed. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I’m really sorry he knocked you down.”

Rigs narrowed his eyes. There was something different about her. The way she kept tilting her head. The tone of her voice. While he had excellent night vision—maybe not as perfect in his left eye, anymore—the way she was standing with her back to the moonlight, the deep shadows masked most of her expressions, making it hard to get a true reading on her. He kept trying to see what color her eyes were, but he couldn’t make them out in the dim light.

He offered her a smile and prayed he wasn’t simply baring his teeth. “No harm done. I hope I didn’t ruin your break.”

“No. I was just about to call him and head back in. If I hide out here much longer, I might never leave.”

She’d said it as a joke. He knew it, but it was painfully obvious there was a healthy dose of truth in her words.

“You’re not a fan of auctions?”

“I’m not a fan of crowds.” She cringed as soon as the words were free before lifting her chin and pursing her lips. “Enjoy your walk. It’s a lovely night. Must be why there were others taking advantage of it earlier.”

“There are others out here?”

“There were. I mean, I heard a lot of footsteps. Scuffing noises. So… But they pretty much stopped after I came out about ten minutes ago.”

Rigs scanned the area. The auction was in full swing. It didn’t make sense that more than one or two of the guests would be walking the grounds. The hairs on his neck prickled.

“I’ll keep an eye out. Perhaps, I’ll see you later. Though, I’ll try not to crash into you, next time.”

The muscle in her jaw clenched, and she looked away. “Right. See you later. Blade, up.”

The dog stood, moving a few steps over with her to a bench that was hidden in the shadows. She turned away from Rigs, fusing with something before shifting back. She had a handle in her left hand, a folded cane in her right.

She seemed to orient herself. “Blade, forward.”

Blade started up the path, walking diligently at her side. Rigs stared after her, unable to do anything other than watch her disappear around the building. Everything shifted into place. Her odd behavior. The dog. Her seeming indifference to his scars. If he hadn’t been half-focused on the way she’d felt in his arms for those precious few moments, or how much he wished he could get her back into them, he would have realized it straight off. Wouldn’t have been an utter ass and told her he’d see her later.

Because his mystery woman wouldn’t see anything later. She was blind.

 

And that’s it for me. Please join the rest of the ladies and see which First Meeting they showcased…

Bronwyn  |  Jessica  |  Kayleigh  | Gwendolyn  |  Siobhan

Flash Fiction ~ Ruins

It’s January, and like everyone, I’m trying to get back on track. Fell off the rail a few times, especially with blogging, but that was the past. This is now, so… let’s start off 2019 with a bang. Here’s the photo… and the resulting story is part of a WIP… not sure if/how much of this will be in it. I’m not to this section, yet, but in order to make time constraints fit, I’m staying with Colt… he’s the hero in book 2 of my new ex-military series, Warward Souls…

“I realize this is a warehouse office, and that the building is classified as vacant, but doesn’t it seem strange the door’s open when everything else has been locked?”

Brett moved in beside Ellis. He’d been so focused on  her safety—on preventing anyone from sneaking up on them, ambushing them—that he hadn’t really looked at the door. Not when Rigs and Blade had already cleared the space—removed the explosive devices the assholes had left behind. Christ, they would have killed whoever had stumbled upon them, let alone taken out several adjacent buildings. The casualties could have been significant, even for this area.

So, Brett hadn’t been concerned about Ellis tripping over a wire or opening a door and setting off a charge. But, he’d missed that door sitting slightly ajar—the sliver of black between the frame and the edge. A mistake that could turn fatal if someone was still scrounging around inside. Or if they’d somehow tracked him and Ellis down and were waiting to strike the moment she stepped through.

He shuffled over, stepped in front of her. “It’s more than odd. Stay behind me.”

“Seriously? I’m an operative, not an intelligence soldier anymore. I can handle some creep hiding behind a door without you taking lead.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t, but the last time I checked, you were still healing. Or did I imagine you bracing your hand on the wall earlier? Catching your breath? And don’t pretend that I don’t’ see your hands shaking.” 

She cursed behind him. “I’m not so sure I like this new version of you.”

“Funny, last night I could have sworn you loved this version of me. Or is this your way of telling me you were faking?”

Her cheeks colored. “Must you be an ass?”

“All part of the charm, sweetheart. Now, stay behind me. You can go first the next time.”

She mumbled something he couldn’t make out but stayed on his six, one hand lightly touching the small of his back. The other no doubt palming the hilt of her weapon. The fact she hadn’t drawn it, yet, further substantiated his position that she wasn’t anywhere close to being healed. That just being here was most likely a colossal mistake.

