Wednesday. Again. Funny how that works. I finished the line edits for THE BOSS AND HIS COWGIRL. The manuscript is headed back to Mr. HQ Editor. He really pushed me this time. That’s good. But here it is Wednesday. Again. And that means it’s time for #1LineWed. Today’s Kiss of Death theme over on Twitter is “OLD.” I had to look around for something from a WIP about “old.” I found this. It’s a snippet. From the Russian’s story. I’ll let it speak for itself.
He was a man who would never wear a suit and tie. He was a man who would never succumb to the trappings of civilization. Wild. Fierce. Powerful in ways that made women sigh all the way down to their deeply feminine cores. This man would keep his woman safe, bring meat to the cave, and fuck her into oblivion. Danger gathered around him like shadows at midnight. I was always a little afraid of him. But never enough to walk away.
What happened was all my fault. If I’d been the one strong enough, brave enough to leave, I wouldn’t be standing here gazing at the faces around me. No one looked at me. I stood at the back, listening to the rain tap dance on my umbrella.
Nothing made sense. Not how we met. How he came to possess me. How I surrendered to him heart and soul. How his touch devoured me like flames. How, in the end, the light of his love would flicker out, leaving me in the dark.
“You don’t belong here.”
I glanced at the woman who had sidled up next to me. She obviously did, with her spiked blonde hair and patched leather jacket. Property of Easy, the patches said, the words hugging the leaping wolf with the comet’s tail. She was right. I wasn’t Nightrider property. Not anymore. Not that I’d ever been. Really. I didn’t belong, but I’d been unable to stay away.
We’d parted badly, he and I, him ripping my heart from my chest when he roared away on his Harley without a backward glance. I’d heard the news that brought me here from a little bird far too happy at sharing information guaranteed to shred my heart. Again.
So here I stood, hiding under my umbrella though the rain gave way to drizzle, watching to see if it was true. Tall, he could see over the crowd. His eyes found me like a heat-seeking missile. He recognized me, but his expression never changed. That told me all I needed to know. He was done with me. Irrevocably. I was yesterday. Old girlfriend. Old news.
Someone spoke to him and his gaze slid away. Freed from his spell, I turned, walked with an unsteady gait I blamed on the uneven terrain back to my car. I watched my feet, unwilling to trip and fall, furthering my embarrassment. I stopped when I saw the black motorcycle boots blocking my path.
Tilting both the umbrella and my head, I looked up. I’d been a cherished possession when I’d been his, back in the dark ages. He brushed two knuckles across my wet cheek as he breathed my name. “Grace.”
In self-defense, I said the first thing that came to mind. “There’s not enough rain to hide the tears.”
“Do you miss me so much, kotenok?”
Kitten. He still called me kitten. I couldn’t answer so I stepped around him, determined to leave.
He called after me, his voice curling around me like warm fingers. “Always you lied to yourself, but you could never lie to me.”
Truth, that, but I kept walking, telling one final lie to myself—that I could walk away. From my destiny. From Sergei.
No telling when the Russian’s story will be finished. It comes to me in snippets like this so I write them down and save them. What about y’all? Who has some “old” words to share?