Jamie DeBree's Blog, page 64
April 8, 2011
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 61
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57|Ch. 58|Ch. 59|Ch. 60
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 61
Monica stretched and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand as she stepped off the bus in Salt Lake City. When she'd bought the ticket, she'd been dismayed that there was no direct route to Las Vegas, and that the one-way trip would take up to twenty hours. She needed to transfer to a different bus, but as she made her way across the dimly lit terminal, a sign on a large bulletin board caught her eye. It was an FBI "Wanted" poster, with the address of a local field office listed on the bottom. Thinking for a moment, she tried to remember if Burns had any connections in Utah, but couldn't think of any that she knew of. The chances were probably just as likely as Vegas, and if she could just hole up somewhere for the rest of the night, she could be at the office first thing in the morning.
The decision made, she punched the address into her cell phone, and brought up directions for how to get there. Of course it would be all the way across the city. She glanced at the time - ten o'clock. All the rental places would be closed by now, which left her either on foot, or in a cab. Easy choice.
Shifting her bag to the other hand, she walked out to the curb, giving several transient-looking people a wide berth. She walked half-a-block down and looked both ways, surprised not to see cabs lined up along the curb. Apparently bus travelers weren't big enough business to warrant a presence. Noting more traffic at one of the cross streets ahead, she hiked up to the corner and looked around, watching at least two cabs go by. When the next one came by, she held up a hand, grateful when it pulled to the curb.
"257 East 200 South please," she said as she got in the back seat. The driver, a man who appeared to be in his late forties frowned over the seat at her.
"Nothing's open over there this time of night. You sure you got the right address?"
She nodded. "I'm sure. Thank you."
He shook his head and faced forward again, muttering something under his breath as he pulled away from the curb. She looked out the window as they drove, wondering where Harley was now. Hopefully he'd gotten to the doctor in time, and was somewhere safe to heal. Tears pricked her eyes as she pushed the other options out of her mind. He had to be okay. She couldn't stand to think that something might have happened to him.
Pulling out her phone, she dialed Harley's number. It was risky, she knew, but she just wanted to know he was okay. To hear his voice again. Holding the phone to her ear, she waited as it rang back at her, twice before his voicemail picked up. She left a quick but vague message and hung up. Just in case.
Stifling a yawn, she laid her head back on the seat. Maybe she'd just take a quick nap to refresh herself. Her eyes drifted shut and just as she felt herself dosing off, the car lurched forward, tossing her forward into the plexiglass window. Her head bounced off the thick plastic and she fell back on the seat, dazed as the car came to an abrupt stop. Enjoy this installment? Try Desert Heat, available now at:
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April 6, 2011
Guest Post: The "R" Word by India Drummond
My debut novel, Ordinary Angels, is a paranormal romance.
Ugh.
I hate the "R" word—Romance. I didn't even start reading romance novels until about five years ago, mostly because of my feelings about the word.
Worse yet? It isn't the word I hate, but romance itself. Yes, I hate the cards, the flowers, the chocolates, the expensive perfume in curvy bottles. I never remember anniversaries. I'd rather be dragged behind a truck than celebrate Valentine's Day. And I always resented that just because I have a jayjay instead of a wang, I'm supposed to enjoy these things.
A male friend of mine was lamenting a break-up. His girlfriend, he said, didn't appreciate him. He considered himself a die-hard romantic. Every year he tried to outdo himself on February 14th. The most recent holiday had been their undoing. He'd put on lilting music, bought a black sequined thong (he was planning a strip-tease), ordered dinner to be delivered from her favourite restaurant. He artfully placed dozens of candles around their apartment. He took the day off work to set everything up, including spreading fresh rose petals all over the floor, from entryway to living room couch to the bedroom, with a generous amount spread all over the bed.
He took delight in detailing his efforts. My response? "God, what a mess. I hope you didn't expect her to clean that up." He looked at me with hurt and confusion. "You know, that's exactly what she said when she walked through the door!"
When I think of romance, I think of mating dances—peacock's plumage or apes banging their chests, trying to prove they're the prettiest, strongest, healthiest mate. Showing off. Why would I want to read a book about that? The candy and flowers? It seems so fake.
Then one day a friend shoved a book into my hand. I asked, "What is this?" She grinned. "Just read it. You'll love it."
I devoured it in about five hours on a rainy afternoon. It had action, adventure, magic, and hot, steamy sex. I loved it. I went online to buy every book in the series as fast as I could. And what did I discover? It was a ROMANCE novel! I felt so cheated! But but but… it was good. How could this be?