He’d have to learn to say no to her. Listen to his gut, his damn head that had known she wasn’t fit to be investigating some beaten down warehouse. That going back to the place she’d been held was the last thing she needed to be dealing with.

But his damn traitorous heart—the one she’d unlocked and stolen before he’d had a chance to change the locks—ask for the key back—had crumbled. One look at the desperation in her eyes partnered with determination, and he’d caved. Agreed to bring her along. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to have his back. That she wasn’t skilled enough. It was knowing she’d risk injuring herself further—get herself killed—in order to uphold that trust. She’d been one hell of a soldier. She was an even better operative.

Brett inched forward, gun at the ready, senses on high alert. If this was a setup, there’d be more forces hidden nearby—ready to swarm them once he opened the door. And that meant being three steps ahead. Already planning on how he’d take the asshole inside out, first, then spin—keep Ellis behind him at any cost. Be the one to take a bullet if that’s how it had to go down.

He glanced back at her, nodded, then moved. Two seconds and he had the door open, was going in high, knowing Ellis would follow low. That it would keep her out of any sight lines. Another two seconds and he’d cleared the space—turned to face the door in case some jackass would attack from behind.

Nothing. No men. No ambush. Just silence.

And his damn pulse pounding inside his head. Damn it, he was better than this. His heart rate should be flattening out—going into full soldier mode. Steady. Calm. Completely removed. Except that he didn’t have Cannon or Six backing him up. Wasn’t teamed up with Hank, or Midnight. Didn’t have Ice waiting a few hundred yards off to rush in if things went sideways and he or his teammates started dropping. 

He had Ellis. Skilled. Fearless. Smarter than all of his team put together… And the one person he couldn’t allow to get hurt. Not that he ever wanted Cannon or one of his buddies to get injured. But…it had been a possibility every time they went outside the wire. That shit could go sideways—that no amount of preparation or skill could prevent a dynamic situation from turning ugly. And they’d all made peace with it. Knew their brothers would do whatever they could to help them—save their asses. But, sometimes, bad shit happened.

That wasn’t an option where Ellis was concerned. She wasn’t allowed to die. Not on his watch. Sure, maybe seventy years from now, but not like this. When it would be his mistake. His fault. When he’d have to live knowing he’d let her down. Again.

Not happening. If that meant dancing around her like a damn ballerina in order to cover every angle—block any possible shot—he’d two-step with the best of them. She didn’t have to like it. Hell, she could tear a strip off his ass if she wanted—as long as she was alive to do it, he’d take it.

Ellis crossed her arms once Brett had triple checked every direction—assured himself they really were alone. One perfectly sculpted brow arched as she stared at him. Her Beretta tucked back in her holster—had she even drawn it—one foot tapping the floor. “Are you done making a fool of yourself or should I give you more room to spin?”

“Wanting to keep you safe isn’t being foolish.”

“No. But putting your own safety at risk because you don’t trust me to have your back, is.”

“I trust you to have my back. But you’re the fool if you think you were ready to venture into the field. We both you’re here because my damn heart answered for me.”

Her foot stopped tapping, the firm press of her lips softening. She sighed, raked a hand through her hair, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m not close to being up to par. But…” She pointed a delicate finger at him, connecting with his chest. “I’m strong enough to stay alive. Help keep your ass in one piece. I wouldn’t risk your life if I thought I couldn’t do my share. So…stop trying to do both our jobs. I’ll tap out if it gets too much.”

She motioned to the room. “Though, it looks as if we’re a bit late. This place has been thoroughly trashed. Odd, since there shouldn’t be anything here if it’s really vacant.”

“I think we both know it wasn’t vacant.” He walked over to one of the few windows, drawing his finger along the charred walls. “Whoever it was went to the trouble of starting a fire then putting it out. Odd. They set bombs. Why not let it all go up when they realized the bombs had been defused and removed?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the same people?”

Brett sighed. “Great. So you have more than one faction after you. This just keeps on getting better.” He crouched, rummaging through some of the papers. “Anything in here look familiar?”

“Nothing I’d be sent in to uncover. These are mostly storage contracts. Waybills. Pretty normal stuff. I suppose it could be coded, but… It doesn’t explain…”

Brett glanced over his shoulder when she didn’t continue. “Explain what?” He waited, still watching her. “El?”

Had she shivered just then? When he said her name—the one she insisted only he’d ever called her by?

She blinked then focused on him. “I think I have an idea what this is about, but… I need to check something out, first. Don’t suppose you’re up for a drive?”

