War Angel II - Who is Walter Brickman?

***WARNING: The following contains SPOILERS for those who haven't finished reading "War Angel." If you fall into that category, stop reading or continue at your own peril.***

Welcome back to the blog people. Apologies for my absence. I've been losing sleep and working hard trying to finish "War Angel II" before the New Year. (I know...it seems like I've been saying that FOREVER.) I promise that I'm very close to the finish line. In the meantime, I've decided to share an important excerpt from the book with you. Some of the old threats from the first book have been killed or murdered at this point in Lenox and Jahaira's saga. However, that absolutely does not mean that your favorite lovers are safe or that the chess game that began in the first book does not continue with new pieces on the board. I now introduce you to a man who might just play a very important part in how this all plays out before the end. Enjoy and feel free to leave comments or feedback. There's also a link at the end for you to pre-order copies of "War Angel II: Where Angels Fear to Tread" if you haven't done so already.

CHAPTER 9 – ENTER the mysterious WALTER BRICKMAN

Paulo put a cigar between his lips as he watched the car drive away, even though grey clouds had darkened the skies as a harbinger of hard rain. Hidden under his colorful button-up shirt with the tacky tropical print, in the waist of his khaki slacks, was the skull-handled knife that he someday planned to slowly carve out Lenox’s heart from his chest with. Curiosity had gotten the better of him that day and its reckless influence had been strong enough to make him get close enough to gaze into the eyes of his enemy. Wise prudence made him maintain his distance, despite the temptation to act in haste before time. His bloodthirsty twin sisters had no idea how badly he wanted the same thing that they did but, for his plans to come to fruition, he held those urges at bay. He looked at the ground as he fumbled in his pockets for his tiny box of wooden matches.

“One of these days you’re going to have to teach me that trick,” said Paulo as a man in a sharp black suit and grey fedora lit his cigar with the matches he had been searching for.

“The one where I pick your pocket or the one where I sneak right up on you?” the man in black asked. His voice was harsh and grainy, like a heavy stone being dragged across gravel.

“Both would be nice,” Paulo answered before he took the first pull of smoke from his stinky cigar. “How are you Mr. Brickman? You’re looking spry,” he said after he exhaled and blew smoke in the man’s face.

“I’m fine and after all this time, you don’t have to be so formal young man. You can call me Walter,” the man answered, handing Paulo the matches he had masterfully lifted off him.

“Eh, I prefer Mr. Brickman. I mean, we aren’t really friends now are we. Familiarity breeds contempt as they say,” said Paulo as he winked.

“Of course we’re friends, even though, I would have to say that you have very bad manners,” Brickman answered.

“Really? How have I offended you?”

“It’s very, very rude to show up in someone’s home uninvited,” Walter Brickman told him. His expression was grim as he straightened his bright, red tie and stared into Paulo’s grey eyes.

“I haven’t done any such thing,” Paulo protested.

“Oh, you think I’m referring to the young man that you were following…the one who just drove away? No, you haven’t shown up at his house uninvited, at least not yet but I bet you plan to. However, I wasn’t talking about him.”

“So who then?” Paulo asked.

“I consider every building, every block and every street here my home. This city is mine and I don’t remember inviting you.”

“I’m just visiting,” Paulo answered.

“Good. When are you leaving?” Brickman asked.

“Soon.”

“I hope sooner than a week.”

“Threatening me?” Paulo asked fearlessly for show but slightly nervous in his heart.

“Just suggesting that you would have a much better summer back in Florida. I’ve heard that the beaches are gorgeous.”

“That they are but I’m tired of beaches. I like the buildings here,” Paulo answered with his eyes turned up at the man-made marvels that stretched towards the clouds like phallic symbols that were aroused by, and attracted to the skies above them.

“Better to relax with warm sand between your toes than to permanently nap underneath the cold dirt of a grave.”

“Can I assume that THAT was a threat?” Paulo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Walter Brickman answered coldly. “That was absolutely a threat…and you know me well enough to know that I don’t bluff.”

“I’m not here looking for trouble,” Paulo started to explain.

“But trouble tends to follow you like your shadow…and that blade stashed at your waist sort of sends a different message…at least to me it does.”

“This is a dangerous city. I carry it for protection.”

“Protection?” Brickman laughed. “Anyone in this city that values their life would be terrified of YOU if they knew what you are, like I know what you are.”

“I’m just here for a few days to take care of some old family business,” said Paulo.

“Any business that has anything to do with your family is most definitely bad business. Nothing good will come of it.”

There was an intense moment between the two men as they stared at each other, silently measuring how much of a threat they could potentially be to one another.

“Speaking of family, how’s my nephew?” Paulo asked, thumbing the smooth skull carved into the top of the handle of the blade at his waist.

“He’s fine…safe from the likes of you and yours,” Walter Brickman answered, sliding his jacket aside just enough to expose the black handle of his loaded sidearm.

“I bet Caesar would disagree,” said Paulo, slowly and wisely moving his hand away from the knife while maintaining intense eye-contact with Brickman.

“Too bad he’s no longer with us…which kind of makes his opinion irrelevant. Besides, he never knew about the boy so even if he wasn’t dead, your point is moot. What I REALLY wonder about is how he would feel if knew that you kept his bastard son a secret from him? I mean, I have to wonder why his own older brother, his familia, would do something like that?” Brickman asked. He wasn’t sure what Paulo’s endgame was or what mad schemes rattled around in the man’s brain but he planned to put a stop to them, no matter the cost.

