This month I am spotlighting my backlist rock star romance -
What Happened in Bangkok.
Each week I will focus on something different. This week - 2 excerpts from What Happened in Bangkok.
First the opening scene -
Droplets of
blood seeped from Darien's wolf tattoo, mesmerizing him. They trickled over the
inside of his bicep, splattering against the bar floor.
Darien ran his
hand back through his hair and frowned. Why was the wolf bleeding? It was
supposed to look sexy. Turn chicks on. Not bleed. He blinked as a thought
formed. Maybe it wasn't the tattoo. Could he be bleeding? He didn't remember
getting hurt. But that might be because he'd had too many vodka shots.
Expensive
gold-infused vodka.
An order snapped
out in Thai ripped his focus away from the cost of the booze.
Stumbling with
the translation, his gut clenched - Check
everyone. Anybody alive. Kill them.
A shrill female
scream. A gunshot. Silence.
That'd be one of
the hookers. Damn. Hope it wasn't the one with the butterfly tattoo
above her clit. She had a mouth on her that performed miracles. Dude!
What the fuck! Must be the vodka talking. Stay focused. There are guys
with guns out there.
Darien stretched
his neck out and peered around the edge of the bar. In his line of vision, a
male leg stuck out from under a table. Expensive looking shoe. Presumably
Italian leather. Probably belonged to Nai Jâhng.
Darien raised
his eyebrows. Wow. Somebody had the balls to kill a Triad boss.
He shifted his
glance. A few feet to the left lay a female arm with brilliant orange
fingernails. He shivered at the memory of those nails grazing his balls. He
focused on a tiny object a foot in front of him. Shards of glass were scattered
about. He frowned, trying to remember what happened. He'd walked behind the
private club's bar to get another bottle of vodka when, one by one, bottles
started exploding. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, looking at the
blood dripping from his tattoo. He glanced at his arm. The bleeding had
stopped.
Okay, so he
wasn't gonna bleed to death. Good. Now he just had to get his dumbass outta
there. Past them. The guys with the guns. How the fuck could he do that?
Voices
interrupted his thoughts. The tones were panicked or angry, and the words too
fast for him to translate, although he understood the meaning of the three
rapid gunshots, followed by a short groan. The door at the opposite end of the
bar, leading to the kitchen, swooshed as someone pushed it open.
Gunfire and
screams sounded from the kitchen. The door swung open again. Darien translated
the shooter's words, "Nobody alive in there. I'll check the offices
upstairs."
Darien slid
back, trying not to disturb the glass. He did his best not to yelp when a sharp
edge sliced through the skin on his knee. With deliberate movements, he
backtracked the length of the Black Dragon's bar. Squatting, he peeked around
the end.
Three men stood
with their backs to him, dressed in black pants and muscle shirts. Each one
held an assault rifle. A bleeding sun tattoo visible on one attacker's
shoulder. Daeng Arthit Triad. Not good. So not good.
He looked
forward. The kitchen door was six feet away. Six feet of wide-open, easily
visible space. It might as well be six inches or a mile. He couldn't risk it.
Wouldn't. He didn't want to get shot.
He shifted his
weight off the knee, pressing on a piece of shattered bottle. What the fuck,
dude? You're gonna die if they find you. Better to be running for your life
than just lay here and let 'em kill you. That was the logical side of his
head's opinion.
The chicken shit
side said, Stay here. Stay down. You're safe.
Second - the scene where we meet Erika
Erik leaned on
the balcony railing and stared down at the crowd of patrons partying in her
club. They were laughing, and buying over-priced and watered-down booze, just
the way it was supposed to be. The strobe lights bounced off the glitter and
tinsel, adding blinding sparkles to the atmosphere. Overhead, four massive
disco balls turned, spitting out flashes of light, randomly illuminating either
patrons or the leopard print wallpapered walls. And best of all, Bangkok was
half a world away from home, which couldn't be more perfect.
She'd made it
through her second year. She hadn't expected to jump straight into an owner/managerial
position, but the opening was there and she grabbed it. The learning curve had
been steep at first, although she now felt like she had her feet on the floor
and her head squarely on her shoulders. Life wasn't perfect, but it was good.
She took a deep breath and enjoyed a sense of calmness.
"Hey, Boss
Lady."
She shifted to
look at Sebastian, her stage manager. His chest muscles bulged under his white
t-shirt, the rips in his jeans hinted at strong thighs, and the ever-present
headset rested on his scruffy brown hair. He sat on one hip and flipped a hand
to point behind him. "It's just cray back there. Shangri-Lay's havin' a
hissy fit."
Stifling the
urge to pound her forehead on the brass railing, Erik asked, "What's the
little diva's issue this time?"
"Well,
she's screamin' somethin' 'bout Ra-chell took her pink scarf and the new eye
shadow that matches it. Ra-chell says she didn't. She bought 'em this afternoon
when she was out shoppin'. You know Ra-chell 'n shoppin'. She gets a paycheck
and it's gone. But no way Shangri-Lay's gonna believe her. She's threatenin' to
rip out her hair extensions."
Erik placed her
palms on the cool railing and pushed upright. "Lead on."
She followed the
harassed stage manager through the club, the pounding bass drowning out
anything more he might have said to her. In the evening gown laden, makeup
strewn topsy-turviness of the dressing room chaos ruled. Two partially dressed
people rolled on the floor, entangled in each other's arms and legs, with
fingers gripping hair and voices screeching. The other performers stood by and
watched, cheering their favourite.
Erik grabbed a
nearby glass, tossed the contents in the sink and filled it with cold water.
She pushed her way through the crowd and flung the contents on the fighters.
"Ah! My
makeup."
"You
bitch!"
"Excuse
me?" Erik lifted an eyebrow.
"Oh, crap.
Get off me. You brute. You bitchy brute." The fighter on the bottom
struggled to get free. The peacock blue eye shadow seemed to glow against his
dark skin.
"And you
love it." Grinning, the lighter-skinned male with the corkscrew curl wig
grinned pointed at the other's swollen bulge in his robe.
She stifled an
eye roll. "You queens are so going to be the death of me."
Sandee, dressed
in a Cabaret showgirl costume, leaned closer and wrapped his arm around her
shoulder. "You know we love you, Erika honey. You're one of us. Just one
of the gals."
Erik shook her head. "You all do dresses and
makeup a thousand times better than me and…" She flung her empty hand in
the air. "I'm the only one with two X chromosomes."
Blurb and Buy Links
To save Darien's life his brother
asks, "Can you walk in high heels?"
Erika Bailey, owner/manager of a drag queen club in Bangkok,
Thailand has happily settled into all aspects of her new life, except for her
lack of a love life. When a new diva auditions, Erika is bewildered over her
instant attraction to the blond God, Apollo.
Darien Scott is on vacation after a world tour and mistakenly
figures the safest place to be is at The Black Dragon with the head of a Triad.
When the club is hit, Darien is the only person to get out alive. Now he's running from the police and a Triad.
Mistake number 1.
Disguised as a drag
queen, he's hired by Erika, but falls hard for his new boss, then struggles
with not coming clean with her. Mistake number 2.
Can he fix his
mistakes and find a life filled with love or is he headed straight for mistake
number 3?
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Happened in Bangkok
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