Did she have to look at him like that? All pouty pink lips and big blue eyes? 

He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I guess that depends.”

She pushed to her feet, arching one brow. “On what?”

“On whether this trip will save your ass, or get it killed.”

And that’s it for me. Please hop on over and check out the rest of the gang… I’m sure they didn’t start in the middle for theirs, lol.

Bronwyn  |  Jessica  |  Gwendolyn  |  Siobhan  |  Kayleigh

It’s a Brand New Year…

Okay, so apparently they’ve changed the entire interface of WordPress. Not that I mind change, per se, but damn… I didn’t realize I’d have to relearn everything. And not in a good way. I might have some steam coming out of my ears right now… which doesn’t bode well for this week’s post.

LOOKING BACK ON 2018 and GOALS FOR 2019

Obviously, one of my goals needs to be to let shit go, but… I’m getting ahead of myself. First, let’s look back at 2018.

I’m not sure how I feel about this past year. I mean, I guess I got some stuff done but it doesn’t feel like I did a lot. I don’t keep a running tab of words written and stuff but I did accomplish a few things.

For writing, I released three books. All in the Brotherhood Protector world. That’s not as many as I’d have liked to but… I’ll celebrate getting these works out there. And I’m really proud of them. Discovered I love writing military type romantic suspense books. So much, in fact, that I’ve already written book 1 in my new series… Wayward Souls. Cannon’s book, who you meet in Going in Blind, will be releasing early this year. Either late January or early Feb. And I’m already working on Colt’s book, and have the opening written for Six’s book… can you tell I’m excited?

I also managed to make a ton of new covers. Some for a couple of publishers. Others for individual authors. Here are a couple of my faves…

I’ve got others waiting in the wings for this year. I’ll talk about them in a moment. As for other aspects in my life, I started the BIG NEVER-ENDING RENOVATION of 2018. So far, I’ve managed to complete 3 upstairs bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. I’ve got the entire main floor mostly finished, which included a laundry room, rec room, bedroom and foyer. I just have some moulding and the bathroom left. This was an enormous undertaking and has eaten up a ton of time. But it’s looking so good… I’ll include some image below.

Now, let’s look ahead because we can’t change the past but we have the future waiting for us. Work wise, I plan on releasing more books. I would like to write at least 4 in the Wayward Souls series, including a couple of crossovers with Elle’s Brotherhood World. I’d also like to get my YA done… it’s a Peter Pan kind of tale and I’m more than a bit intimidated by it, but… I’m really excited too. So… we’ll see. I’d also like to try and get one or two other different works out there. I have a series planned with fellow amazing author Jessica Jarman and this might be the year we get our first books out. Fingers crossed.

I’m also going to attempt to not miss as many blog posts. I got so caught up in the renovations, I really didn’t have a clue what day it was half the time. But… here’s to turning that around. Being more accountable.

I have a bunch of covers already in the works for 2019. Most I can’t show because they aren’t mine, but… here is the first cover in each of my series I’m re-releasing. Which is another huge goal. To get most, if not all, of the books I got back out there, again.

Personally… I’m planning on running my second 50 mile race. It’s in Montana, again, but a different race. I guess I just really love Montana. This one is all on reclaimed railroads and sounds like a lot of fun. I also plan on finishing the BIG NEVER-ENDING RENOVATION stretching into 2019. The main living room and kitchen, along with updating the stairs is all that’s left. And some work outside, but… I can do this. I just have to believe )trust me, you start to question when it seems to not get any closer to being done, despite doing so much).

But above all, I’d love to find some balance this year. I always seem to be feast or famine in the different aspects of my life and I’d love to have ti all be more even keeled. But like they say… life’s a journey. As long as I keep striving…

Oh, and maybe, one day, I’ll date, again. That would be nice…

Check out the other ladies and what their take is on the year gone by and the one just around the corner…

Bronwyn | Jessica | Gwendolyn

Song Fiction ~ The River Lea by Adele

Song fiction time. I’m in the midst of flooring up to my eyeballs and trying to finish Cannon’s book, but here’s a short bit to this pretty cool song by Adele. If it’s new to you like it was to me, here’s the only video I found to work, and the resulting story. It’s a bit about Brett “Colt” Sievers from Cannon’s book.

“Okay, Sievers, out with it.”

Brett, or Colt to his buddies, his brothers, looked up from his beer, sighing when several of his teammates pulled up chairs and gathered at his table. The one he’d picked in order to isolate himself. So this kind of brotherly intervention wouldn’t happen. But, they’d all used their damn Delta skills and scoped him out.

