Welcome back to Weird, Wild & Wicked Tales for the October version of Promptly Penned. And we've had our first snow. Yes, you read that right. Yesterday morning we woke up to snow in Cheyenne. Guess winter's here.

The prompt line is: "All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”

The prompt will be in BOLD in the story, and this is my current WIP, DUDE WITH A COOL CAR. Happy reading!

~~~~~~~
I came awake with a start, trying to get my bearings before I did anything drastic. My heart pounded in my chest and I panted as if I’d been running.

I was running…Wasn’t I?

I frowned as I sat up, taking in my bedroom. Everything sat quiet and serene. But the panic in my heart was real. Except nothing was happening where I sat in my bed.

I shot a look out the window and the half moon cast wan light over the ground. I couldn’t see the actual satellite from my window, but the ground glowed with its silvery light. Again, everything sat quiet and calm.

Something’s wrong.

I knew it in my gut just as clearly as I knew when someone needed their cosmic bill collected. I shook my head, trying to ferret out the feelings and emotions associated with my gut instinct, but nothing came to me. I frowned. Must have been a nightmare.

Except I never had nightmares. As the physical manifestation of karma, my dreams weren’t full of fear. They always consisted of setting things right and the satisfaction that came with it.

Taking a deep breath to calm my heartbeat, I lay back and closed my eyes, trying to coax my stressed body back into relaxation. It had gotten harder and harder to do since Coop left, but it was better than having the man around me. I’d want him too much and I couldn’t trust him.

I settled finally and let my mind go back into that twilight area between waking and sleeping. At first, everything swirled around my awareness and I swirled with it, not focused on anything. But shadows and eddies of mist took shape and I found myself standing in the shadow cast by a building in an industrial part of a city. The walls had graffiti in large light-colored loops that were vaguely reflected in to puddles of the alley floor. Dumpsters created a strange obstacle course into the darkness and small mammals—probably rats—scurried away from any light presented.

Like the set of headlights on the vehicle at the mouth of the alley.

Rhythmic thumps came from behind one of the Dumpsters along with grunts and moans of pain. At first, I was just listening to them, but after a while I could feel the impacts of each blow and pain filtered into my awareness. Agony seared through the ribs on my right side and my left hand screamed with pain at each beat of my frantic heart. My face had grown numb from all the blows it had sustained and one eye had swollen shut.

What the actual fuck?

“All right, Kinsley. That’s enough.”

The beating stopped and from my place in the shadows I saw a cop with a nightstick step away from the Dumpster. It took me a few moments to realize Officer Kinsley had been beating someone on the ground. The man who’d spoken shifted in front of one headlight, his silhouette a stark, black smear against the light. He wore a fedora hat and actually held a walking cane. Now all he needs are black-sided spats and he’s got the whole Chicago Mafioso thing going.

Fedora Guy tilted his head to take in the body on the ground. “So, Marshal DeVille, have I gotten your attention now?”

Marshal DeVille? My blood chilled and my gut clamped into a painful spasm. I had to get closer to see if the name fit the man I thought I knew.

“F-f-fuck off.” I recognized the voice, but it sounded haggard, tired, and resigned.

Fedora Guy shook his head, tsking with disappointment. “Not the best response, Marshal. Kinsley?”

The uniform moved in and dealt several more blows, DeVille moaning with each impact. I felt them on my own body and bit back the screams as pain swelled in a crescendo. At last, Kinsley stopped and stepped back once more. I crept closer, trying to get a better view, but my breath wheezed in my chest, the pain making it hard to breathe.

“Now then.” Fedora Guy leaned forward on his cane. “I’ll say this again. Have I gotten your undivided attention, Marshal?”

“Y-y-yeah.” Anger remained in DeVille’s voice, but it had been banked.

“Very good.” Fedora Guy nodded and straightened before he tilted his head. “You know, all that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes. Of course, you were much prettier before Kinsley got to you, but such is life.” He shrugged. “So here’s the deal. You need to stop looking into the Backlog. Don’t look for us or our money. Don’t talk to anyone about it. Don’t even mention it to your pretty, darkie girlfriend.”

Coop made a sound in the back of his throat and Fedora Guy nodded.

“Oh yeah, we know who she is and how to get to her, so keep that in mind.” Fedora Guy motioned to Kinsley. “Give him back his gun.”

The uniform set the gun on the ground near Coop, but far enough away that he couldn’t get to it quickly.
“This is how it’s all gonna play out. You forget about the Backlog. Stop researching where the money goes or who the players are, and you got back to your life as Marshal Cooper DeVille.” Fedora Guy waved at someone else and the engine of the car started, the headlights flickering with ignition. “If you don’t, we’ll come back to finish the job we started tonight. And we’ll make sure your girlfriend is collateral damage. Got me?”

“Y-y-you s-s-stay away f-f-from her or I’ll f-f-fuckin’ kill you.”

Officer Kinsley barked an ugly laugh. “You hear that, boss? He’s the big man givin’ orders now.” He aimed a kick at the man on the ground and I marked him for death in that moment.

“Hey, Marshal DeVille, the choice is yours. Your girlfriend won’t know a thing if you let the Backlog go. Simple as that.”

Oh, I’d know. I already did, and they’d just pissed off karma. From what I could tell, all the men surrounding Fedora Guy, him included, were due for some retribution. But he’d harmed my true mate, and while Coop and I had some issues to work out, no one harmed my mate and lived to tell about it. Fedora Guy and his crew were now marked for death. I’d see to it personally.
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That's it for me this month. Check out the other authors who wrote something to the prompt.

• Jessica Jarman
• Gwen Cease
• Bronwyn Green

Welcome to Flash Fiction...Inspired by a Melody. It's the end of August and school is about to start. Man, this year flew by. I can't believe it's almost my birthday. I'm part of a fantastic group of exceptional authors who do a monthly flash fiction blog display. All of them are excellent writers and I highly recommend visiting their blogs. This time the story was inspired by I THINK WE'D FEEL GOOD TOGETHER by Rob Thomas, and you can read the lyrics HERE and watch the video HERE.

