Hello and good day! Today I’m continuing on with another character spotlight from my approaching release, The Nameless. I absolutely adore this story and these characters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. The book follows two brothers on their fae-cursed journey as they start to learn details about the Otherworld and the Fae who stole their names a century ago. You’ve already met the first twin, Chance, now it’s time to meet Lucky.
I think my favorite way I described Lucky is a shooting star. While his brother is methodical and often serious, Lucky is emotionally explosive. He’s always the life of the party, and if there’s no party he makes one. He’s all front man, the guitarist in their three-piece punk band. He’s not the type to dwell on the past or face any demons. He’d rather work the crowd for free drinks until he sails off into oblivion.
Lucky doesn’t take well to sitting still. He’s also the schemer of the two, always looking for ways to take advantage of the situation. If there’s a way for the twins to benefit from the moment, it’s Lucky who will figure out how. He’s charming, enigmatic, and all about the fast life.
The excerpt:
We just finished our set and adrenaline has my whole body buzzing like I just did a huge rail. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is hammering away in my chest. Playing punk music is one of the best outlets I’ve found in all our years for the rage that ebbs and flows damn near constantly. There’s something about bodies writhing and slamming together as a result of music we make. The adoration is a drug that feeds my restless soul.
Behind me, Chance is panting over his drum set, his bare upper body slick from sweat, his chest piece – a variation of the Wheel of Fortune – glaring in full glory. His hair is stuck to his face and neck and I can tell the same euphoria has him in a vice. At least, however fleeting, he can forget his depression.
There, right in the front almost pushed up against the stage, is Becka and her smoking-hot friend. She hasn’t strayed far from him save when he’s been behind his drum set. I swear if he doesn’t take advantage of this opportunity for a little release, I’m gonna call him a fucking idiot for the next hundred years.
The alcohol has been flowing freely, shots from patrons, drinks on the house from the bartenders, such love from a bunch of strangers. We’ve been drinking since we got here but I’m pretty sure I just metabolized most of it, so I don’t even feel drunk. Apparently the owner is here somewhere and I heard a rumor that he sometimes throws exclusive after-parties at his house. If that’s true, I can damn well bet tonight will be one of those times and we’ll be the life of it.
Someone brings a round of beers to us on stage. The excitement of the crowd is palpable. A few young guys are offering to help us break down and pack up. Like I said, so much love.
I know I’m smiling like a demon. There’s no reason to hide it. This is the kind of night I’ll ride until it’s gone. Our next show isn’t for a few more days and, other than getting down to Myrtle Beach by showtime, we have no obligations until then.
I look back to my brother. He’s not smiling, but the fire in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. We won’t sleep until we pass out from exhaustion. He’s got a lot of aggression to release. If he doesn’t fuck it out we’ll probably end up fist fighting.
He twirls a drumstick through his fingers then shoves them both in their holder. He mops his face with the shirt he discarded before we started playing. Then he stands, tosses the shirt onto my amp rather than putting it back on, then stalks past me. He hops off the stage directly beside Becka and she starts talking excitedly.
I laugh wolfishly though no one can hear me. He’s telling himself he’s not going to mess with her, I just know it. I also know, just as he must, that it won’t work. I can already see it. It’s out of his hands.
“The Nameless” will be available through Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats August 1, 2023.
Welcome back to my blog, my lovely readers! To say I am excited about finally releasing The Nameless to the wild would be an understatement. For reasons, I’ve been sitting on this manuscript for months, not-so-patiently awaiting the day I can start sharing it. The time has come!
I’ll be doing several excerpts and other related posts in the coming days, and today I’d like to do a character spotlight. Where better to start than Chance? As is mentioned in the book’s blurb, Chance and Lucky are twins, but they’re not identical twins. Quite the opposite. Where Lucky is the blond-haired, blue-eyed front man of their band, Chance is a brunette with green eyes. Likewise, their personalities are very different.
Chance is dark and broody in a completely different way than any of the other characters I’ve written. Outwardly, he looks like just another young punk rocker with his tattoos and spider bite piercings, but he carries the weight of his long life close to him at all times. The tragedies he has experienced have left deep emotional scars that have never quite healed. The spotlight and the stage are momentary distractions, but they never really reach past the surface.
Chance is the thinker of the two, often times caught up in his own head and suffocated by his emotions. He’s also usually content to be the shadow to Lucky’s shining presence. Consequently, Chance typically plays the role of big brother, though the two are mere hours apart in age.
