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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