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Carla is in a fix. After her date starts trouble with the gang in the old bar. The Insurrections decide to get rough. And she needs a hero. Wonder who'll step up to the plate so to speak?
Grunger watched the woman on the floor. He headed over to her and knelt down in front of her. His stench brought her head up. One deep breath and she gagged and not unsure if she’d be able to stop there.
“You pretty. I want her first. I never get them first.” His voice boomed across the room.
Everyone turned giving him their undivided attention.
“I want her first. I never get them first.” Grunger repeated as he reached his hand to examine her bruised cheek.
She pulled away but only moved a fraction of an inch. Already against the wall Grunger captured her chin in his fingers. He turned her head to the left and back to the right. Carla learned the reputed seeing birds when in pain was true.
Carla sat stunned as if hung in a suspended automation. Sally’s high shrilled voice forced her back into reality.
“I think that’s a good idea. He’s right you know he always gets everybody’s else’s leavings. Don’t you think he deserves something for his loyalty,” She crooned.
Sally’s eyes danced from person to person hoping to get some of the group to agree with her. She was jealous. She also knew as each member passed the piece of fluff on the floor
around Snake might just loose some of his interest. Especially, once he sampled what Sally decided to do to him tonight and bring him back into her loving arms.
Snake made a move to counter act the damage she done when he saw Sally was getting nods of approval from some
of them in the room.
“Next you’ll be wanting her.” Snake pointed to Carla still heaped on the floor. He finished, “Next you’ll be
wanting her to pick who goes first. Yea, like that’s going to happen. Woman go sit down and shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you.” His fist raised threatening to do just that.
Sally still ached from their last physical encounter of a few minutes ago and wasn’t not up to do another battle with him. She cowed and backed away.
“I think that’s a great idea. What fun. Go ahead, pick who do you want to spread 'em for first.” Wrangler piped up as he headed toward the woman.
“Uh-Ugh, no way.” Snake and Tim answered together.
When the banter began to grow loud Grungy stood up and watched the exchange of words.
Thinking now was the time to flee Carla inched toward the edge of the bar.
The slender boot wrapped with a chain missed her leg but caught her skirt. A second pair of female boots now blocked her way.
“Looky here, Chickie, she’s trying to cheat the guys out a fun time tonight.”
“I thought I saw that too, Libs. My Dugger don‘t like no body but me, but the others, well they like variety. Every man needs to enjoy himself and let off some stream.”
Chickie spoke down to Carla. “And honey your just the ticket.”
“Please…” Pleading with the two biker women.
Their evil laugh echoed the confirmation they would be not any help to her. Somewhere a bit of stubborn pride made her refuse to let them see her cry and Carla turned her face away.
He stood right in her line of vision. Expressionless green eyes stared intently back at her. When Hank shifted his weight to his other leg he let his eyes take in the rest of the room.
Tots did the only thing he dared to which was to stand and silently watch keeping his mouth shut.
Tim and another man pulled the two girls away.
Bending over her Tim said, “Ok, we decided you get to pick. So pick.”
By now all four who wanted a piece of Carla stood menacingly close.
One of the male voices began to tell her just what they had in mind to do with her. Growing sicker by the minute Carla knew they where losing patience with her. Quickly drawing to a conclusion before the choice would no longer be hers, she spoke.
Or rather she pointed.
The room hushed. Every head turned toward the man leaning against the bar as if he had not a care in the world.
“You want, Hank. Hank the ugly Hulk.”
She hadn’t looked up to see which female spoke.
Snake piped up with,“Hank don’t do strangers. In fact I
ain’t seen him with a woman since he…”
“Shut-up you fool,” One of the gang warned him.
Sally still pushing for anyone except Snake to have the privilege chimed in, “She wants him; let him have her. I say. It will do Hank good.’’
He shook he head.“Sorry princess not interested.” Lifting
the beer bottle in his hand to his lips he emptied it.
Tots choked. He just handed him a new bottle. A smile crossed the man's old wrinkled face. Hank was very interested.
