Silver James

It’s time for words once more because it’s Wednesday and Wednesday means new words. The Irish Wolves are still chattering at me and when I saw the prompt for last week’s #ThursdayThreads prompt, I knew exactly where **”We have to get out.”** belonged in the story. These were an easy 250 words and they were good enough to win me the honorable mention in the 11th anniversary of the flash fiction challenge. I haven’t added any words nor have I edited it beyond a quick spellcheck before I posted it on Thursday. As I said, there’s a scene where it fits and it needs to be edited into that and if I stop to do that then I’ll get sucked in. LOL So, here’s a short bit that’s pretty self-explanatory.
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The message ghosted from the answering machine. “You need to be careful.” Click.

Goosebumps pebbled Maura’s skin as a shiver spiraled around her backbone. A stranger’s voice. She had been careful. She’d avoided Ronan O’Connor like the plague, yet he still appeared, a devil she couldn’t ignore.

Heir apparent, she reminded herself. Irish mob. A dangerous man with dangerous pursuits and dangerous friends. Nothing but danger and trouble. Yet there was something…there. Between them. He’d brush against her in a crowd and she’d suddenly feel safe. And desired. Like he’d always protect her even if he was busy kissing her. No! That way lay dragons.

Her cell phone rang and she jumped. Heart pounding, she stared at the screen. ALEX CALLING. Her boss. And the man she was investigating. She ignored it. Her house phone rang. The caller clicked off halfway through the voice mail instructions. Someone hammered on the front door then rattled the doorknob.

A shadow slipped through her back door and she choked back a scream. The man held his index finger to his lips. She recognized him as one of Ronan’s. He beckoned and she scuttled to him, grabbing only the clutch holding her keys, ID, and credit cards. No cell. Phones could be traced.

“We have to get out,” he told her. She nodded. Into the phone held at his ear, he whispered, “Yeah, the goons’re at the door but she’s safe.”

Maura heard Ronan’s relieved voice. “Get to the footbridge.”

“On our way.”
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Yes, I know who the bad guys are and yes, it’s not exactly a spoiler that Maura’s rescuer gets her out safely and into Ronan’s waiting arms. 😉 Writers, this is a great prompt to run with. Readers, what do want to get out of?

With CROSSFIRE in the revision and editing stage (or so close as to be the same thing) last week, I got to play with the Boston Wolves for the #ThursdayThread prompt of **”You’re going to need that.” The best part of this–besides new words for the Moonstruck Mafia book–the the fact that I wrote a scene that I wasn’t aware of even needing. Until I wrote it. And then I knew exactly where it needed to go in the story, and how I’d skipped over this lead in. I might have figured it out when I got around to editing but now it’s done. A big ol’ pat on the back to my subconscious (aka Iffy the Muse) for putting this together. The scene is pretty much self-explanatory.
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The morning had been a complete waste of his time. First it was the mix-up in the liquor order for the bar. Then there’d been a dust up on the docks and he’d made too many phone calls. Brian Boru called needing information on some possible business the partners. While the old man left most of the work that came with running the organization to Ronan, the old man still kept his hand in the pot—usually the illegal stuff. Brian knew Ronan was working to take the mob legit—at least as much as possible. There’d always been lines that not even Brian would cross—human trafficking the biggest. The information he’d gathered meant he’d have to deal with the gang that had made this new business proposal. And that meant doing it the old way.

Ronan looked up as his brother entered the office. Without a word, Mick strode to the built-in bar, snagged an Irish crystal highball glass and poured a generous splash of Irish whiskey into it. Still silent, he approached the desk and set the drink in front of Ronan.

“What’s this then?” he asked.

“Drink it.”

“And why should I be drinkin’ in the middle of the day?”

“You’re going to need that.”

He didn’t touch the glass but he leaned forward, his entire attention focused on Mick. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

“Just a guess here, but I’m thinkin’ yet must be the operative word.”

“Aye, Ronan.”

“Who died?”

“No one. Yet.”

“And there’s that word again. Fine. Who needs killing then?”

Mick snorted out a laugh. “Now that ’twould be a long list, yeah?”

Ronan leveled an alpha stare on his brother. “I’ve got actual work t’be doin’, Mick. Spill it or get on with yer day and leave me in peace.”

Mick returned to the bar and poured whiskey into a second glass. He tossed it back before he faced Ronan. “It’s the Brannigan woman.”

Ronan went very still. Under his icy stare, Mick grabbed the first glass he’d filled off the desk and drained it too. Sadly, as a Wolf, the alcohol was more for show and taste than any sort of actual palliative effect. He briefly met his brother’s gaze then lowered his eyes.

“What about Maura?” Ronan’s voice was all teeth and claws.

“Someone wants her dead.”
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And there you have it. I’m really looking forward to getting back to this book. It has the capability of being a LONG book. I mean, like 100K words. So a question to readers today. Do you prefer shorter books or long ones? And writers, what “that” are you going to need today? (Feel free to riff on the prompt!)