The excerpt:
It’s close to midnight. I’m a few beers in, this last one compliments of the gaggle of women who have seemingly adopted Lucky and might be competing to try to take him home after last call. I can hear them giggling at him as he tells a story about accidentally putting out a stage light with a drumstick. His story is mostly true and also partially why Lucky doesn’t play the drums. His energy is boundless and their attention is just fuel to the fire.
I’m feeling a lot more low key. The tension from the road is finally starting to ease from my shoulders and neck. Beside me, Becka has kept a steady pace of a conversation with me on an array of general topics from music to travel, drink preferences, all kinds of fairly safe information that isn’t super personal. Still, she’s giving me some insight into a personality that’s intriguing, deep in a way that’s rare among the general public.
On my other side, Johnny is chatting with a couple of guys about humbuckers and bass strings. His gear is one of his favorite topics. It’s almost weird to hear him talk so much. Must be all the free booze.
I catch Becka watching the knot tattoo on my hand again. I check myself in the mirror. My stick-straight, brown hair is poking from beneath my beanie, lying against my neck and cheeks. I’m pale, a product of living mostly at night, playing shows at random bars. Even if my skin does see the sun, it doesn’t really tan so much as burn, thanks to my bloodline.
After you live for so long, you kind of get tired of your own face. If you’re me, you’re kind of tired of everything. But after a few drinks of her own, Becka isn’t shy that she likes what she sees. It’s mutual. She’s attractive, not in a drop-dead movie starlet way. More like she probably doesn’t even know how pretty she is.
This is a dangerous line of thought. For the – obvious to me – reason that I’ll probably outlive everyone in this room except my brother. That shitty reality tends to discourage making friends and especially keeping lovers. Damn, but it has been a while.
I realize that I’m idly staring at the mirror, not at myself, but at her. There’s a bit of color high in her cheeks and she seems to have noticed my attention. She sweeps her dark curls over her shoulder and looks down at her closed notebook.
“So, what do you think of our town so far?” she asks, her voice quieter than before so that it almost gets lost in the eruption of laughter from Lucky’s fan club.
I look at her sideways, take a long drink, then say, “It kinda reminds me of Innsmouth.”
Her eyes go wide and she says, “Oh my god, you’re right.”
I force a smile and a small laugh, and shrug a shoulder. I watch her scan the mirror, presumably watching the people gathered in the booths behind us. I almost ask what she thinks of this town, but something about the introspective look on her face stops me. I’m sure I can already guess.
She shakes her head, so slight I doubt she realizes she does it. She says, “You read Lovecraft?”
Damn. What do I say here? Actually, we were born around the same time. No.
“We spend a lot of time on the road,” I say vaguely with a hope that it’ll be enough in the way of explanation.
“What a dream you are,” she says with a wry little smile that makes my gut twist.
“The Nameless” will be available through Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats August 1, 2023.
I take a long drag off a cigarette I don’t even taste anymore as I stare up at the bar’s sign. I’m not impressed and I hope my bandmates can tell. We rolled into town mid-afternoon but our gig isn’t until tomorrow night. I’ve already had plenty of time to get the impression that, despite the university here, this place is overwhelmingly the bad part of town.
This little street has a weird feel. There’s a fog clinging to the asphalt. It’s the middle of January, almost 10 pm, and my black hoodie and knit beanie are a little too warm. Fucking river towns, man.
“Could you seriously smoke any slower?” Lucky says with a whole lotta whine. He’s practically buzzing. He needs to expend some energy. Long hours cooped up in the van are hard on him. That’s not a space big enough to contain him. I hate that tone and he knows it.
“Fuck off. Why are you waiting on me? Go inside,” I spit. I’m aware that I’m snapping at him and I don’t give a shit. All the driving gets to me, too.
Lucky’s rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels then back again, and he’s watching me sideways. He shoves his hands in his baggy pants pockets and says, “And leave you out here alone in a strange town? Not ever.”
There’s no whine in his tone now. I was expecting him to be an ass, so his gravity hits me like a physical blow from a blind spot. The muscles in my jaw clench. My eyes narrow in his direction. I flick the cigarette at the sidewalk and sigh the word, “Fine.”
The very corner of his lips twerks upward. There’s not much light out here, but I swear there’s a gleam in his pale blue eyes. It doesn’t help that his white-blond curls are coming to life in this creepy humidity and are doing their damnedest to escape the messy knot on the top of his head. He looks like an imp.