I read that series and then went to romance websites and forums to get recommendations. I asked my friend what else she'd been hiding from me. I read the "classics" of fantasy romance and then branched out to read mid-list and unknowns.
Because what I hadn't understood was that the hook in a romance isn't seduction (a concept I hate nearly as much as "romance"—it implies one party is either unwilling or uninterested), a romance, at its heart, is about falling in love.
Everyone wants to fall in love, to feel their hearts pound, to be distracted and obsessed. Teenagers dream about it; old married folks remember it wistfully. Every time a person falls in love, it's magic. If the object of our affection doesn't return the sentiment, it's pure agony. But if they do? The world is a beautiful place, just because they're in it.
And now I write romance. To be honest, I wrote it all along, I just didn't call it that. The first book I wrote (still unpublished, although I may rewrite it and publish it someday) was an epic fantasy, but I included a strong subplot (frankly my favourite part of the book) about two characters who felt that spark of attraction, even though they couldn't act on it. At first I even hesitated to call Ordinary Angels a romance because I have so much trouble with that word. But it is. Beyond the adventure, the peril, the murder and drama, the ghosts and angels and necromancers, it is, at its heart, a falling-in-love book. Two people from different worlds meet and despite their differences, connect. Holding on to that connection proves a challenge when circumstances cause them to question each other, but it's a thread every person who's fallen in love can identify with.
I might not have gotten over my aversion to the word, but every time I pick up a romance novel, I remember the first time, those first stolen kisses, the beautiful agony of wondering…waiting. I now embrace the genre wholeheartedly, even though I haven't changed my mind about rose petals on the carpet.
Question for you: Have you always been a romance reader, or did you discover it later, as I did?
India knew from age nine that writing would be her passion. Since then she's discovered many more, but none quite so fulfilling as creating a world, a character, or a moment and watching them evolve into something complex and compelling. She has lived in three countries and four American states, is a dual British and American citizen, and currently lives at the base of the Scottish Highlands in a village so small its main attraction is a red phone box. In other words: paradise.
The supernatural and paranormal have always fascinated India. In addition to being an avid sci-fi and fantasy reader, she also enjoys mysteries, thrillers, and romance. This probably explains why her novels have elements of adventure, ghosts (or elves, fairies, angels, aliens, and whatever else she can dream up), and spicy love stories.
Author website and blog: http://www.indiadrummond.com/
Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/india.drummond.author
Twitter: http://twitter.com/IndiaDrummond
Free Excerpt
Ordinary Angels is available at: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble
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April 5, 2011
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 60
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57|Ch. 58|Ch. 59
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 60
The next time Harley opened his eyes, he was in one of the small patient rooms at the clinic. Shifting slightly, he winced at the pain in his side. Lifting the blanket, he felt a bandage under the thin gown covering his side where Ben must have stitched him up.
"He's awake."
Harley dropped the blanket back in place and looked at the man sitting just inside his door. "I take it you're the warden," he said, pressing a button on the side of his bed to raise himself to a sitting position. It hurt more than he thought it would, and he cringed again as the door opened and Burns walked in, Ben trailing behind.
"Well, well," Burns said, walking right up to the bed. "So it was you under all that makeup. And I suppose that was Monica with you earlier. I should have known." He leaned over the bed rail as Ben came around to the other side. "Where is my daughter, by the way? I thought I asked you to look after her. I have to say, you're doing a piss-poor job, son."
Harley groaned as the heel of Burns's hand pressed into his wounded side. Ben reached for Burns, then stopped as one of the guards released the safety on a gun pointed at his head. Burns rocked back, taking the pressure with him and Harley gulped for air as he fought the pain. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and it was all he could do to stay still.
"I haven't got all day," Burns said, holding his hand out again.
Harley lifted his hands in mock surrender. "She left," he said, coughing lightly. "I don't know where she went, but she's not coming back. Ever." In that moment, he wished it was true. She shouldn't come back to face this, it was too dangerous. He should have sent her farther away. Looking Burns in the eye, he steeled himself for the pain he knew was coming. "If it's the evidence you want, you're out of luck. I mailed it to the FBI in DC. I bet they'll come looking for you before the weekend comes. And Monica will be far, far away. You lose, Burns."
The attack he was expecting never came. Instead, Burns just stood back and clapped, smiling. "Well done," he said, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. "I was hoping you wouldn't give up too easily. But her intentions are irrelevant." He touched the screen a few times, then held the device out for Harley to see. "The first time she ran off, my men had to drug her to bring her back. I had a microchip implanted in her shoulder in case it ever happened again. As you can see, it was a worthwhile investment."
