Happy Monday all! So while some bits of Possess have been shared I wanted to share some more as well as a little bit from The Untimely Death of Brody Walsh.
Don't forget, until the 16th Brody's story will only be $.99 cents so go on and get your copies on your eReader now! If you haven't already, sign up for the giveaway as well!
And without further ado...
Aside from some dull pain on the side of my head, I felt as good as new the next morning. It helped that I didn’t have any sort of weird dreams. Just a perfect, deep, dreamless sleep. I took my time sitting up, but no dizziness lingered. Satisfied, I slid out of bed and changed out of the pajamas Nolan had left me. I hated to admit it, but they were cozy and smelled good too. He must be one of the rare breeds of men that understands the use of fabric softener.
I left the clothes folded on the bed then slid my shoes on, careful not to make any noises as I crept out into the short hallway. As soon as I turned the corner, I spotted Nolan asleep on the sofa with his limbs sprawled out. One long leg hung over the arm of the sofa while the other was crooked to the side underneath him. He was still wearing the same jeans he had on the night before, but his shirt was discarded on the floor. His hand rested against the smooth contours of his well-toned chest. An intricate system of Celtic knots tattooed in black and grey ran from just below his left elbow, wrapping around the chiseled angles of his bicep and stopping at the top of his chest. His other arm formed a makeshift pillow behind his head and his bottom lip twitched slightly as he slept. My gaze drifted down to an equally cut abdomen and a small grin pulled at my lips. It seemed the serious expression he always wore wasn’t Nolan’s only stony features.
Really, Harley? You’re standing over your half-naked boss, oogling him while he’s asleep. I wiped the grin from my face and glanced around the apartment as if someone could have caught me. Letting out a breath, I started to wake him, but hesitated. Maybe I should just let myself out, considering our exchange over the picture last night.
“Mmmph,” A soft groan escaped him and he shifted his hips as his chest rose with a deep breath and pulled my attention back to his sleeping form. I let out a small gasp as I noticed a few raised pink scars across his abdomen. The largest came up from above his right hip and curved slightly to the side, stopping a couple of inches under his ribs. There was another tattoo running along the side of it in Celtic lettering.
“For...” I started to read it but he stretched out, twisting his hips and the tattoo, “Fortis...in-”
“It says, Fortis in Arduis.”
“Shit! How long were you awake?”
Nolan sat up on his elbows, flashing me a sleepy grin. “Long enough.”
The Untimely Death of Brody Walsh
I had been nearly a month since Nolan was arrested and it was still the major topic of conversation anywhere you went in Midtown. Aside from work, I stayed holed up in my apartment, but one particular morning, I had to venture out. I was out of both cigarettes and beer – my staples. I slipped on my hoodie and shoved my wallet into my back pocket as I left the apartment. With luck, I would keep my interactions to a bare minimum and get back to the safety of my apartment without incident. Unfortunately for me, luck was just like most of the people in Midtown lately. It wanted nothing to do with me.
I shook off a shiver from a strong wind gust before I crossed the street to the small corner shop. As soon as I saw the newspaper stand by the register, I scowled. On the front page was a large image of Claire and me that someone must have sold to the paper. It was only a few months old, taken at Finley's as we laughed and kissed each other. Next to it was Nolan's mug shot, his face bruised and bloodied from where I had hit him. His disheveled, angry, drunken image was a stark contrast to Claire and me. It was for dramatic effect, no doubt. They had even reversed the image of Claire and I to position her between us. Above the photo, the large headline read, "Deadly Love Triangle?"
"Feckers," I muttered and went straight to the beer cooler. The newspapers were having a field day with this, turning Claire's murder into a three ring circus. Quite literally.
I pulled open the cooler door and grabbed a case of Smithwick's before returning to the register. I stood in line, shoving my free hand into my pocket as my eyes remained on the floor in front of me. I was just placing the case of beer on the counter when I heard a snicker to the left of me. I cast a glance toward the newspaper stand to see two younger guys watching me with curious amusement.
"The feck ya lookin’ at?" I spat at them as I slipped cash onto the counter.
The bigger of the two, a round-faced pudgy bastard, laughed and nudged his buddy with his elbow. "I told ya it was him!” His sausage-fingered fist grabbed one of the papers then, pointing at the picture. "Can I get yer autograph, mate?" He held it out toward me as a couple of other customers turned their attention to us. Oh, for feck's sake.
"Feck off, will ya?" I turned back toward the counter, flashing my ID. Not that I needed it anymore, apparently.
"Aw, come on man, yer famous!" His laugh was cut short by the crunch of a broken nose as my fist sent him to the floor.
"I told ya to feck off!" Despite the frightened onlookers, I held back no restraint as the toe of my boot kicked him in the gut a couple times and set him squealing like pig.
"Can I get a carton of smokes?" I nodded towards my usual brand, ignoring the clerk's gawking expression of horror. She did as I asked, probably afraid I'd smack her around too. "Thank ya, miss."
I turned just in time to see a flurry of fiery red hair blow about as the door opened once more. Aggie's bright green eyes met my own before looking down at the two college kids.
"The fuck happened here?"
I shrugged and pushed my way past her but she was right behind me.
"Brody, what did you do?" She scurried after me, her shorter legs moving twice as fast as mine.
"Why ya assumin’ it was me that did somethin’?" I tucked the carton of cigarettes under my arm, lugging the case of beer with my other as I headed for my apartment building.
"You had blood on your knuckles, I wasn't really assuming." She huffed, “Will you slow down and look at me for a damn second?"
"What do ya want, Agatha?" I turned around and she stumbled to a halt a few inches from me.
"Christ, are you already drunk? It's ten in the morning!" She fanned a hand in front of her face and wrinkled her nose in disgust, "God, you smell and look like a dirty ashtray."
With a disdainful grunt I continued across the street.
"What are ya even doin on this block? There's another corner store closer to yer place."
"I came to see you."
"Ta tell me I stink and call me a drunk?"
"No, but if the shoe fits –"