~~~~~~~
The gates closed behind the FBI and I tried to get my body to relax.

He’s gone.

Relief made my knees turn to mush and I damn near crumpled onto the lawn chair I’d set under the Ponderosa pine outside my cabin. He’s gone, and I’m home. It seemed like an odd thing to say given the short time I’d been with the Concrete Angels, but each and every member had stood up with me and faced down Agent Hopkins and his frustrated fury. I had a family, now, though a very unconventional one.

I’d wanted retribution on Hopkins for two years now, ever since he raped me and I’d left the FBI where no one had my back. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but might have actually been a better result. Rape was about power, and Hopkins had been impotent here in the compound. The search warrant had yielded nothing – no guns, no drugs – and none of us were doing anything illegal. Hell, The Friar had been tinkering with his bike and Scott had been doing laundry. Might be weird for a guy to do laundry, but still legal in the state of Colorado.

Agent Hopkins had been powerless and it felt fuckin’ awesome to watch him twitch over it.

Buh-bye, Faleena.

I scrubbed my face and let out my breath in a long sigh.

“Hey, Numbers, how you doin’?”

I glanced up to find Scott standing in front of me, his expression filled with concern as he braced his laundry basket on his hip.

“Exhausted, but good, I think.” I tried to give him a smile.

He set the basket on the ground and sat on the lawn chair next to me. “Yeah.” He nodded, a smile curling his lips. “Yeah, you look good. Better than good. Sexy.”

I laughed and patted his thigh with one hand. “Oh good. I was worried I hadn’t gotten my sexy on for the FBI.”

“Oh, you did, but they were too worried about finding shit that wasn’t here. They couldn’t see the sexy.” He bumped my shoulder with his hard bicep. “But I could. You know we have your back now, right? You’re one of the Concrete Angels and we look after our own.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know, honorary member.”

“No, full member, with benefits and backup and protection.” His expression had shifted to earnestness. “The shit you did, the strength you showed. That made you a full member. It’s what we’re lookin’ for in the Scooters. They’re trying to get the strength and conviction you have. You’re there, darlin’.”

“You really still want me to stay? Even with my panic attacks and my nightmares, and my past?” I searched his gaze, needing that one last bit of reassurance.

