“Trainwreck: Book One” by Michele Micheal Rakes, Drai Bearwomyn, Tina Adamski, Dan Skinner –
“Logging on to the LAPD secure server, Vince checked his inbox, and was pleased to see the M.E.’s preliminary report. Mac was right, the victim had distilled water in her lungs, but the cause of death wasn’t drowning. The girl had suffered a heart attack. Under the post-mortem notes Mac detailed the cause of death as a heart attack during a time of extreme stress. The deteriorated condition of her heart was the result of severe malnutrition and ongoing physical abuse. The report concluded with the manner of death as homicide and was accompanied by photos detailing the wounds. Also noted were the scars indicating long-term abuse and the telltale signs of significant sexual assault. No DNA evidence yet. Mac suspected the body had been washed before storage. The promise of a detailed report to follow, including a narrower window for time of death. At the moment, Mac suspected the girl died sometime Wednesday night. Determination of exact TOD would take some time, he said, due to the body’s decomposition being retarded by cold storage. Presumably, the guy killed her Wednesday, kept the girl around in—what? A chest freezer? Dumped her Thursday night? Vince didn’t like it, didn’t like homicide, but something niggled in the back of his brain. Significant sexual assault. In the place where Vince kept the nasty stuff locked up tight, something cracked open just a tiny bit. Vague memories slithered into his forebrain. -Shut that shit down. Focus on the victim, Sweetwater. Vince clicked through the photos, studying their implications. From the level of bruising, it appeared she had struggled violently against her bonds. Maybe in panic. The fear of drowning can produce a kind of madness. The mental image of the pretty girl being held under water, her green eyes wide with fear until she stopped thrashing, flashed through his mind. Vince buried the nightmare. Instead, he sifted through the pictures, looking for the ones of her back. Small puncture wounds riddled her skin. Some of the injuries appeared ripped, like a hook had been imbedded in her flesh and then torn out. The pattern seemed familiar. There were fresh wounds and old scars. She had suffered the same abuse many times. Mac apparently had no guess as to what weapon was used to make the marks.”
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Follow Pride Promotions blog tour and giveaway for Trainwreck the series on Wednesdays.
In February, I will team up with Pride Promotions for a weeks long blog tour to introduce Detective Sergeant Vincent Sweetwater, the hero of Trainwreck the Series. January 25th, 2016 was the release day for the first in a five part series. Vince is a trainwreck. So is his life and sexuality. A true sexually sadistic killer may be the one who brings Vince off the tracks of self-destruction and back into a life of redemption.
When writing a story, I look to the characters first, long before the story. Once I have an idea in my head, I begin to wonder how my newly birthed characters will react in a certain situation. Obstacles to put in their way are sometimes conscious choices and other times it is something that flows organically as I write the story. Sometimes I feel like the cruel bitch being purposely mean to my characters, but then I think about how they’ll overcome the psychological Mack truck I have bearing down on them; I realize it’ll be good for them in the end.
As a writer who tends to lean more toward the dark side, themes others might not want to touch, but I find those are the books I’m drawn to as a reader. Some are so dark, even I can’t finish them, or do so at my own peril. Writing characters deal with deep emotional and physical scars, while making them entirely real, is what I enjoy about the story writing process. I like to see my characters drag themselves from the depths of self-destruction, or escape the hands of a truly villainous adversary.
Sometimes, I write BDSM, and I have a special character, Vincent Sweetwater, who delves deep into his own psychological trauma’s through BDSM. He doesn’t feel sick, or suffers his deep self loathing when he’s with the man who makes him feel whole. For him, BDSM is his savior, but his Master is his the one who truly saves him. Vince has many struggles: his estrangement with his wife, a woman he’s loved all his life, and his desire to be held by the man whose whip made him feel whole. In pieces, Vince longs to put himself back together, but he’s a puzzle with pieces missing.
Kane is a young man who never imagined his world being anything but lonely. This poor man suffers for many reasons and he needs a savior. To me, I felt his savior needed to suffer too. I wanted someone who would be a perfect protector for Kane, and then gave him deeply ingrained flaws.
This is me, I like the anti-hero, the man who can barely keep himself emotionally solvent. A man on the edge, dangling his feet over the precipice, and trying to decide to jump or not. Behind him is a group of folks who hope, beg, and pray the fall never happens. I’m often inspired by music when I develop a character. Currently, I’m listen to Seether’s Broken, and I can’t help the knocking of two new characters at my door, but they have to wait. I need to finish Fourth and Long, and give Trainwreck another read over because my ballsy ass decided it was time to pimp Trainwreck in person at a conference. Foolhardy? Perhaps. Will I fall flat on my face? Maybe. Will my skin be the color of my hair (pink)? Possibly. Could this be the biggest cockup of my life? Doubtful. Not when wonderful things are happening for me now. A grandbaby on the way, my 14 year anniversary coming up, and my first conference, all in one month. September will prove to be interesting. My son’s birthday might be the date my restless grandbaby will decide to grace us with her presence.
A lot to look forward to in the coming months. A lot of challenges. I say bring it on. I’m ready. Even if I’m not ready, I will be. Thanks for reading. Just needed to get some thoughts out of my head before I had to go to work. Mostly, how happy I am to have Saving Kane out to the world and now looking to get Jackson McCoy and Irus Beaumont to the universe, along with Vincent Sweetwater, Mica Sweetwater, and Greg Dunne.
Girlfriends. Wives. Lovers.
At some point they all nag, but only Kilar, a vampire demon, can nag her way into a possession, taking over Lance’s body for a night of sexual exploration.
Lance, Kilar’s blood slave, cannot escape and giving into her whims only leads to more devastation. Trapped in a psychic link, Lance grows weary and weak with her constant demand for freedom.