Harley watched a red dot move along a map on the small screen, everything falling into place. Monica had said they always found her, no matter how careful she was. A blue dot appeared at the bottom of the screen, following the same route, and Harley gripping the railing tightly as the dots grew closer together.
"You son of a bitch."
Burns turned the phone to look, and nodded. "That will be Doug," he said, looking back up at Harley. "I must admit, while this little game was fun at first, I've grown weary of chasing my daughter all over the country. It's expensive. Since she refuses to abide by my wishes, my only option is to punish her in a way that will ensure her future obedience." He put the phone in his pocket and walked to the door, pausing just outside.
"I'll let you know when she gets back. I'm sure she'll want to say goodbye."
After he closed the door, Harley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to be ready when Monica got back. No way was that monster going to get away with whatever he had planned. When he his eyes, Ben was still at his side. He passed him a couple pills and a glass of water, and then Harley felt him slip something small and metal under the blanket near his thigh. Harley handed him the empty glass, and nodded as Ben took it and left the room.
Enjoy this installment? Try Desert Heat, available now at:
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Diesel
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April 4, 2011
Weekly News & Goals 4/4/11
now a "sadistic wench" and an "evil genius". I wear the
titles with pride, of course – and I can say with certainty that killing off
the main characters in a romance novel is not going to go over well with
readers. It was a pretty fun trick though...for me, anyways.
The newsletter is late this week, but will be out sometime
today. The weekend got away from me, unfortunately, but I'll be back on track
here soon.
Last week was the final one for the Sex on the Page series –
thanks to all of you who explored the subject matter with Carol Buchanan &
I. I know I learned a lot just writing my half of the posts, as well as
exploring Carol's take on the subject. I'll create a link index of all the
posts later this week, and post it for anyone who wants to go back and revisit
the series. Thursdays will be open days again starting this week – if anyone
would like to guest post, let me know. Otherwise there won't be a post on
Thursday, at least through the summer.
There are a couple of exciting new releases today, both from
Lyrical Press – Strand by Adam Slade (sci-fi), and Ordinary Angels by India Drummond (paranormal romance). Both authors are talented
storytellers, and I'd highly encourage you to check them out. As a bonus, India will be
stopping here on her blog tour Wednesday with a rather intriguing post on why
she hates the "R" word (romance). Do stop in and share your thoughts!
This Week at The Variety Pages
Tuesday: Ch. 60 of The Biker's Wench
Wednesday: The "R" Word – guest post by
India Drummond
Friday: Ch. 61 of The Biker's Wench
Saturday: Excerpt from Dragonfly Dreams by
Franki deMerle
Also on Friday – Dolly Garland is doing a series on editing
at her blog, and this Friday I'm guest posting there. Stop by if you have a
chance, and we'll talk editing.
Goal Reports
Last week was a great writing week – I started ahead, and
would have ended that way too if I hadn't stayed up way too late several nights
in a row. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good week for much of anything else, so
I'm playing catch-up this week.
Before I list this week's goals though – just a quick note
on this segment. You don't see me patting myself on the back much here because
that's not really the point. The goal reports and lists are an analytical
exercise for my mind – they help me step back, take an objective look at what's
going on, and what needs to be done, and create a plan for moving forward. This
doesn't mean I'm being "hard" on myself, or not giving myself credit
– believe me, my ego is very healthy and well-fed. But I do know what I'm
capable of, and these goals are a way to push myself a little farther, a little
harder than what I know I can do. They're *supposed* to be challenging – and please
realize that I never actually expect to reach all of them from week to week.
Just as many as I can.
Goals for the Week
Writing
- 6 serial scenes
- 2 crits
- Finish the TBW draft
Business
- Send out newsletter
- Update web site
- Start building FantasyRanchNovels.com
- Research ad space cost at major review sites
Personal
- 4 workouts
- 1 load laundry daily
- Taxes
- Loan application for home improvement projects this summer
- Update Goodreads
That's what I'm up to this week – I also am in dire need of
a reading binge, so I'm going to use that as my daily "carrot" – try to get
everything done early enough to have more than my normal allotment of reading
time. Because reading is fun.
Anyone want to share one of your goals for the week?
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April 2, 2011
On the Bookshelf: Expiation by Greg Messel
From Chapter 1
I'm picking up a woman at my mother's funeral because I think she looks hot in black.
