The FROST is on the pumpkin and the FROSTing is on the cake. I hope it isn’t a pumpkin cake. Not that I have anything against pumpkin. Except maybe pumpkin spice hummus. Don’t ask. Anyway. It’s Wednesday and the #1lineWed theme is **FROST**. In all the WIPs and published books that I have, I only found a touch of FROST. Here’s a scene from NIGHT FALL. The heroine, Shy, is at breakfast with the old ladies when they’re supposed to be on lock down. Something’s wrong and nothing will keep Shy from riding to Gravedigger’s rescue.
THE SOUND OF Harley pipes saved me. We all craned our necks to look out the window to see who was coming. It was one of the guys from the gate and two older bikers I didn’t recognize. The old ladies exchanged worried looks.
“That’s Hoss and Deadhead with Booker,” Ginger said. “If the Topeka prez is here, something big is going down and the guys were serious about us being on lock down.” Her gaze fell back on me, and the others followed suit.
“Gotta be the Hell Dogs.” Sam’s blue eyes were coated in frost. “I hope they find those bastards and wipe them off the face of the earth.”
Something twisted in my gut and I wanted to vomit. Hate. So much hate. And anger. I looked up, sweat beading on my upper lip as I fought back nausea. The old ladies weren’t paying me any attention now, their eyes glued to the front door. Not them. This feeling wasn’t coming from them.
I gagged, drawing their attention again. I managed to choke out, “Bathroom?”
Lainey pointed toward a dark hallway. “I’ll come with—”
I slapped my hand over my mouth and bolted, disappearing into the shadows as the two big bikers walked through the entrance. I saw the illuminated exit sign and didn’t even slow down. It wasn’t alarmed—thank God—and I was out in the sunshine before I stopped to think.
Gravedigger. I had to get to him. Whatever was cramping my stomach had to do with him. His injury maybe? I wasn’t sure. I was sure of only one thing—he was hurt and I had to get to him. I looked around for a car to steal. Nothing. Creeping to the front corner of the diner, I checked the parking lot. The prospect called Booker stood next to his bike, his eyes glued to the door of Momma’s. I noticed two things: he had a pistol and the keys to his bike were still in the ignition.
I came in hard and fast. The kid never had a chance. Taking him by surprise, I put him on the ground, disarmed him, and was straddling his Harley before he could roll over. I was halfway down the block before the others erupted from the front door. Part of me felt bad for Booker. He’d be disciplined, but if he wanted to be an outlaw biker, he’d take it.
Me? If I survived this insanity, I’d probably be in the same cell with him. I didn’t care. My old man needed me, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to stop me from getting to him.
Somehow, I knew exactly where he was. Not the address or anything, just the direction. It was like a pulse in my head—turn here, drive fast, turn left, drive faster. I sensed that the Hummer and the Nightriders from the diner were on my tail. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to Gravedigger.
And since this book is now available almost everywhere, I’m posting a link to NIGHT FALL here, and the cover because I love Digger’s eyes. Just sayin’… Click title or cover for the universal buy link. Have any frosty words to share?