So I just published the second novella in a week! While holding down a full-time job! Omg, this hurts so bad. It’s 4 a.m., and I have to get a couple hours of sleep before getting back up. Below is the first chapter of the second novella. For those of you passing through for the first time, this is sports and paranormal romance– vampires in professional basketball. A little bit of comedy, a whole lot of action, and quite a bit of fucking in between.
I do the covers myself, and I’d LOVE to know what you think of them. My email is Ratchetvampires(at)gmail.com.
The first novella was free, and this one is $1.99 on Smashwords, and when the Amazon link is ready in a few hours, it will be $2.99 there. The link to both of them is on the right side of this page- Get The Novellas.
I plan to finish #3 this weekend and publish next week. Whew!
I hope you enjoy the excerpt. Since there’s violence, I’m going to warn that it’s for mature readers only!
***MATURE READERS ONLY 18+
Looking around at the lights that had dimmed, and the men who stared back at me grimly, I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. “No,” I said. “I’m not going to play against Timber. He’s my friend. It’s not who I am. I didn’t come here for this. To be your bitch.”
Tall Timber started walking toward me, his head two inches higher than mine. He no longer looked confused. Instead, his long legs brought him closer and I could see his face better. He grimaced.
Fallon’s husky purr echoed throughout the hull of the ship. “Not everyone feels that way, Delano. I don’t think they care who you are. Only what they can take from you.”
Tall Timber arrived in my face, and before I could open my mouth, he lifted his fist and cracked my jaw. The blow catapulted me into the metal railing. When I turned around again, I saw pure destruction in his eyes. That’s all I had time to see. He picked me up and flung me over the railing. Still stunned this was even happening, I sailed through the air, toward the steel floor, before I could reach out and stop him. Right as I approached the ridged floor, hands caught me. Looking up from the bottom of the dim room, a sea of faces crowded around me. Many women smiled and reached toward me, clawing at my dress shirt until it hung in tatters. Hands pawing all over me, they pushed me outward, toward the basketball post. Tall Timber jumped from the second-story landing onto the floor. His body didn’t seem to have that same weightless levitation as Esteves and Vaughn had. So he couldn’t have become whatever Fallon was yet. But right then, he threw the ball at me, and it almost torpedoed my chest.
“You got it first. That be the only time you get it,” he breathed in.
“Tim, man, she’s just using us, dude. To make money. Two poor little black boys. We can walk out of here and not come back,” I tried to reason with him.
He ran up on me, and as I ducked to avoid another blow, his hand swiped the ball from mine. “You going to pout? Or you going to play?”
I turned to watch him drive to the hoop, leap and pull the ball up. He dunked it.
“Two points, Tim. We go to twenty,” Fallon called. The ball bounced onto the steel. Somewhere behind me, I felt hands swipe my ass and grab my dick. Razor sharp nails scratched my back. My hand flew toward my hind side, and felt my flesh. Looking at my fingers, I saw saw blood. “Don’t lose, Delano.”
I ripped off my shirt and went for the ball. Somebody snatched it. A tuxedoed white man threw it outside of my reach, past me to someone else. Whirling around, I saw that another man— who looked African— caught it. He tossed it to Tall Timber, who pulled up from just at the free throw line and let the ball go. It sailed through the air and sank into the rim, swooshing through the net.
Tim glared at me. In his face, I saw no ounce of our past jovial conversations or shared laughter at all. “You come to play? Or you come to crown me your king?”
“Tim, four,” a voice not belonging to Fallon announced over the loud speaker.
I looked into the crowds and saw her porcelain white face gazing back at me. At this point, I was nothing more to her than chattel.
But I had grown up in Kansas City.
I started toward the ball again. Instead of bending down to pick it up, I kicked it. The person who reached to snatch it from me at the same time, got a shock when the ball smashed his face. Then, it ricocheted off of his nose and popped upward. I leaped. Catching it, I curled it into my chest as Tim came for me. Falling backward, I jumped as he tackled me. We went down, with the hard metal smashing against my back and sharp pain cracking across my nerves. I had missed.
“Who you think you playing, American bitch?” Tim asked with a scowl.
He grabbed the ball and started toward the hoop. Scooting across the floor fast, I grabbed his ankles, forcing his upper body to tumble downward. He clutched the ball for dear life, while trying to kick me off of him. Finally, he pushed up and punched me in the face again, before jumping up. He dunked again.
“Tim, six,” the voice announced.
The ball landed near a man smirking and holding his drink. Watching the people reaching for the ball, I punched fast and kicked just as fast. Then, grabbed the glass of whiskey. I felt Tim coming up behind me. Turning, I flung the whiskey right at him, watched it enter his eyes. I moved around him and pulled up again, dunked it.
He grabbed the ball, and as he tried to drive into the paint, I attempted to guard him. His arms gripped my neck and we went down. Tim broke the glass I had thrown down, and then I felt the sharp edge rip into my arm. While I winced at the deep pain and assessed the damage, he pulled up from the three-point line.
Holding my arm, I ran inward toward the goal and caught the ball before it hit the floor. As he tried to steal the ball, I snatched it, faked as if I would run away, and then pulled up.
My arm gushed blood. I couldn’t engage him in man to man contact, because he was bigger and stronger than me. But I was faster, and I made it my business to find opportunities. While he collected the ball, I came from behind and knocked it out of his hand. I ran away immediately. It flipped to the side, where someone caught it.
She tossed it back to me. OctoPussy, the woman with the purple eyes, who had fucked me at Haley’s house. I couldn’t have been more grateful. I pushed from the steel floor and shot it.
Instead of going to get the ball, Tim came for me again. My legs moved back so quick that I backed into the crowd, and they threw me at him. He caught me and slammed me onto the ground. His foot entered my rib cage and knocked the wind out of me. I could have sworn I heard a rib crack.
“Stay down!” he commanded.
Hurting like hell, and curled into a ball on the floor, I heard the next two shots.
Forcing myself up, I half ran, half limped toward the goal, in time for him to whip around and strike out at me. I ducked, nearly falling to the floor. I grabbed a piece of glass from the floor and slashed deep into his thigh. Then, I pounded his ankle.
“Motherfucker. I trusted you.”
Just as he winced, I snatched the ball and didn’t let him out of my sight.
Before the ball came back down, I gave him a right upper cut and slammed my elbows into the back of his head. I sped away before his long arms could grab me. Getting the ball, I tossed it back in again.
Then, what felt like a brick hit the side of my head. Then the blue gray steel landed on me. The sea of faces disappeared, and blackness crowded them all out.