The Civil War is over. But for Sergeant James Taft, there seems to be no end in sight. He had seldom considered what he would do after the war, because he never believed he would live through it. James briefly returns to Pennsylvania in an unsuccessful attempt to work as a farmer. He then sets out to find peace and somehow vanquish the ghosts in his soul. What he can't possibly foresee, as he rides west, is the epic story of tragedy and triumph that he will take part in. "It's unfortunate, but true, that darkness must often be complete, before we notice the subtle glimmer of hope." - Doc Jefferies, Ever the Wayward Sky.
~ Teaser ~
As the days passed, James felt himself sinking further into depression. He tried to work on the family farm but couldn't focus on the tasks. Darkness slowly began to swallow him from the inside out. "Well, we finally pulled that old stump out of the South field." John attempted to sound encouraging at the dinner table. "That's wonderful. That old tree always irritated your Pa. I'm glad we took care of it, and it is gone." His mother glanced over at James after saying this. Her son sat staring blankly at his plate of food. He heard nothing they had said. His mother turned and looked across the table at John, who then glanced over at his wife, Velma. All three now watched James as he held his fork over his food and appeared to be far away. The two children took notice of what was occurring and began watching their Uncle also. Realizing the children were watching, Velma stood up and took a pitcher of water over to James. "Would you like some more water, James?" He almost shook as he came out of the apparent trance. "Oh, no Velma, thank you." Johnny laughed a little, and this caused Grace to giggle as well. "You children eat now. No playing." "Yes, Grandma." Both children replied, almost in unison. James looked around the table with a lost expression on his face. "I think it'll rain tonight," John said in an attempt to bring supper back on track. "What do you think James?" "Yes, it might." He knew something wasn't right. He realized now that he'd been somewhere else. He didn't know what to do about it, though. He glanced around at his family. He loved them dearly, but he didn't belong here. He wasn't sure where he belonged, but he knew now that it wasn't here. Later, as James lay down to sleep, the rain began. The soft pattering of raindrops outside his window caused a soothing effect, and he drifted into sleep. Then the thunder came, and as James slipped farther into slumber, he found himself on a faraway battlefield again. As the sounds of the storm erupted outside, the cannons roared on the battlefield of James' dream. "I heard them was Morgan's boys over there, Sergeant." A young private nervously spoke to Sergeant Taft, who was riding back and forth in front of the men. James reined his horse in to answer the young cavalryman. "Don't matter who they are, Private! That cavalry unit is protecting the Reb's flank, and we'll run them off the battlefield, or die trying!" When James said this, the private appeared to calm down. But he was still obviously frightened. All the soldiers appeared concerned. The horses moved underneath them nervously; sensing death to be close at hand. Smoke from the guns drifted through the unit's ranks as James scanned the faces of his men. He then moved closer to the young private. James thought he might be able to say something to calm the young man, but as he came near, the soldier began to speak. "I sure got the feeling that I'm going to be one of those that die trying, Sergeant. You ever get that feeling?" James reined in his mount again, trying to calm it. The horse quivered under him in an apprehensive excitement for the battle at hand. Then, James lied to the young private. He always lied in these situations. "Almost every day, Private." After James had said this, the man calmed some more. He smiled a little. James smiled slightly as well, and then he thought of several other men that had told him the same sort of thing over the years. They all died on the battlefield after telling him this. The cracking of rifle and cannon fire became intense. He positioned his horse to the front of the unit, ready for battle. Their lieutenant rode swiftly up from the back of the unit. "Alright boys, it's time, let's give'em hell." The lieutenant then pulled his saber out and nodded to their bugler, who immediately sounded the charge. Sergeant Taft spurred his horse just as the lieutenant charged forward. "Let's go 9th," James yelled out, and his heart began to pound inside his chest. The ground began to tremble as the horses burst into a gallop. James looked across the field at the enemy just as bullets began to sing around him. He became hot as the blood rushed to his head. Then, as always, he slowly became numb as the specter of death approached. He put the reins in his mouth and lowered his head as if facing a fierce wind. He could now see the enemy’s faces clearly. As the gap closed, he pulled his saber out with his left hand and his revolver out with his right.