Actually it is much, much more. Katie is my long-lost love. I had wondered if I would ever see her again. The way she looks now is beyond my most optimistic fantasy about how middle-age would descend on Katie. Her blonde hair is still blonde, but shorter, trimmed just below her jaw line. The Katie of my youth always had long blonde hair, which bounced freely in the carefree days of our love. Sometimes she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail which, because of her diminutive size, made her look about 13 years old when we were seniors in high school.
Her face was still beautiful, and her sparkling green eyes still looked the same as when I'd stared into them on Friday night dates or at the beach. There were more lines on her face but she actually looked better than ever. Speaking of lines on your face…is Katie sitting back there taking the same physical inventory of me that I'm taking of her?
Is she thinking, "Wow, what happened?" Is she thinking, "Someone has really had a hard life…or maybe he was in some kind of deforming car accident or fire." I hope I look anything close to as good as she looks. Do I look fat to her? Is she thinking—"I wonder what he has been doing for the past thirty years? Apparently eating!"
I was just over six feet tall and weighed about 170 pounds last time Katie saw me. I no longer weighed 170, but more like 200. My sandy-colored hair was now starting to be speckled with signs of gray.
I need to snap out of it and get back into my mother's funeral. I wonder why Katie came. Was it to see me? Or am I delusional and she was closer to my mother than I realized? Why did Katie choose this moment to reappear after all of these years? Does this mean she is still interested in me? Could it be? She appeared glad to see me. Who is that guy sitting by her? Is that her husband? Oh, no, I bet it is her husband. Maybe he came to kick my butt because of the way I treated his sweet wife.
Wait, what kind of guy comes to a funeral to beat up his wife's former boyfriend? Oh, no. I suddenly bent over with both hands covering my face. I then realized that the congregation must have thought I was suddenly overwhelmed with grief.
How could I be doing this to my sweet mother? When I removed my hands from my face, Diane gave me a sympathetic glance and wiped tears from her eyes with a Kleenex. Raymond leaned around Diane and frowned at me as if to say, "What the hell are you doing?"
I tried to put my funeral-face back on and get into the event at hand. Suddenly, as I pulled myself back into the moment and tried to forget about Katie for a minute, I heard "amen and amen" then organ music began. It was over. I don't remember a single thing about my own mother's funeral because I was obsessing about Katie. I'm so confused by the sudden unexpected intersection of two divergent events—my mother's funeral and the startling reappearance of my long lost Katie.
I felt sadness and extreme excitement all at once, which was short circuiting my ability to think rationally. Amid my complete disorientation I heard the clergyman say, "Will the congregation please rise." Whoa, it's time to leave. I had to find some way to secure Katie so she wouldn't suddenly disappear from the funeral and again from my life.
We began the slow march down the aisle to accompany my mother out of the church, to the hearse and then to her final resting place. If my mother is looking on these proceedings she must be rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She must be thinking, "Couldn't my Daniel give one hour to listen to my funeral? He didn't seem very sad that I'm gone."
"Diane and Raymond behaved with dignity but of course Daniel has to be the different one," she's telling my father as they are looking down on the final tribute.
My eyes met Katie's as I proceeded out of the church. As I walked by her I extended my hand and said, "Come with me." She took my hand and complied. The trio was now a foursome accompanying my mother's body out of the church. My brother and sister shot me puzzled glances and nodded to Katie. She smiled an uncomfortable smile and tried to not be noticed by the large crowd in the church. I held on to Katie's hand as we descended the church steps behind the six pallbearers who now lifted the coffin off the wheeled cart. It has been a long time since I've held Katie's hand. She's letting me do it. I turned and whispered, "Can you come to the cemetery with me?" She discreetly nodded.
How uncomfortable is this moment? I'm asking a woman, "Could you go with me to bury my mother and then we can go do something, okay? Get some coffee, grab something to eat." This is not at all how I pictured finding Katie again. It's not how I pictured behaving at my mother's funeral either. I panicked. I wasn't much of a church-goer but I am sure there were nice things said about my wonderful mother at her funeral. Too bad I was obsessing about the return of Katie and how I must find a way to not let her out of my sight again--maybe never again.
She followed me to the waiting limousine which would transport the family to the cemetery. Raymond, Diane, Katie and I were in the front limo. Their spouses and my mother's grandchildren followed in the second long, steel-gray limo. Raymond and Diane were trying to be polite and not cause a scene as they sat in the seat facing Katie and me. All I could think of to say was "You both remember Katie don't you?"
