Today, I have a little bit of a prologue written by fellow Canadian author C.D. Breadner author of the paranormal-erotic-romance-thrillers Sin Eater and Soul Stealer
I asked her what this story was. Book 3? New series? What?
"It's an all-new novel I'm writing, out of the paranormal world and into the world of ... I don't know what to call it. I guess some would consider it romance. It's going to be in the world of bikers and motorcycle gangs. I have a whole story behind it.
I write Fanfiction, and recently someone stole one of my fanfiction stories, changed the names to take it out of the world of Sons of Anarchy and sold it as her own. Word for word. I pointed out that it was stolen on every platform it was being sold on, and people started requesting their money back from Amazon and getting it. In the meantime I complained to Amazon as well and they yanked the eBook and the paperback after allowing for the "author" to reply to my claims (which she never did because she was just as quick to try and cover her tracks as she could).
So, as silly and somewhat embarassing as it was to admit I wrote Fanfiction, the book on Amazon
had 18 5-star reviews in the two days it was available and about 35 fantastic reviews. And the Goodreads entry is still open (www.goodreads.com/book/show/
The ceiling overhead lit up with the slanted beams of a car’s headlights, but she held no hope that it meant help was coming. She’d been lying here for … six hours now? Her neighbours were out when the commotion started, and she’d woken up when they turned on their TV. She’d hollered best she could, but that hurt, too. She guessed her ribs were broken. So she gave up. Might have slipped under again.
The sound of traffic must have woken her. That’s how she noticed the headlights.
The cough that hit her wasn’t her idea. Her ribs protested again, and the more she tried to fight the need to hack up a lung the worse it was. She felt the tears in her eyes, and they burned from how much she’d already wept strictly from how much pain she was in.
On her side she could see the legs of her bed, and she cringed to notice how much dust there was underneath. On the far side she could also see a pile of smashed glass that had once been a crystal ashtray. As dumb as it sounded, that had been one of the few things that held memories of her mother that she still had. And now it was shattered.
She’d been in this position since they’d left her. They’d stepped over her while they ransacked the bedroom, and she’d played possum the whole time, listening to them curse and swear, calling her names, running down her father, and she still had no idea what they were looking for.
Before they’d left their leader, a large, dark-skinned man that looked to be of middle-Eastern descent, had kicked her in the ribs with his motorcycle boots. She was pretty sure they were broken after that.
She lifted her hand to study it. Her fingernails were ripped to shit, she’d tried that hard to defend herself. They’d broken off at the point of bleeding. Still she touched her face carefully, tracing fingertips over the swollen contours that now made up her cheekbones, lips, eyes. It probably hurt, but she was getting numb from hurting. Except for those ribs.
She flattened that hand on the carpet and pushed, attempting to right herself. But there was no way. She wondered if her shoulder wasn’t dislocated based on the flash of white light that struck, hitting her head from the inside out.
“What the fuck happened?”
She blinked awake again, wondering if this wasn’t another mirage. A dream. A false hope.
Denim-clad knees dropped to the carpet she’d been staring at for what felt like days. A hand touched her cheek, feeling cool and comforting. “Gertie? What the hell? Are you with me? Gertie?”
She licked at her lips, knowing they were cracked.
“Oh, thank Christ.”
She almost smiled at the relief in his voice but that hurt, too. So she just managed to croak out, “Where the hell have you been?”
She heard the chuckle he gave, felt it in her bones, and she smiled again despite the split lip.