Like what you read? Continue @
~ About the Author ~
Oliver Phipps served in a Special Forces unit of the United States Army and studied at MSC. He has spent much of his life traveling throughout the world. Visiting many countries in Asia as well as Alaska, The Canadian Yukon territories and as far north as the Arctic Circle. In 2004 Oliver published his first book and continues writing books articles and short stories. He has had eight books on the Amazon bestseller lists at the time this was written, with as many as five on a bestseller list at one time. In June of 2015 Oliver’s novel A Tempest Soul landed the #1 bestseller spot in its category, garnishing Oliver his first number one bestseller. Currently Oliver and family reside happily in the U.S. You can find more about it @
How would you go about trying to help your daughter who, suffering her first psychotic break at fifteen, is chased by her wounded mind to the streets of Santa Barbara? That is the dilemma that Lynne Swanson faces. Out of her element, and definitely out of her comfort zone for this professional woman, she is forced to seek the help of Kerry Wilson, a social worker for the homeless. Unfortunately for her, Kerry is rough-necked loner that has no inclination to hold the hand of a woman who he feels is out for a lark at the expense of his homeless clients. The harsh and deadly realities of the streets in one of the wealthiest cities in the world and an attempt to close a homeless shelter, just as winter sets in, produces a dramatic race against time with the life of Lynne’s daughter in the balance.
~ Teaser ~
Shadows danced. Living darkness surrounded her like a malevolent maelstrom. She clawed with broken nails under the oversized sweater. Dread coiled in her stomach. Lifting the sweater, she looked down at her handiwork: red and swollen welt lines had begun to ooze out blood.
Her dying fire glinted off yellow eyes, staring at her from the darkness with deadly indifference. They were already considering her dead meat, perhaps breakfast. The thought brought a brittle smile to Tracy’s chapped lips. It wasn’t far from the truth.
Because of the weak light, her real tormentor was banished to the shadows. This quieting knowledge allowed her to pay closer attention to the fat rat. Long whiskers twitching—its manically cruel and amoral eyes focused on her. Tracy curled her arms under her legs and drew them harder into herself, making her slight frame appear even smaller. For a fifteen year old, she hadn’t filled out, or grown much since she’d been twelve. And the little weight she had gained recently was lost to a near starvation diet. Her clothes now hung loosely.
Fear dropped her body temperature. She shivered. It forced a scream that she quickly drowned with parched saliva. Her head snapped left to right. She knew he was there. She could feel his menacing presence. She knew from experience that he could reach out at any moment, raking her insides with barbed claws.
Home for Tracy was an oppressive cave, like a dwelling made of corrugated tin. In reality, it was a convergence of drainage pipes that opened up, offering refuge for her homeless clan, haphazardly formed. She shared the shelter with a rat. She also shared it with others— residing both within her mind and without. He, on the other hand, was a visitor, coming and going unannounced, and always unwanted. He didn’t care for what others wanted, or their feelings. Social niceties, privacy, and so much more were absurdities. He did, however, thrive on discomfort, especially hers.
Tracy had to pee. But her bathroom was the trash-strewn field behind the tunnel, and his presence crippled her with fright. When was the last time she had cleaned up? Showers were one of her fantasies: To smell soap. To feel hot water rinsing silky shampoo from her hair. A smile came. And it rapidly broke. She knew the others had the courage to make periodic runs over to the Sally for occasional showers. But she didn’t.
She scratched through a hole in her sweater at the body lice. She knew that her smell offended the others, but they were too protective of each other to boot her out. She wouldn’t last long on the outside.