Kilar’s body remains hidden by the vampire tribunal due to a loathsome pact Lance made with them in order to contain his destructive girlfriend and prevent Armageddon.
So, what’s a guy to do? Kill the nag? The thought has crossed his mind…but first he has to find her.
Love and hate was the only way Kilar could feel anything for him. Part of her ached inside for tormenting Lance, but she couldn’t help herself. The jerk was out there living his life while she rotted in a hole, sealed in by the LA vamps. Lance had given her up to save the world. Ten years ago she had loved him. Now, it twisted into something insane.
“Wake up. It’s time to go out.”
Lance groaned and scratched his side.
“I said, let’s go!”
Lance fell from the bed. “What the?”
“I’m too wasted. Let’s go to sleep.”
“No. I want to feed. You’re the only way I can, Lance. You owe me that much.”
“I seem to owe you a lot,” he mumbled. “You know it’s only psychological, right? I’m the one who gets juiced.”
Kilar tapped into the anger that ripped through him and his thoughts of being her blood whore, his body already sobering, metabolizing the alcohol and drugs.
“Blood slave, Lance. You’re not a blood whore. You benefit from it too. It’s why you look so youthful after ten years of drinking and drugging. Oh, let’s not forget driving fast. Or wrecking even faster. How many broken bones? Not to mention all the years in extreme sports. The dangerous stunts.”
“You sound like my wife. There’s good money in stunt work. You enjoy my lifestyle.”
“I’m tired of putting you back together.”
“Then stop. Let me die in peace.”
“More like pieces. Now, let’s go.”
“You’re driving. I’m gonna pass out. You’re on your own, sweetheart.”
It was rare for him to allow her complete control. Only once or twice when driving across country did he give over his body. Lazy drunk knew how much energy it drew from her mind, but she was hungry. Kilar paced in the dark. Her vision took over his and her mind commandeered his body. She stopped him in front of the mirror in the hallway.
“You look like crap, Lance. You need to brush your hair, at least.”
Kilar finger-brushed his hair into submission.
“I don’t care what you do, just don’t wake me up,” he snarled. His consciousness crawled into a dark, hushed place in his mind to sleep.
She looked in the mirror again.
“Lance?” she said aloud, watching his lips move as his voice repeated her words. “Cool, I’m going to have a lot of fun tonight, Lance.” His smile broadened. “First thing’s first, we’re going to shower and get dressed up nice.”
She brought the Lamborghini to a stop in front of a club, opening the door, she tossed the valet her keys. Lance can eat dirt. She allowed the valet to handle his baby.
Kilar needed a drink.
People stared. They couldn’t help it; her blood aura surrounded Lance. People were drawn in for the kill. It irritated Kilar. Sycophantic blood bags.
Yet, hunger drove her mad. To hell with what might happen when a little human draws her attentions. In the back of her mind Lance rolled over in a drunken haze.
Blood, warm and inviting, pulsed through the human bodies. Kilar’s cooled in Lance’s veins. Feeling crocodilian, she moved through the writhing bodies, unhurried while spindling nefarious instincts within the crowd. The music thumped in his chest. Dancing quickened despite the chill following Lance through the room. Skin glistened even as their breath frosted over as Kilar slithered through the mass of malevolent flesh. The sensation of standing in a freezer on a blistering desert day surged through the club, like breakers in a rising tsunami. Each wave greater than the next.
Tempo increased. Kilar’s bloodlust rose along with the pheromones in the room. Something else peaked. Desire. Actual physical desire.
This is an exciting moment for me, the release of my first publication, and I never thought it would happen.
As a kid, all I had were my stories. Every project for school I could write a story for, I would. I wrote a novella for history, blending my own family history into a tale of the civil war. I’ll never forget Charlie and the chicken leg he pulled from his pocket. He’s always nicking food from somewhere. Never knew when he’d eat, I guess. Thanks Mom. I wrote a pirate tale for English class and had a teacher who made my only assignment for the whole year writing stories for him to read. Arthurian tales, witches, pirates, and vagabonds all found their way into my stories. I’d put my friends in horror stories. Sorry Mary for your sacrifice to the werewolves. Oh and the burning at the stake thing, too. Adventures through the mystic lands of faery with my friends in tow. Through caverns under rivers and caves burrowing into mountains. It was all fun. All the best escapes of my life. Little did I know more were to come. I’d stopped writing for years after I lost all my stories in a fire. Luckily, my children and I were safe, but I didn’t want to put so much effort into my writing again. (The kernels of Cold Darkness popped from a horror comedy story my thirteen year old son and I were writing together. I’m sorry nothing came of it, but then I turned it into an adult tale with the dark themes I enjoy.) I had a lot of fun with Angus and wished we had kept it up, but it was fun and a great memory.
When I was a child, I’d sleep walk, so my mother made me sleep with her. She was afraid I’d fall down the stairs and break my neck. It started a tradition of laying in bed making up stories together. When I was in my early teens she would write ‘screenplays’ for our favorite TV shows. She would make word search puzzle books for us and I’d love reading the typewritten documents. My favorite moments was with my mom taking turns telling those stories.
Whether I sell one damn copy, or none, the best part of all this is my mother read my story and loved it. Sex and all.
That is the best part of launch day.
In honor of the release of Cold Darkness I’d like to offer up a free copy. Just stop by my blog today to answer this simple question:
If you woke up to find yourself in the body of the opposite gender, what would be the first thing you would do?
The answer I like the best wins a copy of Cold Darkness.
Leave your answer in the comments section below by June 16th, 2014. Be sure to check the box for email notification of reply. Once I’ve replied to your comment, send me an email:
firstname.lastname@example.org to receive your free copy.