Brett thought he’d done a damn good job of hiding. Going to a bar that was definitely not his taste. Loud techno music, flashing disco lights and more bodies grinding on the dance floor than was probably allowed, it represented everything he hated about furloughs. And the last place he thought his squad would hunt him down.

Or course, Six and Cannon were among the men. Bastards were damn good trackers, even in an urban environment. And they knew him too well. Hell, knowing Six, he’d read Brett’s mind or something equally creepy. There was a reason everyone called the man Six. He had this way about him—sensed things a moment or two before everyone else. As if he knew shit was about to go sideways. Just this morning, he’d grabbed Brett and shoved him out of the way before one of the tent poles they’d been dismantling fell exactly where Brett would have been standing. What would have been at best, a nasty concussion. At worst, it could have killed him. 

They’d given up trying to figure the guy out. If he had some kind of extra sensory perception thing going, they didn’t care. Not if it saved their asses. He could be an alien and they wouldn’t care. Not when he’d single-handedly kept them all from seeing an early grave. Which meant he’d probably just done some kind of Jedi mind trick, or that Vulcan meld thing and sourced out exactly where Brett had ventured.

He took a long pull of his beer, giving the men a shrug. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

Jacks snorted. “Please. First, you were late for our run this morning. Then, you disappeared while we were breaking camp—right after Six saved you from getting cold-cocked. And if that wasn’t enough, Cannon had to tackle your ass when that tango appeared and damn near blew your head off. Not to mention, you ditched us the minute we got sent on mandatory decompress.” He glanced around the table as he laid his arms along the back of the chair facing the table. “So, out with it.”

Another pull. Then, another. Not that it helped. A full two-four wouldn’t be enough to drown his heart. The one still bleeding out. Fuck women.

Six sighed. “I think maybe we were wrong, guys. Let’s give Colt some space.”

“We weren’t wrong, Six, we—”

“You heard the man.” Cannon, this time. “Clear out. We’ll meet for breakfast at the hotel restaurant at oh eight hundred.”

Jacks grunted but stood, twisting the chair the right way round then heading off with the rest. Six gave Brett’s shoulder a pat then tagged along behind the rest of the men, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Only Cannon stayed at the edge of the table, one hand on the top, the other shoved into his pocket.

He waited until Brett looked up at him. “I don’t need to have Six’s radar to guess that this involves Heather.”

Brett focused on the table. If he said her name…

“How’d she do it?”

“Sent a letter out with Hammond’s squad. Real classy.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Me, too. I thought…”

He’d thought that they were serious. That they had a future. Hell, they’d talked about retiring. About moving in together. Starting a family. Everything had been fine, then… a Dear John letter to end all letters.

“She say why?”

“Just the usual.”

“She found out who your father was.”

“They all do in time, Cannon. You can’t run from your past forever. Not when it’s in your blood.”

“Colt…Brett…”

“Don’t. I know the score. I’m just tired of never being good enough. Of never getting out from under his shadow. It’s like my damn DNA is stained. And it taints whatever I touch. Ruins it.”

“You know that’s not true. Anyone who truly cared about you wouldn’t put what he did back on you.”

Brett snorted. “Then, I guess she never really cared.”

“That’s not what I meant. Fuck.” Cannon took a step, stopped and turned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Brett raised his beer. “Got it covered.”

“I’ll be waiting up to make sure you get back. Don’t make me wait all night. And Colt?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Not every woman is like her. I promise. There’s someone special waiting.”

“Or maybe, that’s just not how my life’s gonna play out.” He waved off Cannon’s reply. The pep talk the other man was no doubt going to preach. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I just need a night.”

“You sure that’s the best course of action? We all have a tendency to bury the bad shit.”

“So?”

“Makes it hard to feel the good.”

“The only good is making it through a mission alive. Seeing your brothers do, too. That’s all I’ve got right now. I’ll be back by midnight.”

Cannon nodded then walked off. Brett watched the man fade into the crowd of bodies, signalling the bartender he needed another beer. Cannon was right. Brett had spent a dozen years pushing the bad shit down until nothing remained. Until he was just numb. Maybe that’s why he always ended up alone.

Or maybe he was just cursed. Either way, he’d drink to it.

And that’s it for me. Not sure this will make it into any book. Just a jump into Colt’s head. Now, head on over to Bronwyn’s Blog for her amazing story…

Brain Dump ~ October

It’s time for another brain dump. Honestly, I’m not even sure what to say. As far as writing goes… trying hard to finish Cannon’s story… but damn, the man is being difficult. I’m close. But close doesn’t count in writing, lol. And I’m fresh out of hand grenades, so…

It doesn’t help that I’m desperately trying to get back in renovation mode. So, for the last bit here, I’m including a few images of the on-going process. I’m tackling the first level. I’m almost done painting everything. Next are the floors. Then… well, then it’ll be all the new moulding and, well, I’m not sure it ever ends. But here’s the project.