She was tired. Her eyes felt like lead. Wistfulness forced her gaze over to her bed, a thread worn sleeping bag that had been pushed off to the side. It hadn’t always been that way.
She bolted upright. Fear hopscotched from goose bump to goose bump across her skin. She shuddered. It wasn’t the presence of the rat. Anytime she thought about the changes that had come over her, it was fear that gripped her heart.
When the voices and intrusive thoughts had first begun to surface, she had thought of sharing them with her mom or others, but she was afraid of ridicule, and she was unsure if that wasn’t the way of adulthood. After all, she was just a kid. How was she supposed know what normal was, and wasn’t?
Sitting in almost total darkness, trepidation drew aged lines across her face. Staring hard at the rat, she watched him pawing at the dirt. Was he about to charge her like a raging bull? She looked around, hoping to see her companions; that is—the ones who existed independent of her mind. But, like so often recently, aloneness stared back. Cold hollowness froze her insides as if they were carved out by a scalpel. A hard shiver rolled over her. Fear registered in degrees.
Tensing her muscles, she prepared for flight. Paused. She convinced herself that it was just an ungrounded fear. She pretended that the other wasn’t present. And, the rat was no threat. He hadn’t done anything to hurt her. He hadn’t even really threatened her. As was often the case, the frightening situation was made harmless once she was able to acknowledge fear and meet it head on.
She smiled. Maybe the rat could be a friend? She could use a friend. She stared down at it. It was lonely too! Tracy’s paranoia dissipated. The insight that a fellow creature shared sadness with her opened her heart. Looking about, she found a chunk of stale bread from last night’s dinner.
Slowly, she reached out her hand, holding the bread before the rat. An offering. The rat perked up with interest. With no fear, it quickly paced the few steps that separated him from breakfast. It sniffed the bread, and began to nibble. A crooked smile came upon Tracy when his long whiskers tickled her hand. Suddenly, the rat chomped down hard, yanking the bread free. She squealed with delight. Her eyes brightened, honoring the courage of the rat. If only she had such inner strength!
That last wish washed sadness over Tracy, sweeping the brightness from her eyes.
Tracy once again looped her arms through her legs and began rocking back and forth to the beat of a cadence, heard only by her. Humming a gentle children’s lullaby, her soft voice filled the lonely void. Abruptly, she stopped. The sudden silence was first oppressive, and then terrifying. An ache swelled within her body and soul, rising like high tide before a storm. She shut her eyes. Tears broke from them. She swallowed the liquefied salt hard. A new insight: Fear had a taste. She missed her Mom. Maybe she would know what to do about the voices.
Her lips pinched hard. Her mom wasn’t there. She was alone. Her only companion was a rat. It was possible that even her roommates only existed in her head. Maybe, the only reality was Him—the danger that lurked in the darkness. Her body locked up as she forced herself not to look about. Maybe he was simply waiting for the fire to die out, before he jumped from the blackness to devour her. Tracy rocked harder and began humming again. She ratcheted up the volume and increased the intensity. No longer was it a lullaby. It was the only trick she had left. And it did help with the voices. The dying light flickered—its will to live fleeing. Her own, was not too far behind.
Ken Williams is an Author, poet, Vietnam Vet, and homeless rights advocate among many other things. He strives to live his life peacefully and enjoys writing about topics that matter. Topics like how to help homeless, for example. Not only that, but Ken has been the recipient of many awards, including the prestigious CIVIL RIGHTS HERO AWARD and the A.C.L.U. Distinguished Services Award in California. Want to know more about him? Visit him @ Website
Most of the south Carolinians who hate 17 year old Jessa Perce do so in the open, but one of those haters, bent on revenge against Jessa and her boyfriend, pulls the strings from behind a curtain. Figuring out if this revenge has anything to do with her parents’ mysterious deaths is more than Jessa can comprehend. Believe it or not, she has bigger, more immediate problems. Jessa and her step-brother have to find a way to keep their little sister happy since their new guardian doesn’t seem interested in the three of them. When the little sister’s need for stability leads Jessa to a new profession, she realizes happiness for herself is an impossibility and love is just as elusive.