I glance past him to Johnny. His expression is the same flat, disinterested set it usually is. He’s waiting for us. That’s also a normal state for him. He catches the eye contact, though, and shrugs.
“Lead the way, princess,” I say.
Lucky scowls but he’s already moving forward, reaching for the door handle. Just before he crosses the threshold he says, “Lighten up, Chance. We might as well make the best of it.”
Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.
Inside is warm and dimly lit. There’s a lot of hardwood, some built-in booths along the right wall and the bar along most of the left wall. There are maybe twenty people here, but the place is so small it feels like a comfortable crowd. Motley Crue is playing on the house system and I try not to cringe.
All bars are more or less the same, especially in moderate-sized towns like this one, which is situated right about the Mason-Dixon Line. The first thing I do is check the demographic to see if we might have problems because our bassist’s skin is the same color as midnight on a new moon. The crowd in general is pretty white and openly watching us, but no one seems instantly offended, mostly just curious. And wary. That’s fair.
If a hundred years have taught me anything, I know that Lucky has zeroed in on the bartender. The charm is on and, if the atmosphere is friendly, said bartender is about to have a really good night. If we’re together, everyone around us will have good fortune. That’s our curse.
The Nameless will be available August 1st, 2023 on Amazon. Paperback and Kindle format will be available.
Cover reveal is fast approaching, although maybe not fast enough for my excited impatience to share this story with the world. So I’ve decided to share another little glimpse of my upcoming novel release with you. I mentioned in my last post that of the twins, Chance often is the one who exudes big brother energy. I think that sentiment comes through in what I’m sharing here. I adore both boys as characters. Writing Chance was a different kind of challenge. He’s a thinker, methodical, and not afraid to take the lead. This selection is his POV. Enjoy!
Chance
My frustration comes out as a sigh. The temperature is still dropping outside. Night will fall soon. Even with the van running and the heat going, it won’t contend with freezing and we would run out of gas before dawn. I make another executive decision.
As I reach for the door handle, I feel Becka’s hand on my forearm. When I meet her eyes, she has that searching look. I think it’s sanity she wants, but I don’t know how much of that I can offer.
“Is this also fairy magic?” she asks quietly, gesturing vaguely out the window.
The question hits me in the chest like she punched me so that, for a moment, I just stare. I glance at the bundle that is my brother and say, “I hope not. I’m gonna get us a room.”
I hope not, but I think so.
I go through the motions in a daze. I pay the clerk in cash. One room, two beds, smoking. It’s on the ground floor, the woman informs me. She’s probably in her forties, overweight, bottle blonde. She isn’t very friendly about the whole thing. I get it. Eventually, she’ll have to try to go home in this impromptu blizzard or be stranded at work. I guess I’m not being friendly either. She passes me two key cards.
I slowly pull the van around the parking lot, squinting through the snow to see the numbers on the doors until I find our room. The tires slide a little when I hit the brakes, but I manage to get us parked. I hand one key to Johnny and pocket the other.
As Johnny and Becka start unloading some stuff, I climb into the back seat beside Lucky. When I say his name he doesn’t stir. I gently pull the blanket back some and press my fingers against his cheek. I bite down on the curse that tries to come out. Despite being snuggled inside his hoodie and a blanket for over an hour, his skin is cold to the touch.
“What have you done?” I mutter, shaking him by the shoulders.
The Nameless will be available August 1, 2023 in paperback and for Kindle.
Cover reveal is still a couple weeks away, but I’m feeling quite excited to start sharing my upcoming release with everyone. That’s why I’m going to go ahead and put up a little excerpt here today. Let me start by saying The Nameless is a dual-POV, first-person narrative following the twins, Chance and Lucky. The story is my first true foray into Urban Fantasy, as well as my first time focusing entirely on the Fae as the fantasy element. Boy, I was not prepared when I began this journey. This book had me cursing fairies and their slow-burn head games every few pages. The thing about writing tricky characters is you have to put your own head into their space. I didn’t know I had it in me.
Something else that was really important to me when writing this book, and as I work on its sequel, is capturing the musician life properly. The main characters are in a band and I wanted it to feel that way. They’re not a hugely popular band with millions of followers. They’re a DIY punk band who basically lives in their tour van. I am a huge fan of music, especially live music, so it means a lot to me to portray that life, from their gear to traveling between shows to showering at truck stops. It was a little challenging and definitely fun to do so.
