I think I’ve LOST time again because it’s time for #1lineWed and since I never get LOST, I figured I’d share this snippet from Digger’s story. This scene occurs early in the book. In Shy’s POV, the scene is fairly self-explanatory. I hope you enjoy this first draft…
“Bury this, Gravedigger.”
I shivered in the late fall air as the memories washed over me. That’s why I was lying in the weeds, watching. I wanted my life back. No, I wanted a life. I had none, haunted as I was. I didn’t sleep easy so I prepared. And now I was ready. Ready to take back my nights, to learn to sleep, to put me out of my misery, to avenge Becca. And it started tonight.
I lay low in the bushes across the road from the compound. The place was crazy. Years ago, it had been a train station but with Amtrak and the way Kansas City sprawled out, this place had been abandoned and the railroad tracks torn up. Now it was home to that badass biker gang. I knew their name now, and their flavor. The Nightriders.
My dinner “date” with the Springfield cops had been enlightening. They’d had intel that the Nightriders would be coming through on their way to Biloxi. SPD had cars stationed along every major road in and around Springfield. It had been just my luck that I was standing on Kearney, which had once been the iconic Route 66, when they rolled through.
Nightriders were the worst of the worst, second only to the Hell Dogs. The two gangs had been at war for a couple of years and the body count was racking up. As far as the cops knew, it hadn’t spilled over to collateral damage. Yet. I didn’t add to their intel.
Becca’s boyfriend had been a Death Hawg, which seemed—then and now—like a stupid name for a motorcycle gang. The Hawgs were aligned with the Hell Dogs, though they were a small, localized group mostly in Tennessee and Kentucky, though Bozo’s bunch had set up shop outside of Kansas City—smack dab in Nightrider territory. I shoved the past back where it belonged. I needed to focus before I got my tail in a sling.
Car doors slammed and girl giggles drifted on the breeze. The Nightriders were having a party. Again. Three nights ago, on Sunday, they’d had a big party out back. I could smell the burgers, brats, and BBQ. I’d seen kids running around and old ladies showing off their property patches while herdin’ those kids. Lose the bikes and the colors, you’d think it was a freaking PTA picnic. But that was then.
No kids tonight. Tonight was the Miss Biker Babe Missouri contest. I’d watched them park their cars along the street and strut their tails to the gate to flirt with the two young guys in their brand-new colors. Provisionals. I’d done my homework on biker gang life to reacquaint myself. Growing up in the life? Didn’t matter. The details got lost in being a kid. The two on the gate let all the girls in. A few guys turned up. They didn’t make it inside unless they rode up on a big, bad motorcycle wearing leather with that damned wolf plastered on the back.
I halted the fear threatening to free climb up my spine using my vertebrae for handholds. I was here to scout the terrain. That’s all. To look and listen. And learn. But tonight I was going to do that up close and personal. I’d go inside. I had names. It was time I found the bastards who wore them.
And as Shy will discover, all is not lost in her quest for vengeance. Do any of you have lost words to share? And who thinks Shy’s revenge is about to get lost in translation? 😉