He cupped my cheek with one big hand. “I want you to stay, Oriana. One night, a week, or hell, stay forever. Wear my patch, be my woman, let me be your man, forever. We're damn good together. Whadaya say?”

I thought about the times I’d spent with him and this crew of unruly and unusual bikers. Were they white hats? Definitely not, but they weren’t completely black hats, either, and I’d long ago thrown off my halo. But these men and woman who made up the Concrete Angels had more heart than most ordinary people, and they stood behind each other like family, a family who cared. I’d done much worse with ordinary folks.

“You’ll wear my patch?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He whooped and threw himself into my arms, which was a pretty good feat considering he was bigger than me. But as I wrapped around his broad back, his head on my chest, I thanked my lucky stars I’d had the opportunity for my forever cocky biker rebellion encounter.
~~~~~~~

There you have it. Stop by the following other flash fiction authors below and happy reading.

• Bronwyn Green
  

Writing is often cast as a lonely or solitary job. There's just you, the keyboard, monitor and the voices in your head. And for the most part, that's true. The story comes from somewhere deep inside and it erupts onto the screen with the clackety-clack of the keys being hit.

Most people only get to see the finished version, after all the work and edits and fixes have been made. Sometimes there are a lot of them. Sometimes the story flows from start to finish like an easy flowing river. Other times writing is more like a hiccuping engine, not sure if it wants to start and run or just wants to cough for a while. I've written both kinds of stories.

Currently, I'm working on six stories at once (yeah, yeah, I never get bored). But the one that's at the forefront of my mind is entitled MY FOREVER COCKY BIKER REBELLION ENCOUNTER. It's a long title that's an inside joke - thumbing my nose at the people who want to trademark commonly used words (although as of this post, the trademark on "cocky" has been withdrawn.) I thought this tale would be short. A tongue-in-cheek spoof to make us all laugh when the world gets hard (and it's been hard recently for Romancelandia). But it turns out, there's a real romance in the humorous tale.

The work that's gone on behind the scenes has been part inspiration and part determined thought, especially when I realized this was going to be a real story (with a good likelihood of several sequels). The inspiration came from flash fiction (that got me started) and discovering some traits of my characters as I wrote them. It turned out my heroine was a former FBI forensic accountant and she'd gone freelance after leaving the bureau. Why had she left the FBI? And why was she hanging out with bikers?

I'm not going to give you the specifics (because why would you read it then?), but she had good reasons to do everything she did. And then I learned about the hero, who was cocky as all get out, had sex on the brain, was a badass, and had already picked the heroine's nickname. Turns out he had a backstory, too, and had some interesting scars to prove it. And ink. But most astounding of all, he recognized some of the issues the heroine had and rose to the occasion. My jaw dropped. The story went from being funny, to being a damn good romance with lots of humor and snark.

Then the engine stalled.

Last night, Mr. SM noticed I was struggling and asked me what was going on. So I explained the problems with the heroine's backstory and how it was going to affect the current tale, but I was having trouble deciding how I would fix the lingering issues. The bad guy from her backstory needs to be brought to justice, and the bad guy from the current story has connection to him. I know something bad is going to happen to bad guy #2 (the motorcycle club is going to take care of him since he's stealing from them), but bad guy #1 is a little too peripheral to the current action.

Researching is imperative to making an authentic sounding tale, and research takes lots of different forms. I think I've figured out how to get BG#1 to show up in the current story, which gives all sorts of conflict to the heroine and gives the hero a chance to threaten him. Mr. Sm has helped me with an off-the-wall suggestion that just might work given the kinds of characters I've put in this motorcycle club. I'm still considering the details, especially with regard of getting BG#1 and BG#2 into the main portion of the story, and the heroine recognizing both of them. The great thing is BG#1 might survive the end of this tale and his demise might show up in the sequel, which I'm also thinking about. It's a trick to get the next story set up without taking away from the current story. But there are all these bikers who need their HEAs...

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a name for a motorcycle club that's not already in use in the real world? It's crazy. I searched and looked up all sorts of word combinations and I'm pretty sure I found one that's not actually being used.

Well that went longer than I expected. Check out with the other authors in our group came up with behind the scenes.

• Jessica Jarman
  
• Bronwyn Green