First… the upstairs, main bathroom. Finished it not to long ago. And I love how it turned out.

 

And here’s the first level. There is a ton of stuff everywhere. So… you have to overlook the crap because, well, I’ll clean it all up once I’m done. Not to mention I had to put some stuff in other places, lol. But, you get the gist… I’ll try to include a few before and during demo, then the painted bit so far…

Okay, so these are all views from inside the main grand room on the ground floor. As you can see it had horrible painted panelling. Now, you can paint panelling, nicely. This sucked. Also, it was barely attached in most places. Overall it just sucked. And it was green. Like limey green. In the first two, that opening used to be the same size as the door image further down. I knocked some poorly made walls down, which I also did with the front, and now both entrances are about 55 inches wide. It looks so much better. Also, in that first image, that’s now a closed in laundry room, that will have a barn door and will be updated either this weekend or next week. I’m just waiting on the flooring for it.

See that horrible orange and yellow paint? That was a bedroom. A stupidly positioned and build one. It’s now sectioned off, and I just finished painting it the same colour blue as you’ll see in the images below. I just couldn’t get one of it, now because I waited too long and it’s night.

This is the main entrance to this space by the front door. I removed basically everything over to that stud wall on the right.

As you can see, there was this weird rise and a pillar in the middle. That did nothing. Like nothing. It was only nailed into the wood ceiling.

And here is the after images. Again, it’s not done. All the walls are drywalled. The ceiling was painted and I’ve painted all the walls. And the fireplace. It still needs that same flooring as in the bathroom images up top. But… what an improvement already.

Fireplace with original brick colour….

Finished. I didn’t have a photo but originally, it also had brass accents. Now, all matte black.

With wall painted blue and you can see the ceiling is white. Added in more vintage like lighting…

This is the hallway where you saw the laundry room before. It’s closed in and the barn door will go in that wall area to the right of the door. And you can see the archway in is almost as large as the hallway… which is getting painted grey tomorrow, lol.

View in from the foyer. That’s the Frey colour. And you can see how big the entrance is compared to that door image above. What a difference that makes. The grey flooring will go throughout downstairs, except the laundry room which is getting a funky new floor that is more resilient should there ever be a flood in there, lol.

You can see the raised section—gone. I will build a step for the slider once I get to the flooring, lol.

 

I have also painted the new bedroom that was created downstairs. There was a super crappy sort of bedroom down there, but… now it has nice walls, and doesn’t have the outside door included. I would have taken a photo but I haven’t put up the lighting in there, yet, and it’s night, so… I didn’t think ahead—NO ONE IS SURPRISED.

I’ve also been dealing with a stupid dog bite. That’s a long ass story…but who knew puncture wounds were so damn painful? And took so long to heal, since they don’t generally stitch animal bites (I know, faces and sometimes they do, but not for just two puncture wounds, lol) At least I only lost a few days of running… I read it helped speed healing so I went out sooner than planned. Again, no one is surprised.

That’s it for me. Please join the others…

Bronwyn  |  Jessica  |  Siobhan

Song Flash Fiction ~ I Need the Sun to Break

It’s time for another song fiction. I’m familiar with James Bay but hadn’t heard this song before. Man, is this guy talented. If you haven’t heard it, I’ve included the video below. For the fiction, I took a snapshot from my WIP… A new military romance. This isn’t part of the story… just a random bit in Cannon’s head, because I’m in there, lol.

There she was. Jericho Nash. US Marshal and the woman who was slowly driving Cannon insane. She was sitting at their usual table, nursing a steaming cup of coffee—what looked like a danish next to her right hand. One he knew she’d insist on sharing with him once he’d ventured inside. And he’d be through the glass door in under ten seconds. But for just a few moments, he wanted to look at her. Drink her in. 

God, she was beautiful. Auburn hair, green eyes and a smile that made her entire face glow, the woman was breathtaking. Standing there, staring at her, was like being in the midst of a storm only to have the sun break through for one mesmerizing heartbeat. All its light and warmth just shining down on her. The eye of the hurricane. It made him feel…

He scrubbed a hand down his face. Feel. How long had it been since he’d felt anything? Had given himself permission to indulge in thoughts that went beyond the mission? Beyond keeping his teammates alive? 

