So I am really flying through what will hopefully be my submission to Evernight's next anthology. Some stories just beg to be written, and Vandal is one of them. I've written 8k so far this week, and another 7k should wrap it up. That seems a pretty doable goal for the rest of the week, given how easy the writing has been so far. If I can finish it and submit it by Sunday, I'll then be ready to crack on with Wild Blood MC 3.
Anyway! I figured since it's all going so swimmingly, I might share a peek at Vandal with you today. Enjoy!
Anyway! I figured since it's all going so swimmingly, I might share a peek at Vandal with you today. Enjoy!
“Now then,” Johnny said once everyone was seated. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that there’s some heat on the Black Dogs right now that makes them…unreliable for me in a few avenues. And you don’t need to tell me how lucrative the drug trade is in this town.” He frowned slightly, probably irked that he’d never been able to make any in-roads with it before. “So it seems to me we have some useful skills to offer each other, True.”
“I’ve always thought so,” True said. “So let’s not waste time dancing around.”
The deal-making began in earnest. Vandal tried to focus solely on True and Johnny, but his attention kept whirling back to Niall, whose gaze never left him. The inevitability of a clash ground at Vandal. But Jesus fucking Christ, surely Niall wouldn’t start something here? And if he did, could True salvage the meeting? Vandal drummed his fingers on the table, edgy and close to breaking point. Sitting across the table from the man who’d abused Tara was a worse torture than anything he could have dreamed up. He wanted to fight Niall. Wanted to shove his fist directly down the bastard’s throat.
And he couldn’t. It was agony.
“Stop that,” Niall said suddenly, interrupting his father mid-sentence. With the way he was glaring at Vandal, nobody could mistake who he was talking to. All eyes fell on Vandal.
He drummed his fingers harder. “Stop what?”
“Niall,” Johnny said.
Niall ignored him. “Are you an asshole or a fucking moron?” he asked Vandal.
Vandal held his red-hot glare, still drumming his fingers. “I’m an asshole, pal. Which are you?”
“I’ve always thought so,” True said. “So let’s not waste time dancing around.”
The deal-making began in earnest. Vandal tried to focus solely on True and Johnny, but his attention kept whirling back to Niall, whose gaze never left him. The inevitability of a clash ground at Vandal. But Jesus fucking Christ, surely Niall wouldn’t start something here? And if he did, could True salvage the meeting? Vandal drummed his fingers on the table, edgy and close to breaking point. Sitting across the table from the man who’d abused Tara was a worse torture than anything he could have dreamed up. He wanted to fight Niall. Wanted to shove his fist directly down the bastard’s throat.
And he couldn’t. It was agony.
“Stop that,” Niall said suddenly, interrupting his father mid-sentence. With the way he was glaring at Vandal, nobody could mistake who he was talking to. All eyes fell on Vandal.
He drummed his fingers harder. “Stop what?”
“Niall,” Johnny said.
Niall ignored him. “Are you an asshole or a fucking moron?” he asked Vandal.
Vandal held his red-hot glare, still drumming his fingers. “I’m an asshole, pal. Which are you?”