“I did warn my little brother about slinging dick all over town,” answered Paulo.

“He should have listened,” said Brickman.

“So, how much did you pay the little slut to give up my brother’s only son to you?” Paulo asked with anger and disgust.

“Nothing at all. As soon as she gave birth, she wanted the child gone…off of her hands. For some reason she was terrified of your family. Crazy right? Go figure.”

“She was right to be. I haven’t run into her since I’ve been here. I wonder where she’s hiding?”

“She’s not here in the city anymore. I saw to it that she left safely and got herself far out of any of Caesar’s siblings’ reach. That was the bargain between your dead brother’s mistress and I. So, if that’s what you’re here for, the woman is long gone and your nephew is my adopted son now. There’s nothing here for you Paulo,” Brickman told him.

“Maybe not,” Paulo answered with the same slick grin that his brother had used to charm countless women right out of their panties.

“Take care of whatever business you have here and then leave before I decide to plant you in the concrete at the root of one of these skyscrapers that you admire so much.”

“I’ll be gone before you know it Mr. Brickman. Tell my nephew that his uncle loves him,” said Paulo as he turned and walked away just as it began to rain.

Walter Brickman spat into the street and watched his phlegm float with the rushing flow of rainwater in the gutter towards the sewer opening on the corner in the direction that Paulo had walked off in.

Click to Pre-order

WRITER WEDNESDAY featuring ADRIENNE THOMPSON

Welcome to another WRITER WEDNESDAY. This week, I would like to introduce you to the amazing ADRIENNE THOMPSON and her latest release "YOUR LOVE IS KING."

Divorced nurse and single mom, Marli Meadows, finds herself stuck in a rut. She’s tired of her life and decides to leave it behind and embark on a search for change. What she finds instead, is love.

Excerpt:

From Chapter One: “You’re Not the Man”

I rolled over in the bed after a short nap, opened my eyes, and nearly jumped out of my skin. For a brief moment, I’d forgotten that Darius was lying next to me. The sight of him lying there asleep with his mouth wide open startled me.

I eyed him with disgust as I tried to ease out of bed undetected. I slid and slid until my feet finally reached the floor, then I tiptoed through the cluttered efficiency apartment into the bathroom. I peered into the smudged mirror and wondered to myself, What are you doing, Marli Meadows? Why are you here with him? I shook my head as if the mere action could erase my relationship with Darius Cotton right out of my life.

I squatted over the toilet and relieved myself, afraid to sit on the seat. Knowing Darius, there was no telling how many other butts had been on that seat. I turned the water in the faucet on to a slow trickle, still not wanting to awaken Darius, and washed my hands. I dried them with some toilet paper and then quickly pulled my underwear and work uniform back on and slowly opened the creaky bathroom door.

I exited the bathroom and found Darius sitting on the side of the bed, lighting up a blunt. Dang! I thought, if I don’t get out of here quick, I’ll be smelling just like that stuff and probably get a contact high. It’d be my luck for them to pop up with a random drug test at work and that crap’ll show up.

“You leaving, baby?” he grunted between drags. He rubbed his hand across his bare chest and stretched. I eyed his nakedness as I walked back into the room.

“Yeah, it’s already eleven. I gotta go home and get some rest for work tonight,” I answered as I gathered up my purse and slipped on my shoes.

With a lopsided grin on his face, he revealed two rows of shiny gold teeth and said, “Yeah, cause you know if you stay here you gon’ have to put in some more work, huh?”

Ugh, I thought. “Yeah, well, I’ll talk to you later, Darius.”

“A’ight, come give me a kiss, boo.”

I swallowed hard. I know this sounds strange considering the fact that I’d just had sex with him, but the thought of kissing him really didn’t appeal to me. It took all I had in me to walk over to him, bend over, and plant a kiss on his dark lips.

He swatted my butt. “A’ight girl, I’ll holla at you later. Don’t work too hard tonight.”

I nodded. “I won’t. Bye, Darius.”

“Bye, Mar-lay.”

I shook my head as I closed the door behind me. We’d been “seeing” each other for nearly two years, and he still mispronounced my name. Well, it was either that or he was just so country that it sounded like he was mispronouncing it.  Whichever was the case, it was irritating.

I walked down the steep stairs from Darius’s apartment out onto the parking lot.  I unlocked and then climbed into my Toyota Camry which was parked right next to Darius’s souped-up Chevy Caprice. I rolled my eyes at the repeated Louis Vuitton logos covering his car. I backed out of my space and glanced at his license plate which read, SMOKONE. I sighed as I pulled off the lot.

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Author Bio:

Adrienne Thompson has worn many titles in her lifetime–from teenage mother to teenage wife to divorcee to registered nurse to author. This mother of two young adults and one teenager currently resides in Arkansas with her daughter where she writes and publishes her stories full time.

You can connect with her on:

Website: http://adriennethompsonwrites.webs.com

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Synopsis for WAR ANGEL II

***SPOILER ALERT***

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ WAR ANGEL PART 1, STOP READING NOW!