This leads to me to the first full excerpt ever shared from this book. It’s a little glimpse of something anyone who has been to live punk, metal, and rock shows understands. Community. Plenty of people will look at a mosh pit and see violence, but a pit isn’t about that. It’s about expression and experiencing the music, something you do with a bunch of strangers yet something you all understand together. Please enjoy this little glimpse of my upcoming release, The Nameless.
Chance
My body moves without my brain. Next thing I know, I’m cutting through the backstage area. Security is pretty lax toward band members and nobody tries to stop me when I slip into the space between the stage and the crowd. I’m vaguely aware of a couple guys crying out excitedly when they see me, probably people who just saw us play. I ignore them as I vault the barricade and throw myself into the mosh pit.
They welcome me like no other group of people could so that, for a little while, everything fades but the bodies crashing together. All the pain and anger channel into my momentum. I’m not thinking or feeling. At some point, I careen off a body much larger than mine and go sprawling to the ground. In the same breath, a hand wraps around my arm and pulls me up.
When the song ends I’m sucking in air like I’ll never get enough. Sweat is streaming down my entire body. My muscles are tired and I feel much better.
Someone pats me on the shoulder and yells something about our set over the cheering crowd. I can’t understand him but the camaraderie is nice. I barely have time to catch my breath before the next song starts. I launch myself at the closest person and the circle closes around me.
“Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.
Chance is the drummer in a three-piece punk band. His twin brother, Lucky, plays the guitar. It’s their latest in a long line of occupations. The names aren’t their real ones. They lost those over a century ago when they tried to trick a fairy and ended up cursed by a Fae queen. They haven’t seen her since.
When the twins happen to meet a woman who seems strangely familiar, things start to change. A life that has been curiously void of Otherworldly forces suddenly becomes crowded by them, and the twins find themselves woven into Court drama they don’t understand.”
“The Nameless” will be available August 2023. Stay tuned for more posts about this upcoming release, including excerpts, playlist, character spotlights, and – of course – the cover reveal! I’m extremely excited about sharing this book with the world. Please join me on my journey!
Big thanks to Derrick Hairston for the art included in this post. Follow him on Instagram for tons of badass original art @homebrewhairston.
Hello friends! Wow, so it’s already summer and I’ve been much too quiet lately as far as updates go. That does not mean I’ve been idle. I’m currently organizing for my next release, which is extremely exciting for me. I don’t quite have a release date pinned down, but know that I’m very close. It should be within a couple months from now.
This story is very dear to my heart. The characters are deep and intricate, the story itself is dark and twisty, and the Fae (yes, you read right) deliver an appropriate slow-burn dose of head games. This is a story of subtlety and nuance set to the tune of punk rock.
I’m not quite to the title reveal just yet, but I’m so excited I’m going to share the blurb with you today! This is also an official call-to-arms for anyone who is interested in helping me with anything release related, ARCs, sharing, brainstorming, any of that fun stuff. Okay, so on with it, right? Right.
“Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.
Chance is the drummer in a three-piece punk band. His twin brother, Lucky, plays the guitar. It’s their latest in a long line of occupations. The names aren’t their real ones. They lost those over a century ago when they tried to trick a fairy and ended up cursed by a Fae queen. They haven’t seen her since.
Chance has loved and lost over the years. He’s tired of living forever, worn out by an endless existence. He’s not like his brother, the firecracker who can turn the tide to his advantage in any situation. When the twins happen to meet a woman who seems strangely familiar, things start to change. A life that has been curiously void of Otherworldly forces suddenly becomes crowded by them, and the twins find themselves woven into Court drama they don’t understand.”
Hello all. Once again it has been forever since I’ve posted here so I thought I’d share a little bit of a story I’ve been getting ideas for lately. It comes from a novella series I’ve decided to revamp and give another try. I’ve actually started releasing the first novella, “Dirty Synth”, on Kindle Vella but, if I’m honest, it hasn’t gotten that much attention and I’m not entirely sure I like the format.
Anyway, now for a quick overview of the world and general story. The setting is post-apocalyptic fantasy. Eighty years ago, all hell broke loose. Literally. When the rift was torn wide open between Hell and the material plane, a demon horde ravaged the planet. When the rift closed it left the demons trapped above world. The remaining races have since made shaky peace with one another to coexist on what little of the world can support life. Everyone except the demons. Hell blood threatens to destroy the rest of society as the throne fights to save it.
