From A New Dartmoor Novel (Title Forthcoming)

Technically not a #ThrowbackThursday post, because thsi is new material, but it's been about a year since I released anything official that's Dartmoor-related. 

Here's the first look at my NaNo project, a brand new novel starring Candy, Michelle, the Texas crew, and Michelle's favorite uncles. I'm not posting the title yet, because I'm not ready for it it be up on Goodreads, but progress is going well. The quick rundown is: a series of strange and specific murders in Texas leaves the club cooperating with the FBI - and Michelle reading out to her Uncle Charlie for help. If Fox has to mentor a terrible new little brother, and Mercy's wayward duckling, he might as well take them along... Lots of romance between several couples, and plenty of club action. Expected to drop early next year. 

Pairings:

Candy/Michelle

Fox/Eden

Albie/Axelle

(Also, Tenny is awful, and I love him)

**Raw text, unedited**

From A New Dartmoor Novel

(Title Forthcoming)

Evan muttered something petulant and stupid under his breath, and went to snag the water bottle he’d left sitting in the shade.

Reese still stood at the ready, coiled like a spring, not even breathing hard.

“Water break,” Fox told him, and the boy nodded, pushed his hair off his face, and went to get his own bottle.

Behind him, the back door opened with a squeal – Ghost would be busting someone’s ass, probably Evan’s, about oiling the hinges – and light footfalls heralded the arrival of Fox’s youngest brother. Tenny climbed up to sit beside Fox, slouching down, forearms on his thighs, relaxed, unbothered.

Seemingly so.

Everything Reese had Tenny had, too – plus the social, cultural, and governmental training to make him twice as dangerous. Reese was a bare blade, glinting, outwardly frightening. Tenny was a vial of poison, and you had no idea your life was in danger until the first drop hit your tongue.

Fox made a point of turning toward him slowly, like he didn’t care that he was an hour late to their scheduled session. Tenny wore fitted, dark jeans, harness boots, white t-shirt and a high-collar leather biker jacket so new it squeaked when he moved. His shades were aviators, his thick dark hair – the same glossy brown as Fox’s – artfully tousled, jaw shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble.

“You look like you’re trying to land a cologne add,” Fox drawled.

Tenny shrugged and cracked his gum.

“Did you steal that jacket?”

“I bought it.”

“Did you steal the money you bought it with?”

Another shrug. Her nodded toward Reese. “He’s too obvious.”

Fox knew exactly what he meant, but he wasn’t going to agree with the asshole. “We can fix that.”

The smirk that tweaked his mouth looked like the one Fox had been looking at in the mirror his whole life. It was eerie as hell.

“And,” Fox continued, “unlike some shitheads, he actually shows up when it’s time to train.”

Tenny turned toward him, just as slowly as Fox had, tucked his chin, and made eye contact over the gold rims of his shades. The absolute douchebag. “Train?” he asked, voice just as flat as Fox’s. But his eyes – the Devin Green blue they all shared – sparked with a challenge.

Not the first time, Fox was struck by the notion that handling Ten was like riding a horse that was just waiting for the right moment to scrape him off on the fence, and go leaping off the track.

And now he used racetrack references, apparently, because he’d spent way too much time with Walsh lately.

“Why would I need to train?” Ten asked.

“To keep sharp.”

Tenny made a show of surveying their surroundings, the empty section of lock, the unremarkable, rambling backside of the clubhouse; the scrap yard, and the glint of the river at the far edge of the property, sliding slowly, darkly past. Then he turned back to Fox, and some of the showmanship dropped away, leaving him flinty-eyed, ruthless, and – most disturbingly – just as restless as Fox felt. “Keep sharp for what?”

Keep sharp because I fucking told you to, Fox thought, and recoiled mentally like he’d been burned. God, he sounded like Phillip.

He turned away.

Reese was watching them, not at all coy, blatantly staring. Fox wondered how good his hearing was.

“That’s not for you to know,” he said imperiously. At least now he sounded like Abe rather than his oldest brother. “Guys like us in this organization: we go where we’re told, kill who we’re supposed to, and we don’t question the higher authority.”

“Higher authority,” Ten said flatly. “Ghost.” No mistaking that for anything but an insult.

Fox sent him a sideways glare. “You could do – and have done – a lot worse than Ghost for a boss. Remember that.”

Tenny stared back, silent, refusing to bend.

One of these days, Fox thought, I’ll have to put him in his place for good.

The worst part was: he didn’t know if he could.

~*~

The high-beams flared and spun, a revolving disco ball as the truck tumbled roof-over-tires again, and again, and again. She steered her car around, and in her own headlights, she could see that the truck had ended up thirty feet off the road, upside down, motor choking and tires spinning down slowly; the roof of the cab was crushed. Ugly black streaks on the pavement veered off crazily toward the shoulder, and disappeared, a trail of laid-down rubber leading to the place where the truck had flipped.

I can’t believe that worked, she thought. And then, Shit, shit, shit. Her skin buzzed; the second the adrenaline started to drain away, she’d be shaking uncontrollably.

Sounds began to filter back through the steady throbbing of the blood in her ears: her engine purring quietly, ready for her next command. TJ full-on wailing now, crying, “Mama!” over and over.

She twisted around to look at him. Red-faced, crying, little feet kicking, but still buckled in and unharmed – save maybe a little whiplash. Kids were resilient; he’d be okay. Better than if that truck had caught them.

Jesus, she could have killed them both with that stunt.

She let out a deep, unsteady breath. “It’s okay, baby, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Someone tapped on her window.