So, you've read "War Angel" and hoped that Jahaira and Lenox's lives might continue into an almost-perfect, Happily Ever After? Well, ahhhh, not exactly. Because YOU, the readers have pressured me for it, I've decided to continue the story of these two young lovers. The 2nd book picks up a few months after the events of the first book and at first, it sure does seem like they've found peace. Of course, we all know that THAT will certainly not last, especially with Jahaira's twin aunts, Anya and Anika still alive. If you thought Carmen was a villain worthy of well-deserved hatred...I've got news for you. You ain't seen nothin' yet! In "War Angel II: Where Angels Fear to Tread" I delve deeper into Jahaira's eerily mysterious family history and introduce some new, dangerous players on the chessboard. This book also has a darker feel to it and I promise you a whole different kind of deadly. No one will escape without scars. You'll have to read it to find out what's at stake.

Pre-orders begin on BLACK FRIDAY

War Angel II: Where Angels Fear to Tread - Sneak Peek

I couldn't have been more pleased than when I got a surprise from the amazingly talented A-Marie Walter of www.estetikaexposure.com late last night. She emailed the final cover for WAR ANGEL II: Where Angels Fear to Tread. (I actually woke my kids up to take a look) I haven't stopped working to finish the novel or smiling since. As promised, here's the sneak peek I promised for today and as a bonus, I'm also sharing the cover. As always, feel free to leave comments and feedback. (Please pardon any typos.) Enjoy.

WAR ANGEL II

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Copyright © 2013 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

CHAPTER 1 – The 7^th Month

Such secluded, charming, rustic tranquility was supposed to be relaxing but all it really did was make Jahaira ache for the familiar ruckus of the places she was used to. The gentle hush of the evening hours probably brought a certain kind of comfort to people who sought peace but she was more inclined to compare it to being trapped in a padded room. Only the muted symphony of insects and critters merrily making their noises disturbed the silence so as quiet as it was, her new home happened to be very crawly. They had purchased the country house in the dead of winter so they had no idea how alive the place would become because everything crawled, scampered, flew or slithered had been hiding from the bitter cold. Things were very different now that the summer heat had put its lips to the ground and kissed the countryside, as she liked to call the lonely suburbs where they lived now. After weeks of warm weather, it was still unsettling for a woman who had been raised in a much more urban environment, caged in by towering buildings and rocked to sleep by all of the sounds of insomniac streets since she was a baby. Never in her life would she have ever believed that she could desperately long for the screeching, twisted metal screams of traffic accidents, the violent swearing that accompanied a good street fight, or the wails of police cars and fire truck sirens. Trying to guess what types of bugs buzzed around was a sharp contrast to trying to tell the difference between cars backfiring, fireworks or gunshots. Living in such seclusion was way too strange for her to ever get used to. Country Life was not for her. She was slightly ashamed to admit that she missed walking down crowded streets, surrounded by people trying to keep up with the latest fashion and shopping til she dropped. In less than a New York City minute she would have traded the flying pests that constantly dined on her flesh for a fearless, subway rat or a super-sized cockroach or two. She guessed that city girl must have been a delicacy to them the way they attacked her. She imagined how messy she must have looked, caught outside in the cruel embrace of the sweltering heat, sitting on her porch in her sunflower-yellow summer dress, barefoot and pregnant with sweat trickling down the middle of her back.

“Ouch!” she cried out as some sneaky, flying thing bit her on the left side of her neck.

With a lightning-quick, heavy-handed slap, she flattened the bug’s body into a messy mangle of crushed wings and broken, spindly legs. That was your last meal buddy, she thought as she scraped what was left of it off of her neck. After wiping her hand clean of the bug goop on the hem of her dress, she turned her attention back to the huge, untidy front yard and the lonely road beyond it that led up to the house. The fireflies’ butts lit up, turning off and on in random intervals as they hovered like helicopters, just above the grass she kept asking Lenox to cut, in their beautiful aerial ballet. As she watched them, they reminded her of lazy afternoons spent in the backyard of her parents’ house in the summertime. Even in the middle of the city, the fireflies had danced there as well. She wondered if any still showed up to glow above the charred ruins that had once been her home. She was still conflicted and confused about how she should feel about her mother burning to death in that house. Carmen had done her fair share of wicked things but that was not the end Jahaira would have wished on her. The familiar sound of Lenox’s car coming up the road made her heart flutter and pulled her away from melancholy thoughts of that could not be undone.

She was sure that every mosquito for miles must have choked to death on the powder-white smoke that spewed from the old, black Mustang’s exhaust. After spending hours that actually felt like days alone, she was almost giddy that he was finally home. Lately, she had also had the unmistakable feeling of unseen eyes on her whenever she was outside the house. She sighed, relieved when he parked in front of the house.

“I still don’t see why you didn’t buy a better car than that old piece of shit on four wheels. You’re lucky that it even makes it down to the city and back without breaking down,” Jahaira coughed as he got out of the car and walked towards her.

“We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile out here. How inconspicuous would a young black guy in an eighty thousand-dollar car be? Our friendly neighbors would have the local cops pulling me over every night on my way home, searching my trunk for drugs or mistakin’ me for their kids’ favorite rapper and askin’ for my autograph,” he joked before he leaned down to playfully kiss her on the nose. He thought it was cute how chubby her face had become over the past few months.

