Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I’ve gotten farther on Hawk’s story this week. And I’m skipping just a little bit ahead in the next scene. I got rather creative with punctuation to make this fit.
I’d sent him off; yes, I wanted to be sure Mr. Bentley was still safe, but that wasn’t the reason I’d done it. He was better off away from me; all of them were, but I knew I couldn’t see that happen until I could move around on my own.
Which meant I couldn’t do anything that would keep me from healing up faster. The Riders had always been there for me when even my own family wouldn’t have cared. I’d tried to reach out to my little step-brother once, through Mr. Bentley, but I’d never got a response from him, so I could only figure my father had poisoned his mind. Maybe it was just as well; I didn’t want to know how he’d turned out living in that house.
I wasn’t sure I could live with it.
He’d been a sweet boy, but that would only make him more vulnerable to a man like my father; easily twisted and molded into what he’d want from a son. That had obviously never been me. I knew that was a good thing, that I was a better person to not fit his image, but it was what I’d longed for during most of my childhood, until I learned how vile he was.
Was his little brother twisted by his father? Or might there be something else going on? And did Hawk make a big mistake by sending Devil away? Just wait and see 😀
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I’m continuing with Hawk’s story this week. Picking up almost right after last week’s. I got a bit creative with punctuation to fit the rest of the scene in.
“Go on to Mr. Bentley,” I told him, “I want to be sure he’s okay. That man’s already used him to get at me once, I want to be sure he hasn’t again.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Damon said.
I didn’t really want him to, either, but I thought it might be for the best. He was likely to get killed just for being close to me; they all might, and that was something I couldn’t live with.
“Go,” I said again, “I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”
Damon’s eyes were dark as he looked at me, but finally he pulled back and gave me a short nod before slapping his helmet on and throwing a leg over his bike.
“Shit,” I muttered as he roared away and the truck came to a stop beside us. Damon had certainly seen right through what I’d claimed.
I doubted he’d let me get away with it for long.
What will Damon find? Will he let Hawk get away with pushing him away? Will they all make it back to the clubhouse?
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I’ve got more of Hawk’s story here, picking up right where we left off last week.
“I was kind of hoping you could tell me that,” Wraith said. “Has your father ever worked with a partner?”
“Not that I’m aware of, and it still wouldn’t make any sense as to why they would want to save me, since that would mean they wouldn’t get the money for finishing the contract.”
“You’re right,” Wraith said, still studying the helmet. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but of course, I’m very grateful for it.”
So was I, and something kept niggling at the back of my mind. If my head wasn’t throbbing so much, I might have even been able to bring it forward, but it was too much effort, so I let it go. I could feel Damon’s hand on my arm still, and I glanced over at him.
Is there a partner? Or is there some other explanation? What’s going to happen next?
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I’ve got the next part of Hawk’s story for you this week. This picks up immediately after last week’s.
“Not that,” Wraith said. “This one would have killed you,” he said, tapping on the deep groove in his helmet, “if you hadn’t already been knocked off course. This is the one that likely saved your life.” He turned the helmet a quarter of the way, so he could see the tiny hole marking it.
“What the hell is that?”
“Doesn’t look like it was made by much more than a pellet. Though he would have had to be closer than what I saw. And it was from a different angle than this other one.”
“Who the hell would have shot a pellet gun, if that’s what it was, at me? And why?”
Those are some good questions, Hawk. Just what is happening? Does he have two people trying to kill him, or is there another explanation?
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. We were supposed to go on a motorcycle ride today, but it’s raining and storming. So, yeah, we’re not going out. But, I still have the next part of Hawk’s story for you. This picks up right after last week’s.
“I figured that much. Where’d the bullet come from? Did you see?”
“I saw the glint off a barrel. That’s when I told you two to get down. If you hadn’t, you’d be dead. The bullet just clipped your helmet pretty much, then there’s this.”
He was holding something out to me, but it took me a moment to bring it into focus, my helmet. “Yeah, I get it. If I hadn’t had the helmet on, I wouldn’t have even felt the crash, but I always wear it, so what’s your point?”
What is Wraith’s point? What did happen? I’ll have more of this next weekend.