The idea behind making the series novellas is to tell it from different characters’ POVs. The shorter pieces allows for more characters to speak and expand the world and setting. I also thought it would be fun to take votes from readers on who they would like to hear from. Maybe some day if the project ever gets enough attention. If it doesn’t, I’ll still have fun writing it. Just a heads up these novellas are also NSFW though this particular excerpt is.
The second novella is told from Niko’s perspective, who you meet in the first story. Since no one has read it, I’ll give a short intro to the character. He’s an elf and demon half breed, a product of the fall that ravaged the planet, and an exile from the elven nation because of his dirty blood. He used to work for the demon-run mob but currently works for the throne as an informant and, if need be, assassin.
With all that having been said, I make this disclaimer. These words have not been through an editor. They are raw and fresh. I do hope you enjoy my boy as much as I do. Cheers!
From “The Night With No Relief”:
I came to with a jerk and a groan, except my body didn’t move. It did hurt a lot, though. My head was instantly pounding. My mouth was dry, and when I pulled my eyelids back the light shot a lance of pain through my temples. That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone.
Another twitch that would’ve put me on the defensive instead made me realize I was bound. A glance downward told me it was chain. I was in an upright position, sitting, and apparently not going anywhere any time soon. Then I remembered how I got here.
I felt my eyes get wider despite my instinct to play it cool. They also lifted to really take in the figure standing several feet in front of me. My heart took a long fall to the pit of my stomach. This was bad. Maybe even the end for me.
He was more wild than I had ever seen him. His silvery, silky hair that used to brush his ribs was done in a shaggy and jagged cut that fell across his impossibly dark-blue eyes. Those eyes used to remind me of a nighttime sky with no stars. They were hard to forget though now the whites of them were bloodshot.
He was wearing a loose-fitting black jacket that draped around his slender shoulders, the zipper undone so the jacket was dangerously close to sliding off of him. A black chain hung around his neck bearing a large arcane symbol with a red jewel in it. It rested against a white shirt that had fresh red smears on it.
I almost wouldn’t recognize him if it weren’t for the faintly-glowing familial tattoos that rimmed beneath each eye in silver. There were metal plugs in the bottoms of his long tapered ears and multiple hoops through the pointed tips of them. He looked like some kid who just wandered out of the club I guessed was now above us by the faint thumping of the music. His face was the same ageless smooth it always had been but now there was a gleam of madness in his regard. Maybe a lifetime’s worth of infernal influence would do that to any psyche, but he seemed to have taken to it.
He was staring at me in a way that made me wonder if he even remembered me. He was standing utterly still, rolling a joint between his thumb and forefinger like maybe he had forgotten he was holding it. One end was lit. The smoke drifted between us. I knew the smell right away. Elven Redleaf, good shit by the potency of the tang in the air. It wasn’t a drug that could be safely consumed by the general population, anyone who didn’t have elf blood. The problem was I did.
My muscles relaxed in a wave. I couldn’t help it. The smoke filled my nostrils and I couldn’t move to stop it. All I could do now was hope I had enough concentration to keep my head straight and enough constitution to resist the rising tide of pleasure that I knew would be coming any time.
This time when the joint moved against his fingers it was captivating. He lifted the thing to his lips with a patience only old elves could achieve, so unhurried and deliberate it threatened my own madness. The way the smoke rolled into then out of him was a force of nature. The cloud hit me in the face in slow motion.
For the elves across the Southern border, the ones who turned me out as a child, Redleaf was a contemplative trancing substance. For me, it silenced the hell blood that was always at war for my self-control. It drew out a side I hadn’t found anywhere else but him because he was the only elf I had ever known after my exile.
A’Meko, my old boss. More than just a boss. He taught me damn near everything, got me set up in the ranks of the demon overlords I eventually betrayed. He was the biggest enigma I had ever met. He didn’t leave the elves because he had to. He did it because he wanted to and he fell in naturally with the hell bloods. He never would tell me why they accepted him so fully, but he was basically family when it came to the big three who ran the entire underworld.
“Where’s your dog?”
I thought I sounded pretty convincingly unconcerned that I was bound to a chair by enough chain to stop an army, staring down the man I did dirty, and his right-hand man who was never far away didn’t seem to be here. I thought I was doing a great job pretending I wasn’t still panicking even through the ebbing euphoria that threatened the edges of my composure. The lines in my vision were starting to blur.
