Today’s theme for #1lineWed is one that leaves a lot open to interpretation. When I searched for “UP” in BLOOD BRIDE (which is complete now! Well, first draft anyway 😉 ) the opening scene gave me lots of possibilities. So, consider this a tease, a snippet, an enticement I hope you enjoy…
Some wise guy once said, “Every life is heroic.” Couldn’t prove that by Rhys Kendric. He’d had a chance to be a hero once, but he’d cut and run like a prissy little girl. Of course, he’d been fifteen, with the Blood Moon hanging full on the eastern horizon and the grisly remains of his father lying at his feet.
Fuck. He hated getting maudlin like this. That’s what happened when he went too long between jobs. Rhys stared at the grimy mirror above the back bar and toasted his reflection. After draining the cheap whiskey in his glass, he slammed it on the bar. His fingers itched to pick up the phone lying at his elbow. Maybe he’d call Frank. It was Wednesday night. He’d be home watching TV. If the old man didn’t have a job, he’d know of someone who did. The face of the phone lit up before he could make the decision. Frank.Speak of the devil.
“Yo. Gotta a job for me?” Rhys hoped he didn’t sound like he was begging. Not that he was. Much.
“I can’t call just to say howdy?”
Rhys pulled the phone away and stared at it like it might bite him. Frank Lucchese never called just to chat. He put the phone back to his ear. “What’s wrong?”
Something in the old man’s voice put Rhys on guard. “Dammit, Frank. What’s up?”
“I almost didn’t call you, son.”
Fuck. When Frank called him son, things weren’t going to hell, they were firmly in residence. “Why not?”
“There’s a job. It’s tailor made for you.”
Ah. A job with special sauce on the side. That meant another Wolf had jumped bail. Frank always called him in for those hunts. Took one Wolf to track and trap another. Still, something was off. “Waitin’ for the other shoe, old man.”
Rhys heard Frank suck in several deep inhalations, like he was working up his nerve to keep talking. “The job…well, it means going back to your old stompin’ grounds.”
Double fuck. Now it was his turn to suck in oxygen. He hadn’t been back to Fleetwood since that fatal autumn fifteen years ago. Except in his nightmares. He closed his eyes and the scene his memory replayed was just as vivid now as it had been in real life.
What’s up in your worlds? Got any words to share?