He wasn’t sure he ever had. Yet, after a month of having coffee with her damn near every morning, he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. He was crazy about the lady. Her courage, her honour. She was smart and compassionate and so damn pretty, his chest physically hurt just being around her. He couldn’t remember what it was like to go to bed not thinking about her, then wake up without having spent the night dreaming about all the ways he wanted to touch her. She was quickly becoming a drug he couldn’t live without.

Not that he’d told her, yet. At first, he’d been convinced it was more mutual respect. She’d helped him get his business off the ground, and she was a hell of a resource. Had offered him insight into viable office locations and how to obtain a few special permits from local law enforcement. 

But the more time he’d spent with her, the more he needed to spend. It wasn’t enough to simply meet with her for an hour every morning. Now, he was texting. Was dropping by on his way home—ensuring she was okay. Offering his aid if she ever needed it. Anything and everything to be around her.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She glanced up, and that stunning smile lifted her lips. God, it was even brighter than before. Like an ethereal glow around her. And he knew the jig was up. That he couldn’t pretend any longer. It was time to man up. Devise a plan to make Jericho his. And once he set his mind to something, he didn’t back down. 

He hadn’t been Delta Force for all those years to lose the most important mission he’d ever faced. He just needed to take that first step.

 

That’s it for me. Please join the other ladies and see their amazing stories…

Bronwyn  ~  Jessica  ~  Gwendolyn

Promptly Penned ~ September

A new school year ~ possibly the last high school year for one of my kids. How did that happen? My youngest is hoping to grad a year early…and I know she’ll do it. Which means my last year of running kids back and forth to school.

That’s not what this post is about but damn it, I’m in shock. Anyway, it’s time for promptly penned. This month, it’s not something that works into the story, but rather a set up. Here’s the scenario…

You’re in an interrogation room. A man walks in and throws a bunch of photographs on the table in front of you. The photos are old and were taken at different points in history. You’re in each one. He demands to know who you are.

And here is the resulting story… and I used a woman instead of a man. Also, it’s a little tie in to Grave Measures, the first book in my Threshold series… one I’ll EVENTUALLY get back to, like all the others, sigh.

So, this is what an interrogation room looked like.

Branch Wells relaxed against the back of his chair, feet crossed at the ankles, hands resting idly on the table. He’d been escorted into the dingy room about thirty minutes, ago, with nothing more than a command to sit. Not that he’d expected pleasantries. He wasn’t a stranger to local law—he just hadn’t experienced it in this era.

What fucking year was it, again, anyway? Twenty-something. Maybe.

He blew out a raspy breath as he pinched away the growing headache building across the bridge of his nose. He’d made an unprecedented number of “leaps” in the past lunar cycle, and he was finding it hard to keep track of time. Which was ironic, since he was supposed to be a master of it.

Master of getting his ass in jail, was more like it. He’d had an unprecedented number of “interrogations” lately, too. Had been dragged into more places just like this than he wanted to admit to. But…trying to prevent future disasters wasn’t a pretty job—in fact, it was messy. Messy and bloody and downright ugly. If he had to smooth over a few ruffled feathers—knock a few officers, or agents, or whatever the hell they were called in this time, this place, on their asses, he was up for the task. He just hoped he didn’t have to do anything too…drastic.

The door opened, the telltale screech of hinges making his eye twitch. Didn’t this era have some fucking lube?

He smiled at the thought. He doubted they had the kind of lube he wanted.

A woman appeared in the doorway. Manila folder in one hand, cell in the other. Her long auburn hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the ends curling down her back. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater—not what he’d expected. And the way she looked at him—something seemed off. The slight press of her lips, a nearly imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. She wasn’t like the other law enforcement personnel he’d encountered. He’d bet his ass on it.

She walked over to the table, kicking out a chair then sliding into it. She met his gaze, staring at him for several, awkward moments before lifting one corner of her mouth. “Mr…Smith?”

He smiled. The token name shouldn’t be amusing under these circumstances, but he got a damn kick out of it every time some government agent said it. A slap in the face to their own cultural stereotypes. “It’s Smyth…with a ‘y’.”

One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. “A ‘y’?”

”S. M. Y. T. H. Smyth. Not to be confused with Smith…with an ‘i’.”

A twitch of her lips. Not much. So slight most people wouldn’t have noticed. Or passed it off as a trick of the light. Maybe their imagination. But she’d wanted to smile. She nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”

“And you are?”

“Agent Arrynn Baker. I’m with a division of Homeland Security called Threshold.”