The question didn’t even come out as bitter as it could have considering he took Go’Ren as his student even before I left. A’Meko’s decision to do so had always rubbed me raw because Go’Ren was arguably more exotic than I was. Shifters were about as common as demon-elf mixes, and he was a fox. I never did like to be outshone.
A’Meko didn’t answer. He just crossed one arm across his chest and cradled the elbow of his smoking hand. The smoke curled around his delicately featured face and, though his expression didn’t change at all, there was a quiet menace in his attention. I damn well knew there was no mercy behind that impassive expression.
It was my own fault I was going to die in that room. I got sloppy, wandered into enemy territory with a confidence that I wouldn’t come face to face with one of the bosses, secure in my old knowledge of how they operated. And I was wrong. So wrong.
I could hear my heart beating in my ears. The Readleaf was in my bloodstream and it seemed to make my pulse hammer in time with the music that now felt like it was pressing against me like a tangible shadow. The room was hot suddenly, impossibly so. Sweat immediately rose to my surface and made my black button-up stifling. Right, how could I forget that A’Meko effortlessly wielded heat and light magic? Maybe because magic was so rare it was easy to forget it even existed. Ironically, he was also one of the few who could use healing magic, but I had only ever seen him to do it to extend the suffering of someone by his hands.
A’Meko took a languid step toward me that had all my other trigger responses failing in the face of the fear that took over. He did it as slowly as he did everything else, unbothered by the rest of the world’s definition of urgency. He simply wouldn’t be rushed. I used to find the trait fascinating and even enviable. It wasn’t a state I could achieve for the impetuous nature of my demon half. Just now, I didn’t find it anything but terrifying.
It felt like a year watching him approach me, like time just distended and broke around him. Even though he had fully embraced Hell his movements were still the pure grace of the elven race. It was a stark contrast to the brute force of demons and it was almost enough to distract me from the way my breaths were speeding up.
The Redleaf had a firm hold by then. I felt like I was floating above the floor. The chains and the pain felt far away. The fear became a distant cloud in my chest. Everything looked fuzzy except for him as he stopped just inches away from me and looked down. It was another eternity before he spoke.
“How many of my ranks have you killed, Niko?”
It took me a moment to realize he was speaking Elvish to me. The cadence and the slow perfectly-pronounced syllables sounded like a song that nearly lulled me into a trance that would usually have been impossible for me to enter. The moment prodded at memories that had been locked down for years, quiet moments spent with A’Meko, smoke listing between us just like now, with him guiding me in meditation the likes of which I had never known.
I shook my head to try to clear it some. It wouldn’t help. The hand holding the joint was too close to my face and I couldn’t help but breathe in more smoke. I would face down any one of the big three no problem but there was something inherently different when it was an elf with endless patience and no qualms with making someone suffer.
Then it occurred to me that he asked me a question. He didn’t really expect me to answer that, did he? Like I had a concrete number anyway.
He lifted the joint to his lips and took a long draw without taking his eyes off of me. If I could move I’d have been squirming under his scrutiny. He blew his smoke at the ceiling this time, not that it mattered, I was already high.
Then he said, “You have managed to do so with a ruthlessness and efficiency that impresses me. You’ve applied everything I taught you with great efficiency. However, in the end, you have become a rat, lesser than all the trash that populates this city, and for a throne that would put you down as quickly as any wounded animal. You have become my greatest disappointment. And you have served yourself to me so readily.”
He reached down with his free hand and tilted my chin up with the gentlest touch. My nerves turned to static at the contact and coherent thought went skittering into chaos. My breath was hanging painfully in my chest. His fingers were so hot they scalded my skin. The steady way he met my gaze told me there would be no taking this gracefully.
“Si’Krey suggested making you the next feature upstairs, and while I quite like that idea, the public shame to go along with the torture, this is a rather more personal matter that I choose to handle myself. The bare truth here is that you betrayed me after I gave you the world.”
The Redleaf had disconnected the speech center of my brain by then, but it also gave me an insight I could’ve done without. By engaging my deep elven center of awareness he had assured that I would see my own pain from new heights. It would be a brand new level of agony.
The realization, the very real fear, all of it must have been plain to read in my eyes because he made a tiny smile, glaring in its modesty, that gave me chills despite the heat that radiated from him. I knew one thing for certain, none of the demons, not even the three bosses could rival A’Meko’s zest for cruelty and knack for exacting it at an excruciating pace. I was about to have a very bad time.
I recently had the opportunity to join my old friend and fellow writer, Terry Bartley, on his podcast, Most Writers Are Fans. We go way back to our college days when we were part of our public radio station. We were two of the original members of a show called Snobrock Live where we would interview local bands live.