Available at: Amazon US | Barnes & Noble | Trafford Publishing
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April 1, 2011
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 59
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57|Ch. 58
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 59
He reached out to cup the side of her
face, wincing at the motion. "You're not running away. You'll be
back soon, and Burns will go to jail, and you can be free. Just like
you wanted." He tugged her forward and she went willingly, his
lips meeting hers for a quick, gentle kiss. "Go on now. I'll get
this stitched up back at the ranch. It will all work out, trust me."
She nodded, swiping at escaped tears as she caught her breath. "I
do," she said, squeezing his hand one last time. "I'll be
back as soon as I can. Promise."
Forcing herself to pull
away from Harley's touch, she wished she could see his face - his
real face - one last time before she left. But there was no time. She
grabbed the bag from the back seat and shut the door, hesitating for
a few more seconds before finally walking away, her heart tearing in
two.
She almost looked back at the corner of the building, but
didn't allow herself the luxury. If she was going to do this, she had
to just go. Just like every other time. Only it wasn't. Because this
time, she was coming back.
Ducking into the restroom she locked
herself in the handicapped stall and undid all of Alex's careful
work. Most of it she stuffed in the trash, but she carefully rolled
the suit and shirt to pack back in the bag, replacing the jeans,
sweatshirt and tennis shoes Harley had packed. He must have known all
along she'd be going alone, since all the clothing was in her size.
The thought made her mad, and as she counted out a few bills to put
in her pocket from the cash he'd included, she vowed to give him a
piece of her mind about that.
When she got back.
Checking the
mirror for any stray bits of faux flesh she might have missed, she
rinsed her face, pulled her hair up into a pony tail and went out to
the ticket counter. "One for the next bus to Vegas, please.
Round trip."
***
As soon as Monica disappeared from view, Harley eased out of his suit jacket, balling the expensive material up and pressing hard against his side. Reaching up with the other arm, he opened the compartment in the roof for sunglasses and took out his cell phone, punching in the ranch clinic's number for the second time that day.
"Doc? It's Harley. How are your bullet hole skills?" He held the phone away from his ear, the string of curses coming out of the receiver bringing a tight grin to his lips. When it grew quiet, he tried again. "If you're finished, I'll be there in half an hour or so. Meet me in the tunnel." More yelling, and Harley chuckled as he disconnected the call, then winced again at the fire in his side. Ben Martin was a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good doctor, and if anyone could fix this, he could. As long as Harley could get himself back to the ranch.
He checked his watch, but knew he couldn't wait any longer. Securing the jacket tight to his side with the seat belt, he started the ignition and slowly pulled out of the alley, peering into the station window, his eyes searching the loose crowd. He scanned right past her at first, then looked back. There she was, by the vending machine, all cleaned up and looking right at him. She held up her ticket, then looked up as if she was listening to something. One last little wave and she turned away, walking toward the boarding area in back.
Good. She was safe, for a while at least. He breathed a sigh of relief, then pulled away from the curb, taking a zig-zag route to the highway.
By the time he was within a mile of the turnoff for the tunnels, he was struggling hard to stay awake, and decided he'd be better off on foot. Pulling off the road, he drove into the trees far enough the car wouldn't be noticeable, and tied the jacket around his waist to keep the pressure on his wound. Ten minutes later, he wished he'd kept the car as he stopped to rest against a gnarled tree trunk. He dug the phone out of his pocket to check the time. It had been forty minutes since he called Ben. Hopefully the doctor would be worried enough to come looking for him. He stumbled on, stopping every thirty feet or so to rest, and when the tangled vines that marked the tunnel entrance finally came into view, he'd never been so happy in his life. They'd done it. Monica had the evidence, she'd get it to the FBI, and he'd hide out underground until she came back with the cavalry. Limping forward, he pulled the door open, glad to see Ben standing there, waiting with a gurney just behind him.
"Thank god you're here," Harley heard himself say, though it sounded like someone else's voice. "I don't think I could have made it the rest of the way without you."
Strangely quiet, Ben stepped up and slid an arm around him, helping him onto the gurney. When he was strapped in and covered with a blanket, Ben leaned down and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."
The last thing Harley saw before he passed out was Stephen Burns, smiling down at him.
Enjoy this installment? Try Desert Heat, available now at:
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Diesel
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Serial Story: The Biker's Wench, Ch. 59 (April Fools!)
