Today’s #1lineWed theme is DARK. So many different ways to go with this theme. However, since I’m doing some editing (older project that came off Kindle Unlimited and is going live to multiple sales channels) I decided to write something new. These characters popped up during last Saturday’s #FlashMobWrites challenge. This isn’t the whole scene, but it’s enough, I think. 😉 This will become a Nightriders novella at some point so enjoy!
Leigh Daniels didn’t hate the dark. Not really. But driving down a two-lane road on the outskirts of the Dallas metroplex at 6:00 am on a cold winter morning was not on her Top 10 Fun Things To Do On The Job list. At least she hadn’t been up all night putting out the warehouse fire. Nope. They waited to call her until she’d finally snuggled under her down comforter after being up all night at the scene of a suspicious house fire.
Fog swirled in front of her headlights and she wished, not for the first time, that she’d driven her POV instead of the department’s POS. Personally Owned Vehicles were infinitely better than Pieces Of Shit. Her Toyota had fog lamps and four-wheel drive. The arson squad’s sedan was ten years old and its headlights barely penetrated the night.
A shadow darted across the road right in front of her. Animal. She slammed on the brakes, fought the vehicle and tires grabbed for traction. A thump. The car shuddered. Tires lost traction as wheels locked. And then she was holding on for dear life as the POS bounced off the road, careened across the rough-grade shoulder and stopped.
Leigh slowly released the steering wheel and blood returned to her fingers. Had she hit the dog? Her red sedan listed to one side, nose down in the bar ditch. Unbuckling, she pushed the door open and leveraged herself out, stepped back about five feet and bit back a string of curse words. There was no way she’d be able to drive out.
She reached into the front seat to snag her handheld radio. She should have been on the fire scene twenty minutes ago. The guys from Station 58 had been standing around in the rainy fog waiting for her. Before she could radio in to Dispatch, the roar of a big motorcycle echoed in the fog. Moving further from the roadbed, Leigh watched the ghostly bike appear, roar past, and then disappear.
Except it didn’t. The motorcycle reappeared through the dark, driving the wrong way back toward her on the shoulder. As an arson investigator, she was cleared to carry a sidearm but guns were not her thing. She counted on her colleagues and the cops for backup if there was a situation where a weapon might be needed.
She was really regretting that decision now.
He tossed his leg over his Harley and stalked toward her. He was six feet four inches and 240 pounds of Do Whatever the Hell He Wanted. His dark, shaggy hair had been combed by the wind. His eyes, color to be determined, were hooded. Fog drifted between them, almost as thick as smoke and then he was there, suddenly, feet braced, massive arms crossed over his chest, black leather jacket stretched to capacity.
Great. The guy was a master of the understatement, not to mention that if his name was Trouble, she wouldn’t mind having some. She flicked her hand toward the car. “You could say that.”
Yeah, Leigh is looking at trouble and his name is Smoke. 😉
Anybody else got some dark words to share?