Homeland Security? Threshold? What the hell did that mean? Though, he was fairly well-versed with most of the organizations in over a thousand time periods, he hadn’t ever dealt with Homeland Security, before.

Not a problem. She could be a ghost hunter for all he cared. Just another hoop to jump through. Misunderstanding to smooth over. And if that failed—he’d just do what he did best. Manipulate time. It was a last resort, of course. One he seemed to turn to more often than most. But, his superiors couldn’t argue with his results.

Branch nodded. “Good. Then, perhaps you can tell me what this is all about. The police didn’t have many answers.”

“Maybe you weren’t asking them the right questions?”

“Not sure how, ‘why am I sitting in here?’ could be confusing. But…if you say so, Agent Baker.”

Another twitch. Then, she was opening her folder. Spreading out a bunch of what looked like photographs. That’s what they were called, he thought. Nothing like that existed where he was from. They were too fragile. To easy lost or manipulated. Blood images forged from DNA strands. Those, you couldn’t fuck with.

The woman—Arrynn—tapped a delicate finger on each picture, her gaze pinned to his. “I believe you were brought in to explain this.”

Branch made a point of looking at them. Christ, how did anyone even tell what the damn image was? They were all grainy and scratched, half of them in black and white. They looked old, but that could just be the paper. He focused on her. “Explain what? Why you have a collection of crappy old photos?”

“More precisely, why I have a collection of crappy old photos with you in every one? A collection that dates back nearly a hundred years, yet, you look remarkably the same.”

Branch cursed inwardly. Shit. He should have seen this coming, but… But manipulating time was tricky. Required prolonged exposure to whatever era he was in. And it was nearly impossible to avoid leaving a trace behind, despite his best intentions, and skillset.

Arrynn raised a brow. “What? No witty comeback?”

“I’m not sure what it is you want, exactly. I mean…you’re suggesting I’m…what…a century old?”

“Thinking it’s more than that.”

He laughed. “You’re serious? You honestly think this is me?” He pointed to one of the photos. And yeah, now that he was staring at them, he could see his face. Clear as a fucking bell. Was that the expression? Either way, he was in them. All of them. Even his clothes were the same in a few.

Branch made a mental note to get a new damn wardrobe, as he interlaced his hands and placed them on the table. “Okay. Let’s say this is me. In all of these photos. How is that possible?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m the one who thinks you’re a nut job, so…”

Nothing. Not a hint of humor or fear. This Agent Baker was stone cold serious. “I’m not crazy. And that is you. I’m just trying to figure out what, exactly, you are.”

He frowned, then gasped as a she tossed a vial of liquid at him. It caught him in the face, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t going at all well. She was staring at him, some kind of object in her hand that was hissing out static, her focus never wavering from his face.

Damn, she was a hunter. Or whatever they called people who believed in the paranormal here. And she wasn’t backing down.

Which meant a change in tactics.

Branch wiped a hand down his face, flicking off the remaining drops. “Did you seriously just dose me with Holy Water?”

“A lady can’t be too careful.”

“Of what? What is it you think I am? A vampire? Sorry, doll, not even close. And before you go getting out some shiny piece of silver, I’m not a werewolf or faery or whatever else you seem to think exists.”

“Oh, they exist. All of them. But, I’m sure you already know that. Okay, Mr. Smyth with a ‘y’. What are you, then? Because there’s only one explanation for how you can be in all of these photos. And we both know it’s not that your moisturizer is working.”

Well, fuck.

He sighed, then raised his hands. It didn’t look like much. Nothing anyone would take notice of. In fact, Agent Baker didn’t seem to realize anything had changed until she looked at his hand—saw the drop of water just hanging in the air. That’s when she bolted. Scrambled to her feet, drawing some weird gun from the waistband of her pants.

He tsked, staring down the barrel. “Really, Arrynn? I just stopped time, well, your perception of it, and you think some token piece of metal is going to hurt me?”

It would definitely leave a mark. Piss him off, but it wouldn’t kill him. Not that she needed to know any of the details.

Arrynn didn’t budge. Didn’t so much as blink. “Haven’t met a creature I can’t kill, yet.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “Creature? Ouch! Now, you’re just being mean. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, but…you didn’t really give me a choice. I know your type. All balls-to-the-wall. Hair straight back.” He frowned. “You do say that, now, right? I sometimes get confused with what’s popular.”

“Who are you? What…are you?”

Branch slowly gained his feet, being sure to move at a pace that wouldn’t startle her. Then, he gave her a sweeping bow. “Branch Smyth, at your service. And you’d probably call me a Time Bender.”

“Time Bender?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“I’m pretty intelligent. Feel free to use some big words.”