She couldn’t help the little scream that left her lips as she whipped back around. She was already fumbling for the center console, for the gun stowed there, when she saw that the bearded face filling her window belonged to Jinx. Blood snaked in a thin rivulet down his temple, but he was on his feet, his expression tight with worry.

She buzzed down the window. “Are you okay?” she asked, voice shrill, panting.

“Fine. Bike’s a little banged up, but I managed to lay it down and get off the road. What about you guys?” He leaned in a fraction so he could look toward TJ, sobbing gustily now. “Y’all alright?”

“Just rattled.” Her hands were starting to tremble; her lungs felt quivery and insufficient, but seeing him whole and on his feet sent a wave of relief crashing through her. “We need to get out of here. There might be more. Is your bike still rideable?”

“Yeah. But hold on. I wanna check something.” He stepped back, and headed for the downed truck. In the bright flare of her headlights, she saw him draw his gun; he approached soft-footed, and ready to duck, prepared for any sort of attack.

But none came. He walked all the way up and crouched down beside the shattered passenger window. Even leaned down and braced himself on his hands to peer inside. He swapped his gun for his phone, and snapped a few photos.

“Shh, baby,” Michelle crooned, “shh, shh, you’re fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine, we’re going home soon.” Lilting like a song, and TJ subsided to sniffles and hiccups.

Jinx returned to her window, shaking his head. “If they’re not dead, they will be. I’m not risking putting a bullet in them and leaving a calling card.”

She was afraid to take her hands off the wheel and turn to TJ again, shock was coming on, and she thought she might swoon if she moved too much. “Right.” She swallowed. “That’s smart.”

“Here.” He fished in his pocket, and then handed something through the window to her. It took her a moment to realize it was a wrapped peppermint. “Suck on that. Get some sugar in you, at least until we get back. You good to drive?”

She unwrapped the mint with shaking fingers, and popped it in her mouth. Her nausea was returning, but the taste was instantly soothing. She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

It seemed to take forever to get home, the familiar roads now sinister, the darkness on either side hiding all sorts of monsters. An animal darted across her lane at once point, and she nearly screamed. She caught a glimpse of sandy brown and tan fur, a bushy tail: a fox.

It felt prophetic.

When they finally pulled in, and she killed the engine, it took all her strength to undo her belt and open her door. Jinx came around and helped her to her feet. Scooped TJ out of his car seat when she realized her arms were in no shape to hold her own baby.

Candy wasn’t home yet, still dealing with Pacer.

With Pacer’s sister, Michelle thought with a detached sort of ugly resentment.

Darla fussed over her; brought her tea with lots of sugar, and a sandwich that she couldn’t eat. Took TJ from her and went to lay him down in the sanctuary.

When she was finally alone, she sank down onto the couch in the sanctuary and folded her legs up beneath her. Still shaking, but more clear-headed now. She pulled out her phone, dialed, and waited.

Not long, though. He answered after the second ring.

She let out a deep breath that she knew gave away any calm she was about to feign. Oh well. Let him know. She should have done this days ago.

“Hi, Uncle Charlie. I need your help.”

Knoxville

Fifteen

Because Albie wouldn’t settle on a place for his new shop, Ghost was letting him use a coned-off section of one of the big steel storage warehouses at Dartmoor to work on furniture. Judging by the sad array of half-turned table legs laid out on the work bench, he hadn’t been very productive so far.

Fox had crossed the vast concrete floor silently, setting his booted footfalls down with a deft quiet he’d mastered long ago, so he whistled to announce his arrival when he pulled up on the opposite side of the cone barricade.

Albie – perched on a stool, bent over a sketch with his brow furrowed unhappily – lifted his head, glanced around, and then got marginally unhappier when he saw who it was.

“Nope,” Fox said lightly, before his brother could speak. “You don’t get to act like I’m a stray cat turning up on your doorstep. Not when, one, this isn’t even a doorstep, and not when, two, you’re the one who got on a plane and chased me here.”

“I didn’t chase you.”

Fox grinned at him. “The remarkable part for you is that there was any chasing at all.”

Albie sighed and set down his pencil.

“How goes it with your lady love?”

“She’s not my – it’s fine. Things are fine,” he said, correcting hastily, jaw set.

“Really? Because I’ve heard you don’t even know how to kiss a woman after a date.”

Albie’s eyes went comically wide. He looked panicked. Then he scowled. “You bloody gossip. Who told you that?”

Fox slouched sideways and let his shoulder rest against the cool steel of the water. “Your girl works for my girl. They talk, you know.”

Albie glared at him a moment longer – then groaned and wiped a hand along his jaw. “Fuck,” he said with great feeling. “I’m–”

“Pathetic.”

“Rusty. I’ve forgotten how to date someone properly.”

“Albert, you never knew. Tell me honestly, now: Have you ever been with anyone who wasn’t a club groupie looking for a wild night out?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I” – Fox splayed a hand across his own chest – “never claimed to be a relationship man. You, though, have all the makings of a boring old sod with a wife and two-point-five, picket fence and all, but none of the savvy as to how to get there.”

Albie snorted. “Not a relationship? What do you call what you have with Eden?”

“A mutual understanding,” Fox said, ruthlessly shoving down the unhelpful little voice that piped up in the back of his mind. The one that was asking for things he didn’t begin to understand or recognize in himself. “And if you’re not pathetic, explain these flaccid attempts at table-making.” He gestured to the three half-formed legs resting at Albie’s elbow.