Hmmm...wonder just how interested Hank the Ugly Hulk is..?
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Ps. This is book not professional edited.
tenative cover..What do you think of it?
Thanks for popping in. In preparation for my new release I have decided to share parts of it it on SampleSunday. Since this still is a work in process please leave a comment.
It will enhance the finished product your personal free-back is very important to a writer and your comment just might enhance the finished product.
The storyteller stood before the small group of The People. They always gathered hear to the things he had to say and learn their history, and future storytellers would one day pass the tales down to their grandchildren.
His hair turned gray years ago. Two feathers and an animal tail swung with the breeze near his right ear. No one knew his age. He did not even know himself. Unlike many others his age, this man still stood tall and straight. His skin was dark and weathered like a deer hide that had seen too many rains.
The People respected their storyteller and gave him their rapt attention as the he finished his tale.
"And...so then once the Hare out smarted the Fox, the Fox realized Hare won. Fox would be again hungry this night in his den."
Everyone stirred at once, some laughing, some smiling, and some with hoots of excitement.
"Tell us more, Storyteller." Someone in the crowd asked.
"Yes, please, please do!" Another voice added.
The old man weathered eyes looked though the crowds while he tried to determine the next tale to tell.
The young brave Eagle, in the past heard only parts of the story he was about to request, and he wanted to know everything.
please tell us the story of Wolfkeeper's woman they called Ghostwoman," he
"Ah, yes the Ghostwoman.” The Storyteller knew the tale extremely well. Parts of it he had never, nor would he ever, repeat. These parts remained locked deep in his heart, and they would stay there forever. But, he would tell it. Enough so those listening would learn what personal sacrifice and love can
"Some would say it was a very sad story, my son. Are you ready for tears? Others would say that it tells of the great love that a mother holds for her child.
Then other might it's about a brave warrior that followed his heart.I will tell you of Wolfkeeper's Ghostwoman, and you can decide for yourself."
A hush settled over his audience, the old man continued, "The day promised to be the most beautiful, so far that spring..."
Chapter 1 April 1845
“I love spring. It's promising to be a beautiful day.” Cassie declared for her ears only as she stepped outside onto her porch. It was a promise that would soon be broken.
Cassie leaned against the doorframe of her five-month-old split log cabin. Unconsciously, she wiped her hands on the sides of her apron trying to remove the last traces of flour that remained from the preparation of the biscuits, she just pulled from the oven.
Her eyes squinted when the sun's glaring rays hit her face, instinctively her left hand rose to shield her light brown eyes.
“Breakfast." Waving, her hand to get their attention. She was aware they were still too far away to know what she said. They both waved back picking up their pace. She knew they understand her.
reakfast now waited inside for her husband and their neighbor. All that remained was to get their attention. She observed two figures moving at the bottom of the gully her husband Frank and neighbor Todd. They started to scramble up the slope toward the one room home.
The two men had been up before dawn, fixing Frank Clark's pigpen, again. One of the little creatures was an escape artist. This was the third time it had broken out. Fortunately, it
did not ramble too far away. The pigsty, now repaired with the animals secured, everyone hoped for the last time. The friends were ready for their well-earned breakfast.
"Frank, your wife sure can cook. I can smell her biscuits and bacon from here. Wanna race?"
"When we first got hitched all she did was burn water.
Thanks to Mary Lou and your Becky, I am a well-fed, happy man... One, two, three, Go!"
Cassie smiled when the two grown men started
running. On seeing them scramble breathlessly up the hill apparently another contest had begun. At first, they ran neck and neck then suddenly, Todd fell. She started to laugh thinking he decided to be funny.
When Todd didn't rise to continue the race, Cassie grew a little concerned if he had injured himself. She heard Frank shout something at her. Her husband now began to move faster up the hill toward their cabin. He collapsed not twenty feet from her, his arm reaching out in vain to warn her. Instantly, the sound of laughter died in her throat. She watched a red stain spread rapidly across the back of her husband's blue-checkered shirt. Three arrows protruded from his back as he lay unnaturally still.
The noise became deafening. ........