~ Teaser ~
Chapter 1 (small part)
Whoosh. My whole body jolts, and I grind my teeth to hold back a stupid little-girl scream. Slowly dragging my eyes from the tiny airplane window, I look to my side expecting to see the face of the overly helpful (and really aggravating) flight attendant. Not even. Sitting in the seat, his leg almost touching mine is a boy, maybe closer to a man, and he puts his finger to his full lips. Brown eyes dance with amusement until they lock on mine. I crack my mouth open before his desire attacks my nose. “That’s not your seat.” My voice is raspy like I haven’t talked to anyone in a while. I haven’t. He raises his black eyebrows, a scar cuts through the one on the right, and he swoops his brown waves off his forehead. “Well, I know we were supposed to switch seats at the beginning of the flight if we were going to, but how was I supposed to know my neighbor would be a snorer and an armrest hogger?” “I reserved that seat,” I whisper. If JJ would’ve sent the company plane after me, this wouldn’t be necessary. Isn’t our island big enough for first-class seating planes now? “You like your space, huh?” He smiles a smile that’s probably supposed to charm me right out of my pants. It’s not about the space. I just like to inhale clean air, not an aggravating boy’s desires. “You’re not supposed to sit there.” “But you won’t rat me out.” He relaxes his arm on the armrest and nods. “Nice.” After a glance around the other seats, it’s obvious he’s safe from anyone else caring too. Most people are passed out since it’s a late-night flight. My eyes lock on the seat in front of me, its blue and gold weave looking like someone puked blueberries and eggs. What would he do if I yelled? Nope, I don’t have the nerve. But he doesn’t know that. Fighting a smile, I fling my mouth open. His eyes double in size before he clamps his hand over my mouth. “Don’t.” With my head jammed against the headrest, I have to stretch my eyeballs to the max to see him. And almost crack up at his face. His oh-shit-what-have-I-done face. But I didn’t get a good breath before, and now I have to inhale through my nose: I want to stay here. I want to get to know this girl and find out why she isn’t happy. I reach up and snatch his hand away. “I am happy.” “Whoa…pretty defensive. Wait, I didn’t say you weren’t.” Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap, I’m a moron. “Go away,” I whisper. “Tell me how you knew that.” When I don’t answer he sighs. “Okay, then tell me why you’re not happy.” I could answer him. And then this nosy boy could laugh and move on. But I’m not brave enough to shout my angst to the world. Can there be anyone on this earth more pitiful than me? “Perfectly happy.” My problems have very easy solutions according to Professor Renard. I could have sex with the nearest asshole—you’d love that wouldn’t you, Renard? Get a little bit of the sultry eye? I have two months to figure “sexy” out or I’m out. Will Mother find somewhere else to stick me, or will she insist I stay home? Excuse me, Mother, while I gag constantly over your stupid, petty desires. Suppressing a yawn, I try to ignore my seat thief and stare out the window again. “I’m going to be out there one day,” comes his gruff voice from behind me. His pullover almost touches my cheek when he points out the window. “It’s where I belong.” “Belong?” I’ve never felt like I belonged here either. How could I? But a freak like me, inhaling people’s desires instead of smells, doesn’t belong anywhere. “Yup.” His lips pop on the P. He’s got to be screwing with me. That or somehow he’s contracted my “ability.” I eye him, but there’s no hint of a smile on his face. I shut my mouth and chance a tiny breath: I can’t wait to get my degree and pilot’s license and then on to Astronaut Corps. I want to get to know this girl. Oh, an astronaut. But what’s up with this getting to know me stuff? He just wants to get to know me? Weird. “Are you gay?” My face heats up to an astronomical temperature. Why can’t I just be smart? “No. Why?” Why? Good question. Like, why couldn’t my freak ability be something helpful like super-intelligence so I wouldn’t ask stupid, embarrassing questions? Or what about something my modeling professors would love—owning my beauty. The cherry on top of my confidence sundae would be not breaking out in hives when