So yesterday I wrote "the end" on my Naomi Clark WIP, Dark Days, which means today I go back to work on Wolf's Hunt! It's been about two months since I last did any work on this story, so I'm going to re-read everything first and remind myself what's what, and then it's back to work with a vengeance. I would love to get this story wrapped up and submitted before the end of this year.
I thought I'd share a little teaser from early on for my Wednesday Snippet...And I figured a nice picture would be good too, so...enjoy!
I thought I'd share a little teaser from early on for my Wednesday Snippet...And I figured a nice picture would be good too, so...enjoy!
You could get a lot of things at the Wild Blood MC clubhouse. Booze, pussy, pot...It was one of the things Wolf most appreciated about the place. One thing you couldn't get was privacy. Everyone knew everyone's fucking business, or thought they did. So as much as he wanted to head back there to call Grim, and even though the converted mill was closer than his own place, he ignored the instinct. He hopped on his Ducati and sped back to his own apartment, nerves screaming the whole damn way.
He lived over the auto shop that he managed, one of the club's businesses around Warren's Mill. The apartment was a dive, but Wolf didn't care. He rarely slept there. It was pretty much just a place to keep his few possessions. He hadn't been home in a few days and the smell that hit him when he unlocked the door told him so. Stale beer and leftover Chinese takeout – the cologne of the single biker.
He didn't give a shit. He slammed the door shut and pulled his phone out, redialling Grim. He paced restlessly as he waited for the other guy to pick up, kicking aside piles of unwashed t-shirts and grease-stained jeans. His mind and his heart raced, a thousand memories assailing him and colliding with a thousand possibilites. None of them were pretty. He'd left a huge fucking mess behind in New Orleans three years ago. He'd always figured it would catch up to him one day.
"Wolf?" Grim picked up after what felt like a fucking age. "Got that whiskey on hand?"
"Don't be an asshole, man. Just talk. You found Adele? Where? Tell me everything."
"Yeah, I found Adele." Grim fell silent for a long, agonising moment. "But you oughta know, Danny Boy, Esther is dead."
His words didn't make any sense. For a second, Wolf was sure he'd mishead, or that Grim was going to burst into his raucous laughter and bellow gotcha! Because it didn't make any fucking sense. How could Esther be dead?
He sat down on the threadbare sofa, pressing his hand to his forehead. "What?"
"I don't know how else to tell ya, bro. Wish I could break to ya gently, but it ain't gentle. She's dead. She killed herself. I'm sorry, Danny."
Wolf couldn't answer. A cold, numbing sensation spread through his chest, up into his throat. The mother of his child...dead? Gone? "Adele?" he managed to ask.
Grim was silent even longer now. "With Clea."
"Oh, fuck me sideways." Wolf groaned.
"That's not the worst part," Grim said.
"You gotta be kidding me. What's worse?"
"Clea's shacked up with Shango."
Wolf's head spun. He wished he'd taken Grim's advice and grabbed some whiskey. The flare of possessive rage Grim's words lit in him was almost painful.
He lived over the auto shop that he managed, one of the club's businesses around Warren's Mill. The apartment was a dive, but Wolf didn't care. He rarely slept there. It was pretty much just a place to keep his few possessions. He hadn't been home in a few days and the smell that hit him when he unlocked the door told him so. Stale beer and leftover Chinese takeout – the cologne of the single biker.
He didn't give a shit. He slammed the door shut and pulled his phone out, redialling Grim. He paced restlessly as he waited for the other guy to pick up, kicking aside piles of unwashed t-shirts and grease-stained jeans. His mind and his heart raced, a thousand memories assailing him and colliding with a thousand possibilites. None of them were pretty. He'd left a huge fucking mess behind in New Orleans three years ago. He'd always figured it would catch up to him one day.
"Wolf?" Grim picked up after what felt like a fucking age. "Got that whiskey on hand?"
"Don't be an asshole, man. Just talk. You found Adele? Where? Tell me everything."
"Yeah, I found Adele." Grim fell silent for a long, agonising moment. "But you oughta know, Danny Boy, Esther is dead."
His words didn't make any sense. For a second, Wolf was sure he'd mishead, or that Grim was going to burst into his raucous laughter and bellow gotcha! Because it didn't make any fucking sense. How could Esther be dead?
He sat down on the threadbare sofa, pressing his hand to his forehead. "What?"
"I don't know how else to tell ya, bro. Wish I could break to ya gently, but it ain't gentle. She's dead. She killed herself. I'm sorry, Danny."
Wolf couldn't answer. A cold, numbing sensation spread through his chest, up into his throat. The mother of his child...dead? Gone? "Adele?" he managed to ask.
Grim was silent even longer now. "With Clea."
"Oh, fuck me sideways." Wolf groaned.
"That's not the worst part," Grim said.
"You gotta be kidding me. What's worse?"
"Clea's shacked up with Shango."
Wolf's head spun. He wished he'd taken Grim's advice and grabbed some whiskey. The flare of possessive rage Grim's words lit in him was almost painful.