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It's been awhile.
"The Stepbrothers" are back with a whole new look. Last month, it was re-released as a self-published book and offered at much lower price.
Clint's childhood friend Mac has not been able convince Clint needs to let go of his revenge plans for his stepbrother George. Samantha, however, has her own plans for Clint.
Clint’s journey proved successful. Soon the day he lived for would be here. Jerking on the reins, he halted his horse. Shots. He heard shots and they came from the direction he was heading. With a quick tug, the horse lunged forward.
He rode post haste straight ahead and entered the yard. The hint of color catching his eye was what led him to see his best friend hugging his woman.
Only she isn‘ t your woman, she’s George’s
He dismounted and strolled up to them. Once he figured out why they were shooting, he was livid.
“Mac, what the hell you two doing?”
“What does it look like you fool, anybody with eyes can see. I’m teaching Samantha to defend herself.”
Clint never heard all that Mac had to say. He was too busy. Busy watching the revolver now pointed at his chest. He recognized her resolve. In another second Samantha would be pulling the trigger. He closed his eyes.
The sound of the gun firing rang through his ears as he waited for the
impact. It never came.
Mac, realizing what she intended, slammed his arm against her changing the direction of the bullet.
“Sam, honey, you have got to be more careful. You could’ve…”
The saddest look Clint ever seen, shown in Mac’s eyes at that moment when he understood her reasons yet he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her.
Clint, realizing he hadn’t been shot, now swaggered over to her. She, without any hint of remorse, lifted her head to look at him. He slapped her hard across the face.
“Now, Clint…” Mac started but never got to finish.
“Mac, you seem to forget she belongs to me.” Clint swung at him.
Stunned, Samantha piped in with, “I belong…I belong to you? Who do you think…”
There was no reason to finish the men were too busy fighting each other to be bothered listen to her.
The two men smashed into each other, rolling in the dirt. The last punch knocked Mac down hard, and it was taking a few moments for him to get back up when Samantha turned, picked up her skirt and went running toward the house.
“She ain’t your girl, Clint,” Mac told him all but surrendering the fight to him.
Clint decided not to continue fighting his friend and dusted himself off. That statement knocked the wind out of him faster and harder than any punch Mac could have delivered.
“Where’d she go?”
The man on the ground extended a hand up. “Help me up, Clint.”
Clint extended a hand then Mac’s fist connected with his chin. He winced and fell to the ground sprawled out in the dirt semiconscious.
Mac bent over, picked up his hat, and dusted it off by slamming it against his right leg. He shook his head in disgust and walked with determination back to the house.
He caught up to Samantha when she was halfway up the stairs.
“Are you alright?” he asked stopping behind her.
“Why did you have to stop me?”
“Sam, honey, you’re not being rational.”
“Rational? Rational. You call what he done to me rational?” She took a step up and stopped then turned to face him. “Maybe you’re both needing to be shot if you feel like him.”
Mac gasped when he saw Clint’s hand print was still visible, red against the pale white skin of her left cheek. He stuttered and his shoulders sagged in embarrassment at their actions and how she suffered because of them. He stopped three steps below her, unable to find the right words.
“Maybe you’re right.”
With that Samantha sped up the remaining stairs and slammed the door behind her. Mac swung around and headed back down. With the release of a deep breath full of disgust, not only for Clint’s behavior, but also for his own, he decided he needed a stiff drink and automatically searched out the sitting room for a fresh bottle of whiskey.
Minutes later, the glass about to be lifted to his mouth would be number three. That’s when Clint finally made an appearance. Taking in how rough he looked, instead of swigging it down himself, he passed it to his friend. “Not sure which of us look worse for wear, but here.”
The man standing before him with the eye turning black and blood still oozing from his nose, wordlessly accepted the offering throwing his head back and consuming the fiery liquid.
“Does it hurt?” Mac asked wincing once he had a better look at what he did to his friend’s face.
“Of course, it hurts. You fool, ever try drinking with
a split lip. It burns like hell.”
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs…Why? You need to slap her around some more?”
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