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. It’s a new month and a new challenge for me(Story a Day this month), so I’ve been doing a lot of writing. Not so much on Hawk, but I still have more I can share. Last week, we left with Hawk being told if he wouldn’t go to the hospital, he’d have to let Medusa(the club’s medic) take care of him. This week, I pick up right where we left off.
“She’s not so tough.”
“Don’t say that to her face,” Wraith said. “She’ll be the one who puts you on the ground then.”
I almost thought I heard something more in his voice, but my head was pounding so hard I’d probably only imagined it. “What the hell happened?” I needed something to keep myself distracted from the pain.
“You got shot,” Damon snapped. “That’s what fucking happened.”
I reached out and squeezed his hand. I could hear the lingering fear in his voice.
Will they have anything to tell him? Will it help at all? I should have more of this next weekend!
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I fell a little behind on my writing goals this week. We had a showing on our house on Thursday, so most of that day was spent cleaning. But, the good news is they’re really interested. So hopefully we’ll be hearing something soon. And I’m working on catching up on the writing this weekend. And now, here’s the next bit of Hawk’s story. This picks right up after last week’s.
“Then, you’re going to have to hold still while Medusa does it. You think that will be much better?”
“Yes.” She at least wouldn’t ask invasive questions. She already knew the answers to most of them, so it wouldn’t matter. I’d lied to too many doctors over the years to be comfortable around them. I tripped; No, my father didn’t hit me; I’m just clumsy, really. I doubted they’d ever believed me, but they had still sent me home with my father.
A smile cracked Wraith’s face. “You might be the only one who thinks that.”
Will they talk him into going to the hospital instead? Is he going to be okay? I’ll have more next weekend.
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. I’m continuing with Hawk’s story, though I’ve skipped a couple lines ahead.
I was gasping for breath again, spots flashing behind my eyes, darkness rising then ebbing again. “Can you hold yourself upright?”
I tried to focus on Wraith’s voice to keep me in the here and now, but the struggle to stay present made me feel like I was going to throw up. “Not on a bike, I’m pretty sure.”
“I didn’t expect that. I already called Icarus, and he’s sending someone out with a truck. We need a way to haul your bike back to the clubhouse anyway. Should take you to the hospital as well.”
“No,” I gasped out, “I’m fine. I don’t need them poking and prodding at me.”
Why doesn’t Hawk want to go to the hospital? Will they talk him into it anyway? Will the truck get there before more trouble shows up? I may answer some of those questions next week. 😉
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. This weekend, my kids are at grandma’s and my husband is off on an ATV poker run for the day, so I have the house to myself(minus the dogs). So, I’ll be catching up on my Camp NaNo words. But, for now, here’s the next bit of Hawk’s story for you.
He chuckled then pressed his forehead against mine. I sucked in a breath as the throbbing turned more into a stabbing. “Sorry,” he said, backing off quickly.
”No.” I didn’t want him to go. I tried to lift an arm to hold him there, but it wasn’t obeying my commands. And pain shot down from my shoulder right through my fingertips.
“I told you to hold still,” Wraith said. “You managed to slow the bike before it went over, but you landed right on your shoulder. I’d say it’s as wrecked as the bike.”
How bad is Hawk hurt? How are they going to get out of there? Is Hawk’s father, if he is the shooter, still out there? Next week, I’ll have more for you.
Welcome back to another visit with the Weekend Writing Warriors, the blog hop for anyone who likes to write. Last week, I left you hanging wondering how Damon(Devil) was. I’ll be a little nicer this week(don’t worry, it probably won’t last for too long). I got a bit creative with punctuation this week.
“I’m right here,” Damon said, another hand touching my cheek. “God damn it, you scared me; I thought you were dead.”
I wasn’t, though, at least I was pretty sure I wasn’t. If I was, this was a pretty lame afterlife. “What happened?”
”You were fucking shot,” Damon exploded. “I heard the shot, saw your fucking helmet crack, then you were going down, and I thought it went right through your helmet and into your thick skull.”
That made me want to laugh so hard, but my head was still ringing. He was calling me stubborn? “Pot and kettle, Damon,” I said.
I don’t know, I think they could probably give each other a run for their money on the whole stubbornness thing. 😉