a photographer mentions the word sexy. “Nothing.” “Do I match too well or something?” He tugs at his navy blue pullover. “No,” I say with a smile. “Finally.” Finally what? Did I do something? “What?” He grins at me. “A smile. You looked almost normal for a second.” That’s me, the exotic blonde beauty...normal would be nice. And Professor Renard thinks my looks are a good thing. “You’re going to get an early wrinkle,” he says. He runs his finger down the center of my forehead to the top of my nose. I freaking let him. And I have no idea why. Yes, I do! I need sexy…sultry. Experience to draw from so I’ll photograph better. Yeah, that’s gonna work—we’ll just bump uglies right on the plane. But a kiss…. I swivel my eyes toward him to get a secret eyeful. His brown hair is wavy, almost curly. It’s the kind that looks soft and silky and very finger-runable. Kinda like a little boy’s. His eyes are brown. Just normal brown, but they’re soft and happy. Below them his face angles to a point, though his jaw line is squared. Slowly I bring my eyes back to my ugly seat. I clench my teeth; my face heats up again. Like what you read? Continue by getting your copy @Amazon
~ About the Author ~
Lisa Terry lives in the South riding the state lines of Florida and Alabama. She has enough animals to call it a small farm, so she’s either insane or caring. Or insanely caring. She’s a print news reporter, and editor, and an aspiring Hogwarts student. On any given day, you can find Lisa playing video day, you can find Lisa playing video games, sitting on the beach or organizing per pagents. She gave up on fitting in a long time ago and now is fine with being called a walking contradiction. Lisa writes Young Adult and New Adult: contemporary, thriller, mystery, horror and paranormal.
They're dying to be fans, Scottish rocker Julian McLane lives as normally as possible. But fame can be lonely, which might be why he'd spent a year looking for a girl he caught making a wish behind the concert arena. his fans aren't happy to share him now that he has found Emilie - too bad their violent dispeleasure only puches the couple together. Emilie needs protection from rabid fans, so Julian convinces her to tour with him and his prank-loving bandmates so his security team can wath over her too. Julian thinks tehir coupledom is as right as a long song. But something's very wrong about murder victims wearing the band's concert bracelets. Someone seems intent on downsizing the fandom. Julian holds a twisted mess of clues about the killer's identity, with every day bringing a different theory, and he's beginning to think finding the killer means losing Emilie forever.
I don't usually read self-help books but somehow this time i got interested. Was it from the summary or the happy face on the book cover, i just knew i wanted to read the book.
Truth be told i liked it a lot! The book was very easy to understand, it is essential in self help books, as usually the authors throw terminology at us and just sit back thinking how awesome they are for using terms we don't understand. (That's the actual reason why i don't read self-help books)
However, here, Vicky does an amazing job to have a clear picture in her and our minds. She gives you examples that you just can't not understand and she gives you the positivity boost that you need to keep going!
Whether, you have a high or low self-esteem, the book is still valuable, as it give you tricks how to be a better you, not become arrogant, rather unleash that you in yourself that has been hiding from society!
Enjoy it to your fullest and don't forget to share your thoughts below! Stay tuned for more at Katie's Corner! Don't miss your favourite book or manga!
~ About the Author ~
Vicky Omifolaji is the owner of Vicky Omifolaji Consulting & Psychotherapy Services with over 20 years’ experience helping and empowering people to deal with their life issues. She has always felt the need to help people discover themselves, so she completed Masters in Social Work and Counselling. Vicky's inspiration to write this book came from her counseling work with numerous clients struggling with low self-esteem shaped by their past experiences and socialization. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.
Huckleberry Comics Debuts Gritty, Sci-Fi Thriller with Exciting Kickstarter Campaign!