I had an absolute blast talking about indie publishing, genres, and our journeys as writers. Huge thanks to him for having me on the show. Give it a listen!
Maybe it’s the way Fall has finally found us here in Florida or just me being sentimental but I’m feeling a little nostalgic. Right in the middle of writing a chapter for a certain sequel I find myself thinking about the Cadillac Payback crew. Though I have no intentions of writing in that world anymore I still think about those characters sometimes. Any of the few souls out there who have read the Caddy books can tell you those characters are nothing short of tragic. Any writer out there who has began a story with a dead brother can also tell you that as you build a character from the hearts and minds of those who knew him, as you get to know him, you grow to love him. So today I’ve decided to share a little glimpse of history I wrote some time around the release of Rising Tide. If you’ve read the story, you’ll recognize this as the moment Frederick joined the crew. This piece has been living in a notebook all this time. I hadn’t even typed it up until today. For some reason it feels right to share it now.
If you decide you like the tone and style of this piece, the Cadillac Payback books are still available on Amazon, for Kindle and KindleUnlimited, and also in paperback.
In what seems like a flash, there’s a chrome piece pointed in my face. It takes every ounce of my resolve not to reach for my Glock. I’ve been outdrawn by one of the rare people I don’t want to fuck with, someone on my level. The kicker is that I didn’t see him coming.
His finger is indexed so I know he’s in control of his emotions, but there’s murder in his eyes. I haven’t seen him in a long time and it’s clear that time has done little to heal the burn of getting shut down by the Feds. That’s fair. I can actually relate.
“You know it wasn’t my fault,” I say quietly, my tone flat and, with effort, not menacing.
Everyone knows it was Derrik who fucked up. That doesn’t seem to matter to Charlie just now. Again, I get it. For once I’m not here to fight. If anything is true, it’s that. I’m not stupid. The thing is neither is Maria. She had to guess this would be Charlie’s reaction to seeing me. I did.
He is someone ranked enough that he used to deal directly with Gram, someone ranked higher than I was, if not by much. Still, Charlie’s reputation as ruthless and cunning is well-earned. If I’m completely honest, he’s someone I actually respect in a world where few such people exist. Not that any of that matters in this moment. My hope here is that he’s catching the significance of the fact that I haven’t even tried to draw.
Movement to my right catches both our attention though we don’t look away from each other. In the next three seconds, Maria is standing in front of me, facing her brother. He immediately lowers his gun.
I have no doubt he recognizes the pang of fear that rises in me when she steps into his sights. I don’t quite stop my eyes from widening and, like me, he doesn’t miss anything. I see the exact same reaction in him.
He doesn’t speak at first, but his head leans to the side. I can’t see Maria’s face. I can see that she doesn’t relax her defensive stance. I shake my head a fraction to the left then right in hopes that he’ll interpret correctly that I don’t mean to start trouble.
“Que estas haciendo?” Charlie asks in a tone that rides the line between a growl and a whisper. I know by the Spanish that he’s not talking to me. The language rolls from his lips with perfect inflection. It comes less natural for me, but I do understand.
“He’s with me,” she says defiantly.
I can understand why it would never occur to her to fear him, but it’s still unsettling to hear her speak to him that way. I have to wonder if she really knows how dangerous he is.
His eyes haven’t left me. I swear the emotion in his glare slides from rage to calculation. I’m not the type for peaceful gestures, but that might be the thing that makes or breaks the tension. I lift my open hands to shoulder height and shrug slightly. His eyes narrow and, finally, he looks away from me to his sister.
“You’re hanging out with Reapers now?” he asks, his tone a mixture of incredulous and admonishing.
Her hand lands on her hip and her head cocks to the side. She says, “You know damn well he isn’t with them anymore.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Charlie says. The lines of his arm have softened some but his gun is still in both hands.
“It changes everything, actually,” I say in a forcibly even tone.
My hands have fallen back to my sides. I lift my eyebrows the tiniest bit. I won’t walk into his territory and start shit, but I will defend myself. I have that right. Charlie’s shrewd gaze rolls back to me, searching. I’ll be damned but I do believe he’ll read my sincerity in my eyes before he’ll ever trust my words. It’s a strange thing for me, but I leave myself unguarded.
