Wicked WIP Wednesday: What lies beneath the stars?

 

Everything this month is building towards the release of Saint's Sinner. Here is another little snippet from the story. 

They took what meant most to him, but they underestimated what he and his club would go through to retrieve the man he loved.

Going legit didn’t mean going soft. Unfortunately, no one informed the rest of the world of that. Factions within their MC had been pushing buttons for months, wanting to pull the club back into ventures they were better off staying out of. Betrayals had been brought to light and swiftly dealt with. Treaties had been forged that were proving to be particularly lucrative. Business was good. They were even learning the ins and outs of diversifying. It wasn’t as profitable as their previously less than legal pursuits, but it kept the cops off their backs, for the most part, and bodies in the clubhouse rather than behind bars.

So then why was Sinn not at his side where the man belonged?

Well, that’s exactly what they were burning up the road trying to discover.

Along the way, loyalties might be tested, lines would certainly be drawn, and blood was sure to be shed, once they discovered who was behind the mysterious disappearance of the man he’d unwaveringly been drawn to.

And if a certain prospect should happen to prove unbelievably desirable in ways that had nothing to do with the road, well than that was just a bonus to Saint’s way of thinking. He was a man who thrived on pleasure and debauchery. What better place to find both than in the arms of men named Night and Sinn?

“It’s been a while since I’ve been camping,” Sinn murmured, keeping his voice low. “Are the stars out tonight?”

“Yeah,” Night murmured. “Lots of them. I was just laying here trying to figure out the difference between Pollux and Castor.”

“The fuck?”

“Twin stars that make up the Gemini constellation,” Night said. “Pollux and Castor were brothers or something. One was mortal and one was immortal if I remember it right. The immortal one wanted to share his immortality with his brother, so Zeus made them stars. Now they live up there forever.”

He felt Sinn moving and when he glanced over, Night saw that he was laying on his back now too. “Where did you learn that?”

“This book my brother had when we were kids. He was always staring up at the sky, talking about space camp and wanting to be an astronaut.”

“I’m going to guess that didn’t happen.”

“Naa. He, and a couple of my cousins got busted holding up a Wawas. They did three years in juvie and joined the family business not long after they got out.”

“Which would be?”

“Nothin’ legal.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Sinn said. “So what about you? Did you join the family business?”

“I’m not a fan of sleeping behind bars,” Night admitted.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I’m on hiatus.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s the best answer I’ve got.”

“Somehow, I doubt that, but I’ll wait and press you when there are fewer ears around to hear whatever it is you’re trying to hide.”

“Mark knows my history.”

“But it isn’t Mark’s bed you're looking to climb in?” Sinn asked. “Or at least I hope it’s not.”

“Don’t see where one thing has to do with the other.”

Sinn rolled a little more, until his hand rested on Night’s chest, just above his heart. “When I claim someone, it’s not going to be for a little while. So, if you’re on hiatus from something that’s going to yank you out from underneath me, then I wanna know before I invest too much time in someone who might not be worth it.”

“I’m patchin’ in here, now ain’t I?”

“Yeah,” Sinn replied. “But if this week has taught me anything, it’s how quickly the past can come back to haunt you. If I hadn’t told you where I was from…”

“We’d still be searching, that simple,” Night said. “Saint wouldn’t have given up until he was six feet under, and even then, they might have had to stomp him down two more feet just to keep his ghost from going postal.”

“Yeah, that’s the part that scared the shit outta me.”

Books 1 and 2 of the Rollin' Jokers series can be found on Amazon and at all major booksellers. 

Rollin' Jokers Series

Twisted Tuesday: He who is without Sinn...gets desperate.

 

I'm Back!!!

For over a month I've been without a laptop and thus, the mellow mushroom has been a far too silent place. With new computer in hand, or more specifically, on my lap, I'm pleased to get back to my daily posts beginning with this one, for Saint's Sinner, book 3 of the Rollin' Joker's series, which unfortunately had to be moved to the end of May for release in order to allow me time to polish the story. 

For those who read Claiming Cody, you'll remember that Sinn went missing at the end of that book, and Saint was beside himself trying to figure out what happened to him, well, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as what happened to Cody when the splinter faction of Jokers caught him in an alley in the previous book, but it was still enough to piss both Sinn and Saint off, though not necessarily for the exact same reason. 

“Relax.” 

If there was ever a word spoken in the human language that had the ability to cause the opposite effect it was intended to, relax was at the top of that list. In fact, Saint couldn’t think of a single instance in the history of the word relax where someone had responded to it by calming the fuck down. His brother should know that but judging from the way he was kicked back in his chair nursing his beer, he’d clearly forgotten what it was like to have it uttered at him when he was stressed.  

"Brutha,” Saint cautioned, slamming his empty bottle on the desk, and taking satisfaction in seeing it shatter, “if you tell me to relax one more time, I’m gonna forget we’re blood and kick your ass to the beach and back.” 

“Save your energy for when we find Sinn.” 

“You mean if we find Sinn!” 

“We’ll find him.” 

“You can’t promise that!” Saint raged, “You can’t promise he’ll be okay either!” 

“No, but what I can promise is that whoever has done this will be made to pay.” 

Snarling, Saint slammed his hand on the front of the desk and wound up with a piece of glass embedded in it. “And that’s supposed to be comforting?” 

“Did I say…” 

Snarling, Saint cut Mark off by whipping a heavy glass ashtray at his head. Fucker didn’t even have the good graces to try and get out of the way. It would have been nice if he’d pretended it had come close to hitting him, but Saint’s aim had always been shitty when it came to throwing. Mark probably figured moving would be what got him hit. That or he just didn’t give a shit. He didn’t flinch when glass and plaster exploded outward from the dent the ashtray put in the wall, nor did he twitch when shards slit his cheek and sent blood spilling down it much like the flow trickling from Saint’s hand.  

“If this was Teddy, Kat, or god forbid, one of my nephews, you’d have destroyed half the town by now!” Saint roared. 

“And you’d have been right there beside me.” 

“Then why the fuck aren’t we out their doing it now?” 

The casual way Mark reached up and brushed glass fragments out of his hair took Saint to a whole other level of pissed off. “Because we’re older and supposed to be wiser at this point in our lives, and we both know the cops are itching to swarm this place and lock us under the jail. Between those fuckheads taking a shot at me in the dinner and sending Lucky to the hospital, and the brawl with Shaw’s crew, we’re on thin ice with the local authorities, or have you forgotten their warning Kat bailed us out that day?” 

Saint groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing his brother was right, despite not being in the mood to hear him sounding reasonable. “Wasn’t going legit supposed to keep them off our asses?” 

“Could be we underestimated how difficult it was gonna be to keep the personal from spinning sideways even when the businesses were on the up and up.” 

“You think!” 

“Saint! Cool it! I mean that shit too. I can’t think with you going ballistic every twelve seconds and I’m tired of telling you that no one has called in to report the smallest damn thing.” 

"Well what the fuck are they waiting for?” 

“To find something would be my guess!” 

The low rumble of approaching Harley’s quickly turned to a roar. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had taken the baffling off their bikes, making them extra loud, which meant it was no one in their club. Town noise ordinances had cured them of straight piping years ago, when they got hit with so many fines they'd had to throw a ‘rent party’ just to pay them. Saint grabbed the sawed-off and headed for the door, his brother at his back with the pump action. The gate was engaged, no one would get through without the code, but that didn’t mean they’d go away peacefully.  

Saint's Sinner can be preordered here!