Time flies. It’s already Wednesday again and we have a time-sensitive THEME for #1lineWed. Do you have time to read a snippet? And it’s about time that I reveal the prompt, yeah? In case you haven’t had time to figure it out, it’s **TIME**. Sorry. I’m typing this on very little sleep, not enough coffee, and slight aftereffects from my booster shot. Anyway, TIME plays a big role in the current WIP. I pretty much used the word in every single chapter. I do believe that’s a first. Anyway, this scene involves Ronan, the underboss of the Boston Wolves and Devlin, his main enforcer. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I think. If not, I plead sleep, coffee, and shot.
****
Ronan poured Devlin a glass of the good Irish whiskey. The man tossed it back in one gulp. Worried, he studied Dev. Haunted. Whatever had occurred this day marked him and not in a good way. Ronan’s wolf was restless, sensing Dev’s animal. They were pack. They ran together when they could get out of the city but his wolf knew the other was wounded, just as the man was.
“Talk to me,” he ordered with a soft edge to his voice.
“Feckin’ cop needs t’die. Yesterday.”
“Not yet.” Ronan reared back at the feral snarl coming from the steadiest man in the crew. “What the hell, Dev?”
“The boat was his. He was on it. Runnin’ booze, cigarettes, and drugs. Not huge numbers but enough. He docked in New Bed, off-loaded. One of Danny Boy’s men oversaw the divvying up.”
So far, that’s what Ronan expected to hear but this was a routine smuggling drop. What had Dev running so hot?
Dev held out the Irish crystal glass. Ronan filled it again. Dev tossed the whiskey back and swiped a hand over his mouth. “His wife. She’d gone down the Cape after church, with some girlfriends. The three friends gotta be single. They were flirtin’ with everything with a dick. But not my girl. No. She stayed in those pants that aren’t pants but aren’t shorts.”
“Capris,” Callum added helpfully.
“Whatever. No bathin’ suit. Sat under the umbrella like she’d be in trouble if she got a sunburn.” He scrubbed at his hair with his free hand. “Fuck me, Ronan.” His voice broke and the four men in the office with him all winced.
They exchanged worried looks but no one spoke. “I followed the feckin’ cop. In a feckin’ boat. And then I had to feckin’ hitch a ride to get my car. He went home, near as I can tell. Got there after dark. Not sure how much he beat me by but that damn BMW was in the driveway.” He shuddered, his whole body shaking as he held out his glass once more. Silently, Ronan filled the glass again. And again, Dev drained it in one chug. “And then I heard it. Heard the accusations. Heard the punches and the cries and—”
“Fuck.” The word came from three throats simultaneously. Ronan was the only one who remained silent.
“Why does she take it?” he implored Ronan, his dark eyes swimming with tears. “He almost killed her tonight. And why? For goin’ to fuckin’ church and then to the beach for a damned picnic with her girlfriends.”
“What is she to you, Devlin?” Ronan kept his voice soft and even as he stood and crossed to the other man.
“I don’t feckin’ know but I feckin’ felt every goddamned blow he landed on her.”
Without a second thought, Ronan drew the big man into his arms and hugged him. In his ear, he whispered the words Devlin had been praying for. “It’s time.”
****
So, time waits for no man. 
Writers, do you have time to share some timely words? Readers, what do you wish you had more time to do?
Silver James 
Ooooooooo, that’s a good one. Each snippet you post of this makes me want it that much more. Gimme gimme gimme.
As it turns out, time is right there on the first page of my WIP. I know I’ve shown this before, but here’s the newer, more polished version…
Aryl gazed into his sister’s eyes through the iron bars separating them. Lyra’s hair floated on the wind, dragging long lines of icy white across her pink cheeks. He touched his own tussled, black locks and once more reflected on the stark contrast of his night to her day and how the dusky purple of her eyes mirrored his own. The lines of her face were a softened version of his own. The lithe and gentle image she showed the world stood in stark contrast to his roughened exterior.
Twins by birth but not by form. Strangely mirrored—if said mirror had been stolen from the King’s funhouse.
Off in the distance, the wagon master gave a shrill whistle. The caravan that brought them to Kingshead would soon wind its way toward the market on the outskirts of the city, Later, once the people of the outlying districts made their purchases, it would return through the villages of Elmridge and Northunder before finally arriving in the mountain town of Glenfell, only to make the same trek again in a month’s time. Month after month, always the same. The only difference now was Aryl would be staying as his family returned home.
If Lyra tarried much longer, she’d be left behind with him. And she couldn’t stay. She was without.
When a sharper whistle sounded from the building behind him, Aryl’s heart sank. They were out of time. He had no choice but to go into the cold stone edifice. Alone. His sister would remain outside the Academy’s gates forever as he disappeared into the building he had never asked to enter.
I love this beginning. SOOOOO muc h promise to this story. I’m so glad you are forging ahead with it! ❤ ❤ ❤
And thanks. I've been neglectful this week for…reasons. Maybe I'll get back in gear before the week is out.
You and me both on the neglectful thing. Yesterday was a total bust. And yes, it was because I got caught up watching the end of Lethal Weapon 1 and then all of 2. Here’s hoping we both get back in gear.
Oh, how inciting.
Indeed it is. 😉
Felt Devlin’s anguish as if it it was my own. Loved the teaser. I
enjoyed B.E.’s snippet as well. Can’t wait to read the finished product of both stories.
Yay! Thanks, Latesha! ❤ B.E. creates some amazing fantasy and I'll admit, I'm enjoying my Boston Wolves. LOL 😉
Its time….
Time to get all caught up in house…working on the garden.
Gonna be good tale.
Glad you think so, Dawn! Don’t work too hard. Take time to relax too. 🙂