I never meant to get tangled up with Maria. I actually tried to avoid it, but once her sights were on me, I didn’t stand a chance. The truth I don’t like to admit is that I enjoy being around her in a way I can’t say for anyone else I’ve ever met. Now that I know that feeling, I don’t want to lose it. The only way not to is to find some shade of acceptance from her brother. He won’t tolerate my presence otherwise, and if he believes I’m enough of a threat, I’ll be left with little options. Get the fuck out of town, let him kill me, or kill him first. I don’t much like any of those choices.
“For someone like you to have no loyalties is more dangerous and suspicious than you being a product of the Jester,” Charlie says.
Someone like me. Yeah, he’s not the only one who one-hundred percent earned his reputation. I don’t miss that low blow of him throwing in my past, but I refuse to be provoked. I could be wrong, but I believe he’s testing me. I guess I should expect as much, but it’s still unusual to talk to another man who isn’t intimidated by me. I know he’s older and, admittedly, more experienced. I’ve scared the shit out of those types before. Not Charlie. He’s unshakable.
The only way I’ll ever be on the other side of his gun is if I’m completely real. So I say, “Loyalties can change. Dead men can’t. I lost a crew because of him.”
Maria half-turns to look at me. Instinct…and desire…say to meet her eyes. Training says not to break the connection with her brother, who is still closely watching me. Emotion flickers in his eyes, something I want to call pain, but it doesn’t come through in his expression and he buries it quickly. Have my words found a mark beyond his emotional armor? I’m not the only one who lost a crew.
Fucking finally he holsters his pistol. The gesture reclaims Maria’s attention and, in my periphery, I see her shoulders relax. That tiny reaction is enough to tell me that she wasn’t sure if Charlie could be convinced that I’m not a rat.
He reaches one long arm forward. When his fingers hook around Maria’s upper arm and he pushes her out of the way, I expect her to resist. She doesn’t. She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but he steps forward into my space and her mouth closes without a word.
My body goes rigid, a reaction I can’t quell with any amount of resolve. He’s taller than I am, enough that I have to look up to maintain eye contact. Other than that, I don’t move. I’m afraid if I do instinct will have me undoing what progress I’ve made by taking a swing. I understand he needs to assert his dominance in the situation, I’m just not used to restraining myself when it comes to fighting. He’s close enough that I can smell cigarette smoke on him.
“So you think you want to fuck with my sister?” he asks. His voice is low, a quiet assurance of the violence that lies beneath the surface.
It’s my turn for my eyes to narrow. He’s trying to rile me. I’m determined that it’s not going to work. I say, “I’ve never had any friends.”
I hear her breath catch, but there’s no way in hell I’ll look away now. For a moment suspended in time, we’re both utterly still. Then he steps back and looks from me to Maria. I’m silently seething, still afraid to move.
They don’t say anything. They just stare at each other. I can tell from the dynamic between them that they don’t need words. Maria is not the brazen woman she was with him just minutes ago, but she doesn’t exactly back down from him either. My brain wants me to look at her, but something compels me to keep watching him.
There’s a warning that comes across loud and clear in everything about him – his tensed-up stance, the tightness in his jaw, the way he slightly flexes the fingers of his gun hand. I believe he has decided to trust her in regards to me, but without a word he’s letting her know that if she’s wrong about me, there’ll be hell to pay that he won’t necessarily be able to protect her from. He’s right.
The anger at his ballsy confrontation fades quicker than I expect. My thoughts reel at that single realization. He’s doing what he should as a leader. He’s watching out for his sister, but also the rest of his people and his grandmother’s operation. It’s his job to screen the people who get close to the heart of his territory and he’s damn well justified in not trusting me.
I expected trouble when he realized I was with her. I sure didn’t think I’d find someone so relatable in him. I sure as hell didn’t think he would validate the vague respect I regarded him with from afar. When he turns away and joins Isaiah, who’s looking at Charlie like he can’t believe what he’s seeing either, the breath I’ve been holding goes with him.
When I finally slide my eyes sideways toward Maria, she’s not looking at me. She’s watching Charlie quietly talking with his crew. I know without a doubt that he’s her world. I could never compete with that and I don’t even want to. There’s a feeling between them that I don’t really understand. Love.
Beneath his steel exterior, Charlie cares about his people. It’s almost enough to turn me out the door. I could never fit in with people like this. Then Maria meets my gaze because, damn it, I’m still looking at her, and she smirks like she won something. She has to know better, but I can’t read past the mask of confidence. She’s good. She learned everything from him.
Aj Elmore, Author 