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57|Ch. 58
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 59
He reached out to cup the side of her
face, wincing at the motion. "You're not running away. You'll be
back soon, and Burns will go to jail, and you can be free. Just like
you wanted." He tugged her forward and she went willingly, his
lips meeting hers for a quick, gentle kiss. "Go on now. I'll get
this stitched up back at the ranch. It will all work out, trust me."
She nodded, swiping at escaped tears as she caught her breath. "I
do," she said, squeezing his hand one last time. "I'll be
back as soon as I can. Promise."
Forcing herself to pull
away from Harley's touch, she wished she could see his face - his
real face - one last time before she left. But there was no time. She
grabbed the bag from the back seat and shut the door, hesitating for
a few more seconds before finally walking away, her heart tearing in
two.
She almost looked back at the corner of the building, but
didn't allow herself the luxury. If she was going to do this, she had
to just go. Just like every other time. Only it wasn't. Because this
time, she was coming back.
Ducking into the restroom she locked
herself in the handicapped stall and undid all of Alex's careful
work. Most of it she stuffed in the trash, but she carefully rolled
the suit and shirt to pack back in the bag, replacing the jeans,
sweatshirt and tennis shoes Harley had packed. He must have known all
along she'd be going alone, since all the clothing was in her size.
The thought made her mad, and as she counted out a few bills to put
in her pocket from the cash he'd included, she vowed to give him a
piece of her mind about that.
When she got back.
Checking the
mirror for any stray bits of faux flesh she might have missed, she
rinsed her face, pulled her hair up into a pony tail and went out to
the ticket counter. "One for the next bus to Vegas, please.
Round trip."
***
As soon as Monica
disappeared from view, Harley eased out of his suit jacket, balling
the expensive material up and pressing hard against his side.
Reaching up with the other arm, he opened the compartment in the roof
for sunglasses and took out his cell phone, punching in the ranch
clinic's number for the second time that day.
"Doc? It's
Harley. How are your bullet hole skills?" He held the phone away
from his ear, the string of curses coming out of the receiver
bringing a tight grin to his lips. When it grew quiet, he tried
again. "If you're finished, I'll be there in half an hour or so.
Meet me in the tunnel." More yelling, and Harley chuckled as he
disconnected the call, then winced again at the fire in his side. Ben
Martin was a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good doctor,
and if anyone could fix this, he could. As long as Harley could get
himself back to the ranch.
He checked his watch, but knew he
couldn't wait any longer. Securing the jacket tight to his side with
the seat belt, he started the ignition and pulled to the alley
entrance. Traffic was thick on the cross-street, and he knew he
should go right toward the highway, but he felt compelled to go by
the window. Maybe catch one last glimpse of her before she rode away.
It seemed like ages before
the traffic finally slowed to a trickle, and he crept out into the
street, gunning the engine and swinging the wheel to the left at the
same time a bus started to pick up speed coming straight for him. He
tried to correct, but he was too far into the turn, and the wheels
spun out of control beneath him, sliding on the asphalt. Then
everything seemed to be in slow motion as the car twirled neatly in a
circle, smashing into the side of the bus before it did another slow
turn around the back of the bus and up over the curb.
Something broke as Harley
twisted inside the car, overcome by the gravitational pull the crash
had created. Glass shattered inside and out, and he looked up with
horror to realize he was headed straight for Monica, standing between
two vending machines on the far wall. He tried to scream, yell, beg –
anything to get her out of the way, but she stood still, her eyes
locked on his with an expression of inevitability on her face.
The car slammed into the
machines, the impact great enough to send Monica sprawling into the
car and across his lap. Finally stopped, Harley took a shallow breath
and looked down at the woman he loved.
"I'm sorry," he
said quietly, summoning what was left of his strength to smooth her
hair back from her face. She blinked, looking up at him from where
she lay across his lap, opening her mouth, but nothing came out.
Damn. In that moment, he realized that neither of them would
be getting out of this alive.
Sirens sounded in the
distance, and Harley felt hot tears slip down his cheeks. "I
love you, baby. I'm so sorry it had to end this way." He kept
stroking her hair, and she swallowed, hard, then again. Carefully,
slowly her lips moved, and he could just barely make out the words
she whispered.
"I love you too."
The End
Enjoy this installment? Try Tempest, available now at:
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**Please note - comments take a few moments to appear, and Happy April Fool's day.
Serial Story: The Biker's Wench, Ch. 59
This serial novel is posted in draft form every Tuesday and Friday.
