Snippet from my latest WIP which doesn't have a title- yet
This is a raw snippet from the opening scene of my latest contemporary romance.
©DarylDevore2014
Droplets of blood seeped from Darien's wolf tattoo, mesmerizing him. They trickled over the inside of his bicep then splattered drop by drop against the bar floor. Why was the wolf bleeding? Dairen frowned. Maybe it wasn't the tattoo. Could he be bleeding? He didn't remember getting hurt. But that might be because he'd had too many vodka shots.Expensive gold infused vodka.An order snapped out in Thai ripped his focus away from the cost of the booze. Stumbling with the translation, his gut clenched. "Check everyone. Anybody alive. Kill them."A shrill female scream. A gun shot. Silence.That'd be one of the hookers. Damn. Hope it wasn't the one with the butterfly tattoo above her clit. She had a mouth on her than performed miracles. Dude! WTF! Must be the vodka talking. Stay focused. There are guys with guns out there. Darien stretched his neck and peered around the edge of the bar. In his line of vision, a male leg stuck out from under a table. Expensive looking shoe. Presumably Italian leather. Probably belonged to Nai Jâhng. Darien raised his eyebrows. Wow. Somebody had the balls to kill The Boss.He shifted his glance. A few feet to the left, lay a female arm with brilliant orange fingernails. He shivered at the remembrance of those nails grazing his balls. He focused on a tiny object a foot in front of him. Glass. Shards of it lay scattered about. He blinked and tried to remember what happened. He'd walked behind the private club's bar to get another bottle of vodka when bottles started exploding one by one. And then he was on the floor looking at the blood dripping from his tattoo. He glanced at his wound. The bleeding had stopped. Okay, so he wasn't gonna bleed to death. Good. Now he just had to get his ass outta here. Past them. The guys with the guns. How the fuck could he do that?Voices interrupted his thoughts. The tones were panicked or angry and the speed was too fast for him to catch what they were saying, but he caught the meaning of the three rapid gunshots and a short groan. The door at the opposite end of the bar, leading to the kitchen swooshed as someone pushed it open.Gunfire and loud screams sounded from the kitchen. The door swung open again. Darien translated the shooters words, "Nobody alive in there. I'll go check the offices upstairs."Darien slid back, trying not to disturb the glass. He did his best not to yelp when a sharp edge sliced through the skin on his knee. With deliberate movements, he backtracked the length of the Black Dragon's bar. Squatting, he turned and peeked around the end, three men stood with their backs to him. Dressed in black pants and muscle shirts, each held assault rifles. A bleeding sun tattoo was visible on one attacker's shoulder. Daeng Arthit Triad. Not good. So not good. He looked forward. The kitchen door was six feet away. Six feet of wide-open, easily visible space. Darien sighed. It might as well be a mile. He couldn't risk it. Wouldn't. He didn't want to get shot.What the fuck, dude? You're gonna die if they find you. Better to be running for your life than just lay here and let 'em kill you. Darien shifted. That was the logical side of his head's opinion. The chicken shit side said, Stay here. Stay down. You're safe.
©DarylDevore2014
Droplets of blood seeped from Darien's wolf tattoo, mesmerizing him. They trickled over the inside of his bicep then splattered drop by drop against the bar floor. Why was the wolf bleeding? Dairen frowned. Maybe it wasn't the tattoo. Could he be bleeding? He didn't remember getting hurt. But that might be because he'd had too many vodka shots.Expensive gold infused vodka.An order snapped out in Thai ripped his focus away from the cost of the booze. Stumbling with the translation, his gut clenched. "Check everyone. Anybody alive. Kill them."A shrill female scream. A gun shot. Silence.That'd be one of the hookers. Damn. Hope it wasn't the one with the butterfly tattoo above her clit. She had a mouth on her than performed miracles. Dude! WTF! Must be the vodka talking. Stay focused. There are guys with guns out there. Darien stretched his neck and peered around the edge of the bar. In his line of vision, a male leg stuck out from under a table. Expensive looking shoe. Presumably Italian leather. Probably belonged to Nai Jâhng. Darien raised his eyebrows. Wow. Somebody had the balls to kill The Boss.He shifted his glance. A few feet to the left, lay a female arm with brilliant orange fingernails. He shivered at the remembrance of those nails grazing his balls. He focused on a tiny object a foot in front of him. Glass. Shards of it lay scattered about. He blinked and tried to remember what happened. He'd walked behind the private club's bar to get another bottle of vodka when bottles started exploding one by one. And then he was on the floor looking at the blood dripping from his tattoo. He glanced at his wound. The bleeding had stopped. Okay, so he wasn't gonna bleed to death. Good. Now he just had to get his ass outta here. Past them. The guys with the guns. How the fuck could he do that?Voices interrupted his thoughts. The tones were panicked or angry and the speed was too fast for him to catch what they were saying, but he caught the meaning of the three rapid gunshots and a short groan. The door at the opposite end of the bar, leading to the kitchen swooshed as someone pushed it open.Gunfire and loud screams sounded from the kitchen. The door swung open again. Darien translated the shooters words, "Nobody alive in there. I'll go check the offices upstairs."Darien slid back, trying not to disturb the glass. He did his best not to yelp when a sharp edge sliced through the skin on his knee. With deliberate movements, he backtracked the length of the Black Dragon's bar. Squatting, he turned and peeked around the end, three men stood with their backs to him. Dressed in black pants and muscle shirts, each held assault rifles. A bleeding sun tattoo was visible on one attacker's shoulder. Daeng Arthit Triad. Not good. So not good. He looked forward. The kitchen door was six feet away. Six feet of wide-open, easily visible space. Darien sighed. It might as well be a mile. He couldn't risk it. Wouldn't. He didn't want to get shot.What the fuck, dude? You're gonna die if they find you. Better to be running for your life than just lay here and let 'em kill you. Darien shifted. That was the logical side of his head's opinion. The chicken shit side said, Stay here. Stay down. You're safe.
No comments have been added yet.