“Neopolitan again?” she complained after she looked inside the plastic grocery store bag he handed her.

“Well, ‘round these here parts we only gots us a gas station convenience store lil lady and there ain’ts too much to choose from,” he answered in a fake hillbilly accent. “Now, if someone had asked for ice cream while I was still down in the city, before I was almost home, I might have been able to get that person whatever flavor they wanted from a real supermarket.”

“I know, I know…but I get my cravings at weird times,” she answered.

“No one knows that better than me.”

“Oh shut it. You love being my little errand boy,” she giggled.

“Let’s get off this porch before these bugs eat us alive,” he said as he swatted at a mosquito the size of a fighter jet that seemed intent on landing on his forehead.

He held her hand and helped her to her feet. Even under her loose-fitting dress, he saw that her belly was huge and loved her even more because she carried his unborn child. She groaned as she walked with her own palm pressed against her lower back because of the consistent discomfort and agonizing aches. Just before she waddled in side behind him, she could have sworn that someone was in the bushes, just beyond their front yard. She looked back over her shoulder before Lenox closed their front door but whatever, or whoever it might have been was gone.

“What’s wrong?” Lenox asked.

“Nothing,” she answered. “It’s this heat. I think it’s playing with my mind.”

***

“So, how’s business?” Jahaira asked as she used her spoon to carefully scoop out only the strawberry ice cream into her favorite, rainbow-colored bowl. She wasn’t in the mood for the chocolate or the vanilla.

“Business is good. Some music video vixen chick’s sugar daddy rented four limos for her birthday bash at one of the big strip clubs in Manhattan. The cheap, arrogant, dickhead felt like I didn’t give him a big enough discount so he was about to look for another company but Emily handled it. She worked out a deal on bottle service for him with the strip club owner so he changed his mind and stayed with us. You know, she sat behind that receptionist’s desk at the office for years but I probably could have let her run the whole place for me a long time ago. She’s good at it and people like her.”

“Well, that’s great. That means that once the baby comes you can be here with me and leave her in charge, at least for a little while.”

“Awww, you’re so sweet. You really do miss me when I’m gone don’t you?”

“I do,” she mumbled with a mouthful of the blandest strawberry ice cream she had ever tasted. “It’s lonely and boring being here by myself. It drives me crazy.”

“I’ve been thinking about hiring a nurse to stay with you.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid. I’m not an old lady,” she complained.

“But you ARE pregnant and you could use the help.”

“I already have help. I have you. I’m not sure about how I feel about a stranger living with us.”

“Yeah, I understand that but if the baby comes early, or something goes wrong, we’re really far from the hospital. I would feel much better if someone was here with you that could help out medically in case of an emergency.”

“Fine, but no creepy old ladies.”

“Definitely not!”

“And no hot, young chicks with big butts either. I know what you like Mister,” she said as she got up from the kitchen table, turned around and slapped her own butt.

“Dammit! I never get to have any fun. Why you gotta go and ruin my plans?” he joked.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.”

***

The enormous bathroom was one of the few things that Jahaira actually liked about their new home and she really loved the huge, white, antique, claw-footed bathtub which was a welcomed change from the tiny shower in the apartment in Brooklyn. The lovers fit together comfortably in the old-fashioned, vintage tub. She stretched her legs out all the way to Lenox’s chest so he could massage her swollen feet. Pregnancy had not been very kind to her and she suffered since she had discovered that she was with child. The nausea hadn’t gone away like her obstetrician had promised. Besides that, her feet and back ached constantly without mercy. Occasionally she would cry while looking in the mirror because of how round and bulbous her nose had become, almost as if it was trying to match her chunky, chipmunk cheeks. Lenox loved to pinch her face but she prayed that after the baby was born she could lose all of the weight she had grudgingly gained. It felt like wishful thinking because she didn’t see how her body could ever go back to being what it was. She was certain that the stretch marks were there to stay. She sighed, closed her eyes and concentrated on her foot massage. His hands caressing away the pain in the soles of her feet felt almost as good as sex. On most days, they hurt so badly that she tried not to walk anywhere unless she absolutely had to. If he kept making her feel as good as he was, she was going to give him some after their bath, big belly or not. Her engorged boobs had grown at least a whole cup size and it hurt when anything touched her nipples so, if they did have sex later on, she wasn’t going to let him suck on them.

Jon, Maragaret chance, Wolf, Caesar, Anna and Hector were the names on Lenox’s mind as he rubbed Jahaira’s feet, eternally written in red ink in his ledger. Some had deserved their final fate more than others. He didn’t include Carmen on that list because technically, he hadn’t been directly, or indirectly, involved in her death. No one was entirely sure how she met her fiery demise and mysteriously burned up in her own house but he was pretty damn sure that Hector had a hand in that bit of vicious business. As for as the others, he sometimes saw their faces in his dreams but he did not fear them. They were only ghosts that lived in the part of his mind that controlled guilt. The people who hadn’t been sent screaming to the afterlife were the ones that frightened him. Anya and Anika, Jahaira’s twin aunts were still very much alive and that concerned him a great deal. He was sure that somewhere, they were laying low, licking their wounds, concocting some unholy plan to take revenge for their older sister’s death. That was why he purchased a house so far outside of the city. It was thoughts of those two pale demons that kept him up at night. That pair of witches was responsible for every unexplained chill he felt. Inside the shadows of every dark corner, he thought he saw their eerie blue eyes watching him and half-expected their cold hands to claw at his ankles from under the bed like some horror concocted in a child’s nightmares. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he and Jahaira were safe, that they had escaped, deep down he believed that it was only a matter of time before the twins tracked them down. When they did, he would kill them before he let them harm Jahaira or the baby.