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57|Ch. 58
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 59
He reached out to cup the side of her
face, wincing at the motion. "You're not running away. You'll be
back soon, and Burns will go to jail, and you can be free. Just like
you wanted." He tugged her forward and she went willingly, his
lips meeting hers for a quick, gentle kiss. "Go on now. I'll get
this stitched up back at the ranch. It will all work out, trust me."
She nodded, swiping at escaped tears as she caught her breath. "I
do," she said, squeezing his hand one last time. "I'll be
back as soon as I can. Promise."
Forcing herself to pull
away from Harley's touch, she wished she could see his face - his
real face - one last time before she left. But there was no time. She
grabbed the bag from the back seat and shut the door, hesitating for
a few more seconds before finally walking away, her heart tearing in
two.
She almost looked back at the corner of the building, but
didn't allow herself the luxury. If she was going to do this, she had
to just go. Just like every other time. Only it wasn't. Because this
time, she was coming back.
Ducking into the restroom she locked
herself in the handicapped stall and undid all of Alex's careful
work. Most of it she stuffed in the trash, but she carefully rolled
the suit and shirt to pack back in the bag, replacing the jeans,
sweatshirt and tennis shoes Harley had packed. He must have known all
along she'd be going alone, since all the clothing was in her size.
The thought made her mad, and as she counted out a few bills to put
in her pocket from the cash he'd included, she vowed to give him a
piece of her mind about that.
When she got back.
Checking the
mirror for any stray bits of faux flesh she might have missed, she
rinsed her face, pulled her hair up into a pony tail and went out to
the ticket counter. "One for the next bus to Vegas, please.
Round trip."
***
As soon as Monica
disappeared from view, Harley eased out of his suit jacket, balling
the expensive material up and pressing hard against his side.
Reaching up with the other arm, he opened the compartment in the roof
for sunglasses and took out his cell phone, punching in the ranch
clinic's number for the second time that day.
"Doc? It's
Harley. How are your bullet hole skills?" He held the phone away
from his ear, the string of curses coming out of the receiver
bringing a tight grin to his lips. When it grew quiet, he tried
again. "If you're finished, I'll be there in half an hour or so.
Meet me in the tunnel." More yelling, and Harley chuckled as he
disconnected the call, then winced again at the fire in his side. Ben
Martin was a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good doctor,
and if anyone could fix this, he could. As long as Harley could get
himself back to the ranch.
He checked his watch, but knew he
couldn't wait any longer. Securing the jacket tight to his side with
the seat belt, he started the ignition and pulled to the alley
entrance. Traffic was thick on the cross-street, and he knew he
should go right toward the highway, but he felt compelled to go by
the window. Maybe catch one last glimpse of her before she rode away.
It seemed like ages before
the traffic finally slowed to a trickle, and he crept out into the
street, gunning the engine and swinging the wheel to the left at the
same time a bus started to pick up speed coming straight for him. He
tried to correct, but he was too far into the turn, and the wheels
spun out of control beneath him, sliding on the asphalt. Then
everything seemed to be in slow motion as the car twirled neatly in a
circle, smashing into the side of the bus before it did another slow
turn around the back of the bus and up over the curb.
Something broke as Harley
twisted inside the car, overcome by the gravitational pull the crash
had created. Glass shattered inside and out, and he looked up with
horror to realize he was headed straight for Monica, standing between
two vending machines on the far wall. He tried to scream, yell, beg –
anything to get her out of the way, but she stood still, her eyes
locked on his with an expression of inevitability on her face.
The car slammed into the
machines, the impact great enough to send Monica sprawling into the
car and across his lap. Finally stopped, Harley took a shallow breath
and looked down at the woman he loved.
"I'm sorry," he
said quietly, summoning what was left of his strength to smooth her
hair back from her face. She blinked, looking up at him from where
she lay across his lap, opening her mouth, but nothing came out.
Damn. In that moment, he realized that neither of them would
be getting out of this alive.
Sirens sounded in the
distance, and Harley felt hot tears slip down his cheeks. "I
love you, baby. I'm so sorry it had to end this way." He kept
stroking her hair, and she swallowed, hard, then again. Carefully,
slowly her lips moved, and he could just barely make out the words
she whispered.
"I love you too."
The End
Enjoy this installment? Try Tempest, available now at:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Sony | Kobo | Smashwords | Diesel
**Please note - comments take a few moments to appear, and Happy April Fool's day.
March 31, 2011
Sex on the Page: The Dirty Details
This is the last installment of our series on writing sex - I hope you've enjoyed it (*ahem). If you haven't read Carol's post yet, I'd encourage you to pop over there – it's excellent, as usual…
So what are we talking about here? I bet I can make some of you shiver (and not in the good way) with just one phrase:
Bodily fluids.