All of the proceeds raised will go towards the production of the company's flagship graphic novel titled Dream State Radicals.
Rewards include signed posters, name mentions in book, graphic novel giveaway and many MORE!
Already hooked? Pre-order your very first copy of Dream State radicals and donate to itsKickstarter campaign!
Still not sure? Read on!
About DREAM STATE RADICALS
NEW LONDON, CONNECTICUT - Imagine a new world order so ruthless, conniving and on the verge of collapse that each signle day is a struggle to survive. twists and turns exist at every corner. Welcome to the United Imperial Nations, a dystopian society where its powerful yet crooked leaders desperately rely on espionage, manipulation and fear to control its citizens on every level.
"My goal when creating Dream State Daricals was to forge a universe as detailed and unique as Harry Potter or Star Wars," explained Charles Dutka, the founder of Huckleberry Comics and authors of Dream State Daricals. "It's a place where readers could lose themselves and come to think of the characters as close friends or even family."
In this Sci-fi Thriller, Dream State Radical Issue 1 follows the lives of four characters who witness the world crumbling before their very eyes - and it's far form pretty. Their lives are set on a collision course with a fate none of them could have predicted. Wars are being fought in alternate planes of reality and the U.I.N.'s slow-motions collapse is unnerving on all leveles. from crime lords and intelligent machines to your average joe, everyone is worried - as they should be.
"As a published poet, i sometimes have readers ask me specific intent for a piece and I always refuse to say," stated Dutka. "Whatever it might have been was simply fuel to create a work of art, how it's interpreted is up to the reader. It's one of the things that makes it beautiful, and I feel the same way about Dream State Radicals."
In a normal worl, drungs and alcohol are often the preffered choice to numb the paina nd mask relaity. In Dream State Dracials, the only thing sold illegally on the streets are dreams. They allow people to llive in alternate realities and exist in two forms: Z's and Ethers. One is short-lived while the other allows for a persistent dream state. No matter which one you choose - the goverment forbinds them.
"Whether it's being the biggest celebrity on Mars, starring in your own spy thriller, or waling through a firled of strawberries, you get to choose the reality you want to experience," explained Dutka. "However, the U.I.N. doesn't want people getting their hands on Z's or Ethers. They are the only place they can hide thir secrets. Most people don't even think Ethers exist."
Dream State Radicals has been compared to the science-fiction film, Blade Runner, and the high-intensity video game Dues Ex. With the launch of his company's very first Kickstarter campaign, Dutka promises the graphic nover will leave readers on the edge of their seats and wanting to read more.
“I’m thrilled with where this project has been and am incredibly excited for both the future of Dream State Radicals and Huckleberry Comics,” stated Dutka. “I’m proud of what we have managed to produce thus far. The artists for the comics are so talented and have such a unique approach. I’ve been blown away by the final product.”
According to Dutka, his Kickstarter campaign hopes to raise at least $2,000. One-hundred percent of the money donated will go toward paying for the graphic novel’s talented artists, production and printing costs as well as donor rewards which are substantial.
“I believe in this project, and I’m confident anyone who appreciates sci-fi and a good plot line will enjoy DSR,” stated Dutka. “Graphic novel and comic book sales are exploding. We’ve just started laying the groundwork for a new collaborative effort with another Indy graphic novel company. The industry is blossoming and the future is very, very bright for us.”
Ready to start it? Pre-order your very first copy of Dream State radicals and donate to itsKickstarter campaign!
Want to listen to creators talk about Dream state Radicals? Listen to it HERE!
~ Review ~
Now, you might think why I, a manga freak, am reviewing a comic. Truth, no reason, I was searching the web, when I came across it, and through KC Book Promotions asked for a sample to see if my expectations about this comic were correct. I was astonished.