“I miss Granny,” said Jahaira as she rinsed the soap from her shoulder with her washcloth. “Did you get a chance to check on her today?”

“I did. She’s grateful that you wanted to give her the insurance money from the fire at your parents’ house but she said that you should keep it for the baby.”

“I don’t want any of that money.”

“That’s what I told her but she insisted. You know how stubborn your grandmother is. Anyway, I eventually got her to accept the check but she said that as soon as we decide on a name, she’s going to open a bank account for the baby.”

“And speaking of naming our little bundle of joy, when are we going to?” Jahaira asked.

“After he or she is born,” he answered.

“Well, I’ve been thinking of names and I’ve come up with the perfect one. I want to name the baby…” she started to say.

“Shush!” he cut her off.

“But why? I really want to tell you.”

“And I told you that I don’t want to know if it’s a boy or girl until AFTER you give birth. I understand that they already told you the baby’s sex after the sonogram but I want to be surprised.”

“You’re so stubborn, AND weird,” she growled, shaking her head, annoyed that he wouldn’t let her share the big secret with him.

“But that’s why you love me,” he answered and playfully splashed water in her face.

“Because of you, I have to be buying all of the baby stuff in duck yellow or that awful pistachio green.”

“Our little one is growing inside you. You’re connected to our child and you can feel the baby every day. I just want to be surprised when the day comes that I finally meet my son or daughter face-to-face. I want to hear the doctor say, ‘It’s a girl’ or ‘It’s a boy.’ I want to experience that, especially with my first child.”

“You can be so soft and sentimental sometimes.”

“But that’s another reason why you love me.”

“That’s true,” she answered, standing up and carefully stepping out of the tub. “Come, let’s go to bed,” she said as she wrapped herself in her favorite fluffy towel.

***

In the bedroom, Lenox started to step into one of the pairs of basketball shorts he usually slept in but Jahaira stopped him. She kissed him like a wild woman which totally caught him by surprise because for the last few weeks, she had been uncharacteristically, sexually passive. When she pulled her lips away from his, she climbed up on the mattress and bent over so that he could take her from behind. Her belly got in the way in most other positions but she didn’t mind doing it like that and as unladylike as it may have sounded, doggy-style was one of her favorite sexual positions anyway.

“Not too rough. Remember what the doctor said. I don’t want to go into labor,” she reminded him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he answered and then slowly worked his way inside her.

WRITER WEDNESDAY featuring May Torres

On my journey, I've met authors that have become more than colleagues, contemporaries and peers. I can honestly say that I've been fortunate enough to gain great friends who support me in everything I do. This is my opportunity to return the love and to also share their work. This is the latest novel from the amazing May Torres.

When a crime of passion is committed in a quaint suburban neighborhood, long buried secrets begin to surface.

It was an ordinary Thursday night when Grace looked out her window to see her neighbor brutally murder his family. And, it wasn't the first time tragedy had struck the house across the street. Unfortunately for Grace, her special gift, and long buried secrets of her own, conspire to put her and her loved ones at risk.

If the line between good and bad is drawn in blood, what happens when less than six degrees separates you from pure evil?

PROMO VIDEO

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U56RN0ihro8

Bio: May Torres is a freelance writer born in New York City. At a young age she became fascinated by all things supernatural, as well as unexplained phenomena. She cites Stephen King as her favorite author, heavily influencing her love of the written word. After completing her first novel she was faced with the arduous task of getting it published. She struggled with the fear of her work being turned into something she would not recognize, in order to conform to a publisher’s strict guidelines.She made the decision to self publish and, with a friend and fellow writer, started a company aimed at preserving the integrity of the author’s work. May currently resides in New York with her two children.

BLOOD AND VENGEANCE 2ND SNEAK PEEK

We're really happy about all of your feedback on Twitter, Facebook and here. Glad to know that you're intrigued by the story so far and because you asked for it, here is some more. 

Blood and Vengeance

(Encore Sneak Peek)

by

Keith Gaston (aka DK Gaston) & Keith Kareem Williams

Bible Thumper

Becoming aware of the approaching man, the posture of the officer posted outside the interview room hardened. “Who are you,” he barked, holding up a restraining hand that left no doubt he wouldn’t allow any unauthorized personnel inside.

“Special Agent Royce,” the man answered, three-fingering his cred-pack from his shirt pocket. He flashed his badge and ID card.

The officer scrutinized the credentials. “DOJID? Never heard of it.”

Mechanically, Royce answered, “Department of Justice Infringement Division.” The officer’s curious response hadn’t surprised him at all. He’d been getting that same reaction a lot lately. The agency was only three weeks old, and he, its only field agent. “It’s fairly new. Just more letters to include in the federal law enforcement alphabet soup.”

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to let you inside. Maybe I should check with one of the detectives involved with the case first,” the officer said scratching his head.