Yes, I know…none of us really want to talk about this, but if you're going to write sex scenes, you'll have to address it eventually – one way or the other. It all really comes down to personal preference. Luckily, there are a lot of choices here, depending on what you're writing, and your personal voice. For me, I prefer to use soft terms when it comes to fluids…and when I do use a more direct term, you can be sure it's an intentional attempt to garner a quick "shock" response from the reader.
I am not a reader who likes to see the words "spit" or "saliva" used in any kind of sexual situation. Horror, sure (big fangs dripping saliva is a good way to get me anxiously peering out the windows to make sure I'm not being hunted). But when used with sex, that's porn-speak in my mind, and I'm not a huge fan of written porn. It bores me.
We all know sex requires lubrication (okay, good sex…and if you think otherwise, I *really* don't want to know, K?). And while in real life some spitting may occur (really? To each his/her own…), I prefer my characters take care of that in…shall we say, "classier" ways? I love the word "laved". So expressive, and implies lubrication much like "licked" and "sucked" without any actual mention of saliva.
I don't mind the word moisture, or moist, or even wet in certain situations. This is also the area I'm most likely to use euphemisms in – like "heat" or "warmth" for that flood of lubrication between her legs when she's faced with a God-like male specimen who wants her. Personally, I tend to avoid direct naming of orgasmic fluids as well. Words like "sperm" usually pull me right out of the moment, and into the "someone's going to have to clean that up" mindset (which isn't really where you want your reader at the end of a satisfying sex scene. Well, there are a few exceptions, but not generally outside of erotica.).
Ah yes, clean-up. Again, in my opinion, reality does have some part in all this, as I find it unbelievable if characters skip over the necessary clean up. Whether it's just throwing out the condom or showering off (shower scenes are nice, because they're all-in-one!), I try to make sure my characters clean up before going about the rest of their story. Even just a token mention can go a long way here…but if fluids are mentioned at all, then I think it's important to mention clean-up as well.
So when it comes to fluids, my personal preference is for euphemism over technical terms. For me, technical terms are not arousing or emotionally satisfying - they're cold and imply a lack of true emotion between participants. And my sex scenes normally exist to move an emotional connection one way or the other…it isn't just sex for the sake of sex (not even in my erotica).
I suppose if you're writing sex just for the sake of sex, the technical terms would be appropriate, though I still would argue they're far less powerful to the average reader.
Those are my thoughts on it…anyone brave enough to comment? How do you deal with fluids in sex scenes, or if you're a reader, which style do you tend to prefer?
Thanks for joining Carol and I on our exploration of writing sex...it's been a fun and very interesting journey, I think!
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March 30, 2011
Fantasy Ranch: Meet Harlan "Harley" Majors
Book: The Biker's Wench
Height: 6' 2"
Hair Color: Light brown, shoulder length
Style: Casual, jeans & t-shirt, or leathers when working/riding
Harley
Majors is all about giving people a break from their mundane lives. He
knows what it's like to work a soulless office job and is determined
never to do that again. He started Fantasy Ranch as a place for adults
to get away from it all and live another life, even if only for a few
hours. His favorite place to work and hang out is "Double D", the
biker-themed bar and original theme destination for the ranch.
Harley
loves women. And he has a hard time fending off the myriads of ladies
who are attracted to his rough and tumble appearance. Unfortunately,
it's no secret that he co-owns the ranch, and lately he's had nothing
but bad luck with women who set out to seduce him for his money - some
of them married. Needless to say, he's adopted a "hands off" policy
toward anyone of the female persuasion, but is constantly amazed at the
lengths they will to through to trap him in situations where it's his
word against theirs in court. Most of the time he wins, but it's still a
huge hassle, and he can't trust anyone anymore.
His
lawyers have advised him that the best way to stop the nearly endless
stream of frivolous law suits is to settle down with a wife, preferably
one he can at least act like he's totally in love with in public. If
people get word he's unavailable, the gold-diggers will find easier
prey. He's willing to pay someone to play the part if it means an end to
the constant court battles, but it can't be just anyone. It has to be
someone who can play the part of a doting wife, yet keep the
relationship in the proper perspective. Someone like a well-paid
employee, with everything provided so she won't need his money.
Then one night a not-so-charming wench literally runs into him...
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