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?