Royce read the name tag above the officer’s breast pocket and then produced some paperwork from somewhere inside his suit jacket. “Look, Northouse. This paperwork authorizes me to do whatever I like. I know this is a local case and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way. The suspect in the interview room may have information on a related investigation I’m working on. All I need is a few minutes with him, after that, I don’t care what happens to him.”

Northouse took the documents, his eyes moving left and then right as he scanned every word. After several drawn out minutes, Royce wondered if he should have let the man contact the detectives. Then the officer handed back the paperwork.

“I can’t let you go in with your weapon, Fed or not,” Northouse said in a gruff voice. He pointed to a table to the right with a metal lockbox. “Place your pistol and backup piece inside there.”

Royce upholstered his Glock first. Reaching down to his ankle, he lifted his right pants leg to claim his second gun and placed them both into the metal container. He noticed a thick, worn, bible beside the lockbox. “Yours?”

The officer shook his head. “That bible has been there for as long as I can remember. No one knows where it came from.”

“Mind if I take the good book inside with me?” Royce asked.

“Whatever,” Northouse replied, opening the door to the interview room.

Royce entered the room, the bible gripped in his fingers. Seated firmly in a chair behind a nondescript gray metal table, the suspect, Reggie Dobski, eyed him with obvious resentment.

“Who the hell are you?” Dobski barked. His gaze shot down to the bible in the other man’s hand. “You some kind of preacher man, here to save my soul?” A harsh laugh followed his question.

Royce waited until the door closed behind him before he spoke. “Who I am doesn’t matter.” Glancing around the room, he sought and found the surveillance equipment. “But I am interested in you baring your soul to me.”

Dobski craned his head around following Royce’s movements in the small room. “What the hell are you babbling about, man? And what are you doing?”

Reaching up to the camera perched in a corner; the agent disarmed the unit by pulling out the audio and video cables. When he finished, he circled around the table to stand across from Dobski. He slapped the bible down hard on the flat metal surface, his palm laid atop of it.

The man stared up at him in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of him.

“I have little time and require quite a bit of information from you Reggie. We both know you’re not going to simply answer my questions, because I have a winning smile. So, I’m going to appeal to you in an unexpected way…” He lifted the bible. “I’m going to do this with the word of God.”

Dobski laughed. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. No Name. There’s nothing in that book going to get me to talk.”

Royce grinned. “I beg to differ.”

“Kiss my ass!”

Royce blew out an exhausted breath feigning disappointment. Casually lifting up the book, he rounded the table until he stood alongside Dobski. “You’re not a good man, Reggie. You’ve hurt a lot of people, said and done bad things. You’ve pretty much have broken every commandment.”

“Kiss my ass,” Dobski shouted again.

“Commandment one,” Royce said, “Do not worship any other gods.” His arm came up smacking the man hard underneath the jaw with the bible, forcing him out of the chair like he popped a cork off a champagne bottle and onto the floor.

“You son of a bitch,” Dobski screamed, spitting blood. A tooth wiggled inside his mouth. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t hit me!”

Royce hit him again, striking him in the temple with the thick spine. “Commandment two: Do not make any idols.”

The man’s pain-laden cries filled the room, becoming Royce’s universe. The federal agent got all the way up to the seventh commandment when the suspect begged him to stop hitting him, promising to tell Royce anything he wanted to know.

Obtaining Dobski’s information in record time, Royce sauntered to the exit. The man’s wails followed him out as the interview room door opened.

Northouse stood in the hallway, his sidearm drawn. “What the devil is going on in there?” the officer shouted.

“I’m done with him. He’s all yours,” Royce said, nonchalant. He tossed the bloodied bible on the table next to the lockbox. “Oh, and he’ll need some medical attention.”

Northouse scrambled inside the interview room as the federal agent collected his pistols. His assault on the suspect would most likely lead to a sweet plea bargain in Dobski’s favor. Regardless, Royce hadn’t felt guilty about what he had done. The answers he’d drawn out of the man, trumped any of the petty crimes Dobski had committed.

Before leaving the police station, he’d have to make sure any digital footprint of his visit vanished from the police computer database. His role in the beating of the suspect would eventually become nothing more than rumor and hearsay. The federal agent would carry an air of mystery among officers and criminals alike at the precinct. Just the way Royce liked it.

BLOOD AND VENGEANCE SNEAK PEEK

First, let me apologize for the lag between blog posts. It has been about a month since my last. Those of you who have been following the blog for some time know that whenever I’m quiet, it’s usually because I’m working on something BIG. For the past few months I’ve been collaborating with Keith Gaston, one of the best of the best, to write a compelling, fast-paced thriller titled “BLOOD and VENGEANCE.” Fans of both our novels will be excited to read what happens when both of our writing styles collide and combine to create something truly amazing. Enjoy the first preview and feel free to leave comments and feedback.