True, for a manga fan, I needed a bit getting used to the comic's drawing and something was getting lost in how to read it. But, you know it didn't matter. As the world had a grip on me and didn't want to let go! I'm looking forward to Dream State radicals be a hit! And don't forget to help out with their Kickstarter campaign! If you're a comic fan and you've been looking for a fresh no cliche sci-fi thriller, you should be squealing to get your hands on it!
Enjoy it, and I'll be having a close look at how the campaign and the comic will go from now on so you can look forward to some more posts about it! What do you think? Leave your comments below! Stay tuned for more on Katie's Corner!
About Huckleberry Comics:
Huckleberry Comics is on a mission to push the envelope and revolutionize the way people think about graphic novels. Proudly based in Connecticut, the comic book publisher is the brainchild of Charles Dutka, a talented writer and poet whose previous work has appeared in such literary journals as Dark Matter and Melancholy Hyperbole and The People's Ink/Typehouse Magazine.
Say good-bye to the era of godfathers. The Chimera Group has put a new face on organized crime. Mob boss Bernie Banks and his associates—John, Ben, and Jerome—differ from your ordinary Sicilian and Irish mob families. Two white, two black, they style themselves after the Rude Boy culture made popular in Jamaica. Operating as an investment shell company supported by illegal activities, the Chimera Group hopes to become as powerful as other crime families and gain respect from the Cosa Nostra. Bernie, a war veteran of Jewish and Greek descent, begins his business in his apartment and grows it into a multimillion-dollar empire. He and his crew resemble a more sophisticated subculture of urban street gangsters with their Ray-Ban sunglasses, loafers, and debonair style. But they want fear and admiration. Their efforts draw the attention of the rival Ambrosino family, and they face internal strife when one of the associates begins dating a former Playboy Club waitress who wants in on the group. Will they make it to the top, or will they fall?
~ Teaser ~
In the middle of the night in a trashy abandoned lot in Harlem, New York, there were four men. Three of them had arrived together as a team. The fourth man, Sammy, was their victim, and they had tied up his arms and legs. Sammy was not associated with the others. He had stolen money from the leader of the group. Sammy would not divulge details of the theft. His silence did not help his situation as each of the three men took turns beating him until they got him to talk. One of the three men turned to the others. “He looks young. He looks very young.” One of the men responded, “He looks old enough to go to war. Nobody cares how young you look when you are in a war.” Sammy continued to taunt them back. “You guys are fucking trash,” Sammy said to the men, and he spat on one of them. The man Sammy spat on told him, “Watch your goddamn mouth!” Sammy ensured them that they would never get information from him and said they could kiss his ass. The three men looked at each other. They began torturing and pistol-whipping Sammy in return. Irritated, the man who Sammy spat on got the idea to stuff money in Sammy’s ass and mouth for being greedy and talking too much shit. He had warned the tied-up man to watch his mouth, and this was the consequence of ignoring that warning. Once they were finished with him, they put a plastic bag over his head, tossed him in the trunk of an abandoned car in the lot, and closed the trunk. A fifth man rode up in a car. He got out to see the damage that the three men had produced. They opened the trunk to show him. The fifth man’s face showed his objection. “Was this necessary? Are we wasting money now?” the gentleman said to his three associates. One of them said, “It’s theater.” Another associate added, “He asked for it. He asked us to do this. He told me to kiss his ass. He likes money, so...” He shrugged. The last associate added, “It’s only two hundred dollars in singles. It looks like a lot, but it isn’t.” The fifth man looked down at the body and slammed the trunk shut. “Fine, we will discuss this back at the office,” he said. He and his three associates got in the car and headed back to Midtown Manhattan.
Writer Victoria Bolton lives in New York. A graduate of the College of Westchester, she works as a computer technician in schools and as a part-time actress. Bolton previously released the books in the Rude Boy USA series (Rude Boy USA Series Volume 1), BunnyWine (Rude Boy USA Series Volume 2) The final book in the series The Tide is High will be released in September. You can find more about her @