He laughed, again. “Damn, I like you. Not that I swing that way, but…you’re definitely entertaining. And basically, I leap to different periods—stages, as we call them—in an effort to thwart extinctions-level events. Ones that have already payed out in other realities.”

Her mouth gaped open then closed before she finally lowered the gun. “You’re saying you’re one of the good guys?”

“The original good guy. Though, this does complicate things. I don’t generally operate with others fully cognoscente of my presence. Of who and what I am. That does put a wrench in my current assignment. Unless…” He thumbed his lower lip. It was against protocol, but he wasn’t one to actually follow the rules—not when the fate of the world was involved.

She gazed at the drop, then up at his face. “Unless…what?”

“Unless you were willing to help? I’ve had a bloody hard time finding someone. Maybe, with your connections, you could steer me in the right direction.”

She snorted. “So, I’m just supposed to believe you? That you’re not some evil prick that’s going to turn us all into pudding?”

“I’m more of a Jell-o man. And that’s more science fiction, than truth. Besides, you have your proof.” He waved at the photos. “I’ve obviously been here a dozen times that you know of—Earth’s still standing. Humans still running around.”

She stared at him, then sighed, sinking back into the chair. “Shit, I need a drink.”

“If you’ll help me get out of here, I’ll buy.”

“And if I unwittingly screw the human race over?”

“Oh, doll. If I wanted everyone dead, I’d simply vanish. Because you’re about to do that all on your own.”

“You make it sound like I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. I’m just hoping you pick the one where we’re friends, and not where I spin things back a few hours and avoid this entire meeting.” He leaned in. “I really could use some help. This…guy I’m looking for. He’s like a ghost.”

She smiled at the reference, and he made a point to ask her about it later. “This…ghost got a name?”

“Only one. Styx.”

Her mouth opened, then split into a brilliant smile. “Well, Branch, was it? This is your lucky day.”

“And why is that?”

“Because not only do I know a Styx. I work with him.” She stood, motioning to the door. “Shall we?”

Branch released his hold on the threads, allowing them to weave back together—move time along. Cramps clenched along his muscles, sweat beading his brow. He really needed to rest. He’d been far too active, lately.

Arrynn stepped toward him. “You okay?”

“Fine. After you, doll.”

 

And that’s it for me. Sorry it was so long. It kinda just worked out that way. Now, hop on over to the other ladies…

Bronwyn  ~  Jessica  ~  Siobhan  ~  Gwendolyn

Flash Fiction ~ Ruins

It’s time for another photo fiction, and I made it this week. Below is the picture and the resulting story. It’s a bit of an insight into my current WIP… not sure if this bit will make it in. But it’s all that popped into my head.

Post apocalyptic scene with city street

“Are you sure we’re in the right place, buddy?”

Cannon grunted a reply, scanning the street. A light fog crept in off the sea wall, highlighting the crumpling buildings and charred brick. The place looked more like a set from The Walking Dead than a section of the wharf. “Industrial fire took out a city block six months ago. It’s scheduled for demolition. Some shipping company bought the whole thing.”

His partner snorted. “Must have been one hell of an explosion.”

“Took four days to put out, from what I’ve heard.” He glanced at Brogan. “This feels—”

“Wrong? Yeah. Who would use this route to transport a prisoner?”

“No one. Which is why we’re here. Something’s off.”

Brogan shouldered up beside him. “And you’re certain her GPS pinged here?”

“Jericho’s smart. She doesn’t break protocol, and she doesn’t make stupid mistakes. If she broke ranks and shared her location. She did it for a reason. None of which are good.”

“Do you smell that?”

Cannon snorted. “The stench of brine or piss?”

“Smoke. Wind’s blowing the wrong way, but…it’s there.”

Cannon inhaled, and fuck if Brogan wasn’t right. “Can you tell what direction it’s coming from?”

“Must be close to the pier to mask it this well. It’s probably blending in with fog. It’s thicker over the water.” Brogan pointed at a broken down warehouse off to their left. “I’d guess somewhere in there.” He grabbed Cannon’s wrist when he took a step. “You sure this isn’t a set-up? You’ve made a lot of enemies over the years.”

“She’s not dirty.”

“Cannon.”

“I know how to read betrayal, and she’s clean.”

“Then this was her calling for backup. And you know how much I hate letting a lady down. I’ll go right. Hit the front. You go around back. We’ll find her.”

Damn straight they would. And if there was so much as a scratch on her, he’d make catching the bastards his sole vocation.

 

Bronwyn  |  Jessica  |  Gwendolyn  |  Siobhan