Blood and Vengeance

by 

DK Gaston & Keith Kareem Williams

(Sneak Peek)

SWEET SASSY’S SUITE

1

The tiny bedroom reeked of marijuana mixed with the faint odor of the perfumes she sprayed and the incense she burned to try to mask the scent. She smoked weed way more than she ate which worked out perfectly in her profession. It was almost a job requirement that she protect her slender waistline at all times but she also needed to medicate herself to get her mind right, just to make it through her shifts with her sanity intact. Sassy needed the stranger’s faces and male parts that she was forced to get familiar with to become a blur. That way, she could wash away the pain and stains of their touch when she showered. Otherwise, she feared that they would leave the type of scars that only she could feel and see. At the moment, she remained fairly sober because she didn’t mind the company of the guest that currently laid his head on her bed. Will Samson was special. Everyone on the street outside must have heard her moaning, despite the fact that he wasn’t even the best lover that she had been with. All the same, everything that she felt inside her body while she was with him was all real. She had seen all shapes, ages, races and sizes of men but she sexually connected with him differently than she had with anyone else. That was probably because, if her suspicions were correct, she had been his first. It turned her on and excited her to know that she had basically trained him how to please her. There was also something deeper about him, something that she couldn’t explain with words but whatever it was, she had never felt it in any other man.

The evening air was stagnant and not much breeze blew through the open window. The noisy ceiling fan really didn’t do much about the sweltering heat as it spun weakly overhead and squeaked like a distressed mouse caught on a sticky, glue trap.

Will’s nine-millimeter handgun sat in its holster, slung over the metal folding chair in the corner. In the dark, she couldn’t see his eyes but she could sense him straining in the poor light to look at it. He was always wound up and paranoid, no matter how intense or satisfying the sex was.  Whenever that gun wasn’t firmly in his hand or safely secured near his left armpit, a few inches from his heart, he would stare it at almost as if he expected it to grow wings and fly away. He had even given it a name.

“Who do you love, me or her?” Sassy asked.

“Her,” Will answered dryly.

“All this ass, these tits and this pretty face but you love her and not me?”

“She’ll save my life...you’ll get me killed. One day, I’ll probably have to use her to save me from you,” he answered.

“I would never hurt you. Have you ever considered that maybe I love you?” she asked, realizing how ridiculous it was that she felt like the mistress, second place to a black, cold, metal gun.

“I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“You don’t love men. You don’t love me. You don’t even love yourself. You only love money...because you believe it can save you from everything you hate.”

“That’s a cruel thing to say.”

“Not cruel...honest.”

“Suppose I told you that I slept with three other men today?”

“Then that’s what you did. You don’t belong to anyone, especially not me.”

He climbed out of bed and walked over to the folding chair to get dressed in the dark. He didn’t like when she started to get emotional and sentimental with him. Those moments seriously threatened to make him forget what she was and he knew that that was dangerous, for his life and his heart. Sassy leaned over and turned the black switch on the lamp on the nightstand. The room was instantly filled with a tacky, rouge glow because of the thin scarf she had thrown over the shade to soften the light.

“Why’d you turn the lights on?” he asked.

“I like looking at you,” she answered, lustfully studying his scars and tattoos.

Will looked back over his shoulder as she lay naked in the bed and wished that he had left the lights on during their high-spirited sexual romp. She really was something to behold. If her skin wasn’t marred with tacky, poorly drawn tattoos, she would have looked almost like a woman straight out of a painting, graceful and flawless. However, her imperfections made her desirable in a way that inspired the nastiest of thoughts. He looked away from her before he was tempted to turn his short stay into an all-nighter. He had things to do and he had put them off for long enough. He really shouldn’t have kept her company for as long as he had but he believed that if he might not survive the night, he wanted to die with the recent memories of a woman’s thighs fresh on his mind. It might even have been good luck because he hadn’t been kissed by death just yet.

“You really don’t care about me do you?” she asked, pouting with her head on her white satin pillow. She saved her best white linens for his visits.

“I do.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” she said, sounding as cliché as a line straight out of a romantic comedy.

“How am I supposed to show it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered then paused. “You never say sweet things or do anything nice for me.”

Fully dressed with his gun securely strapped in place, he walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. He looked into her sad eyes and carefully weighed what he would say next.

“You work in a house of lies. Men come here and spend money to feel important and the women pretend to enjoy dancing for their howling amusement, to boost these petty, unimportant men’s egos so they can stomach going home to face their small lives with their wives. Men come here to fool themselves into believing that they can afford the part of you that their hands can never touch. You will never give that to any of them. That game plays out over and over again, every night, in all of these little back rooms. This...what we’re doing...is the only real truth.”

“You’re too complicated.”

“I’m not. The truth is always simple, basic and easy. Fantasies and lies get complicated because it’s hard to keep them believable.”

He leaned close to her face in a rare tender moment and pressed his lips to her forehead. Sassy smiled and got butterflies in her tummy like a school girl anticipating her first kiss. That delicate moment didn’t last long and she felt foolish for thinking it would.

“Doesn’t that mean it’s time for you to go?” she asked as his phone began to ring in his pocket.

“In a few more minutes. I want to spend a little more time with you,” he answered and for the next ten minutes, he ran his fingers along the smooth curves of her face and played in her hair as if he was looking at her for the last time. Then, almost as if he had been coldly calculating the time that had passed with clocklike precision, he abruptly got up from her bed.

“Would you care if I got hurt or killed?” she asked.

“I would shed tears at your funeral,” he answered and Sassy couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

Will counted out a thousand dollars and tossed it on the pillow where his head had rested for the two hours he had spent with her. She reached across lazily to pick up the knot of money but didn’t bother to count it.

“You left way too much,” she said as he walked to the door, certain that, as usual, he overpaid for his stay in her land of milk and honey.

“I didn’t. I left exactly what I owe you. The extra is for the information you got for me,” he answered and walked out of her room.

Bible Thumper
2

Becoming aware of the approaching man, the posture of the officer posted outside the interview room hardened. “Who are you,” he barked, holding up a restraining hand that left no doubt he wouldn’t allow any unauthorized personnel inside.

“Special Agent Royce,” the man answered, three-fingering his cred-pack from his shirt pocket. He flashed his badge and ID card.

The officer scrutinized the credentials. “DOJID? Never heard of it.”

Mechanically, Royce answered, “Department of Justice Infringement Division.” The officer’s curious response hadn’t surprised him at all. He’d been getting that same reaction a lot lately. The agency was only three weeks old, and he, its only field agent. “It’s fairly new. Just more letters to include in the federal law enforcement alphabet soup.”

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to let you inside. Maybe I should check with one of the detectives involved with the case first,” the officer said scratching his head.

Royce read the name tag above the officer’s breast pocket and then produced some paperwork from somewhere inside his suit jacket. “Look, Northouse. This paperwork authorizes me to do whatever I like. I know this is a local case and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way. The suspect in the interview room may have information on a related investigation I’m working on. All I need is a few minutes with him, after that, I don’t care what happens to him.”

Northouse took the documents, his eyes moving left and then right as he scanned every word. After several drawn out minutes, Royce wondered if he should have let the man contact the detectives. Then the officer handed back the paperwork.

“I can’t let you go in with your weapon, Fed or not,” Northouse said in a gruff voice. He pointed to a table to the right with a metal lockbox. “Place your pistol and backup piece inside there.”

Royce upholstered his Glock first. Reaching down to his ankle, he lifted his right pants leg to claim his second gun and placed them both into the metal container. He noticed a thick, worn, bible beside the lockbox. “Yours?”

The officer shook his head. “That bible has been there for as long as I can remember. No one knows where it came from.”

“Mind if I take the good book inside with me?” Royce asked.

“Whatever,” Northouse replied, opening the door to the interview room.

Royce entered the room, the bible gripped in his fingers. Seated firmly in a chair behind a nondescript gray metal table, the suspect, Reggie Dobski, eyed him with obvious resentment.

“Who the hell are you?” Dobski barked. His gaze shot down to the bible in the other man’s hand. “You some kind of preacher man, here to save my soul?” A harsh laugh followed his question.

Royce waited until the door closed behind him before he spoke. “Who I am doesn’t matter.” Glancing around the room, he sought and found the surveillance equipment. “But I am interested in you baring your soul to me.”

Dobski craned his head around following Royce’s movements in the small room. “What the hell are you babbling about, man? And what are you doing?”

Reaching up to the camera perched in a corner; the agent disarmed the unit by pulling out the audio and video cables. When he finished, he circled around the table to stand across from Dobski. He slapped the bible down hard on the flat metal surface, his palm laid atop of it.

The man stared up at him in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of him.

“I have little time and require quite a bit of information from you Reggie. We both know you’re not going to simply answer my questions, because I have a winning smile. So, I’m going to appeal to you in an unexpected way…” He lifted the bible. “I’m going to do this with the word of God.”

Dobski laughed. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. No Name. There’s nothing in that book going to get me to talk.”

Royce grinned. “I beg to differ.”

“Kiss my ass!”

Royce blew out an exhausted breath feigning disappointment. Casually lifting up the book, he rounded the table until he stood alongside Dobski. “You’re not a good man, Reggie. You’ve hurt a lot of people, said and done bad things. You’ve pretty much have broken every commandment.”

“Kiss my ass,” Dobski shouted again.

“Commandment one,” Royce said, “Do not worship any other gods.” His arm came up smacking the man hard underneath the jaw with the bible, forcing him out of the chair like he popped a cork off a champagne bottle and onto the floor.

“You son of a bitch,” Dobski screamed, spitting blood. A tooth wiggled inside his mouth. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t hit me!”

Royce hit him again, striking him in the temple with the thick spine. “Commandment two: Do not make any idols.”

The man’s pain-laden cries filled the room, becoming Royce’s universe. The federal agent got all the way up to the seventh commandment when the suspect begged him to stop hitting him, promising to tell Royce anything he wanted to know.

Obtaining Dobski’s information in record time, Royce sauntered to the exit. The man’s wails followed him out as the interview room door opened.

Northouse stood in the hallway, his sidearm drawn. “What the devil is going on in there?” the officer shouted.

“I’m done with him. He’s all yours,” Royce said, nonchalant. He tossed the bloodied bible on the table next to the lockbox. “Oh, and he’ll need some medical attention.”

Northouse scrambled inside the interview room as the federal agent collected his pistols. His assault on the suspect would most likely lead to a sweet plea bargain in Dobski’s favor. Regardless, Royce hadn’t felt guilty about what he had done. The answers he’d drawn out of the man, trumped any of the petty crimes Dobski had committed.

Before leaving the police station, he’d have to make sure any digital footprint of his visit vanished from the police computer database. His role in the beating of the suspect would eventually become nothing more than rumor and hearsay. The federal agent would carry an air of mystery among officers and criminals alike at the precinct. Just the way Royce liked it.