By- Dennis Sharpe
Published By- Booktrope Publishing
“When everything in life has been against you, who can blame you for not playing nice with others?
My name is Wednesday. For the last seven years, I was the property of a sadistic bastard named Klein. Now he wants me dead- only he doesn’t have the balls to kill me himself.
Alvin, the hitman Klein sent to do his dirty work, decided to save my life (repeatedly) instead of taking it. Now we’re on a wild cross-country run from Klein’s goons.
It’s a rollercoaster road trip with constant personality clashes as we dodge bullets and swap cars, share fast food and cheap motel rooms. Our journey is full of pain and laughs, torture and growth, tacos and lots of guns; there’s a lot of hair dye, blood, and tears. Sometimes finding true redemption comes at a high cost.
And, no matter how much someone cares about you, they can only do so much… can only go so far. You are your only real shot at coming out on top.
Sometimes reclaiming your life requires a body count.
They stood in the center of the warehouse looking around for the man they were supposed to meet. One had his hand on the pistol at his side and the other was in a pair of handcuffs. Boyle couldn’t hear what they were discussing as Alvin bent down to put the ankle cuffs on Wednesday, but he could tell she was protesting, even if he couldn’t quite make out their words. Now, he figured, was as good a time as any as he slid the bolt into place on his rifle and looked down the scope.
Safe repeated in Wednesday’s head as she looked around the open space again, feeling anything but. Alvin knew better than she did. He’d already proven it. He’d managed to keep her alive this long despite the sheer number of killers Klein had sent after her. He said it was safe, so it had to be safe, even if the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. She looked into his eyes for reassurance and found that she felt better but still ill at ease.
Alvin saw the fear in her eyes and gave her a nod to try to reassure her. He knew she’d been through a lot, and he’d do anything to soothe her. This had to be done. He only wished it could be done faster or be over already.
"Now the chain of these leg cuffs," Alvin said, holding them up in front of him. "It locks into the floor of the prisoner transport, so let’s go ahead and get them on you."
He took his hand off his gun for what felt like only an instant as he turned his back to the perch that Boyle had chosen. Boyle smiled broadly. This was like getting a present, and it wasn’t even his birthday.Alvin had clapped the cuff around Wednesday’s right ankle when she stopped him again.
"If I’m going to wear them, and if you want me to believe I’m actually safe, you’re going to give me a key," Wednesday said, eyebrow raised and hand extended toward his face.
He rolled his eyes as he looked up at her. He opened his mouth, but before he could protest, Alvin felt the burn of the bullet. The report followed a fraction of a second later. He slumped forward, falling at Wednesday’s feet.
"Fuck!" she yelled, shaking.
She immediately dropped to her knees at his side – eyes wide, face pale. Alvin leaned up to her and squeezed the key into her hand as a second round whizzed over their heads.
"Run!" Alvin yelled back at her as the second report echoed through the warehouse.
"I’m not leaving..." She was cut off as he smacked her.
"Run like hell, kid," Alvin said, as his body shook from another round in his left side. He collapsed again to the floor while the room was booming.Boyle had switched to automatic fire and stood up. The muzzle flashes above them looked almost like a flamethrower in the dark as his rifle threw round after round down at them.Panic washed over her like a house fire hitting its flash point. It was as if her body exploded with the heat of the flames licking every inch of her. The palm print on her face stung, pins and needles assaulted her limbs, and she knew that the second shot that hit Alvin would have been in her belly if he hadn’t stopped it. This was all too much. His blood was splattered dark crimson all over the black and white stripes she wore. He was right. She had to run.
Wednesday bolted up fast, sprinting and uncuffing herself as she went. She tore off across of the large open room and forced her way out onto a loading dock. Chunks of the concrete floor popped up all around her as she went; Boyle’s shots barely missing their mark.
Once she was in the parking lot she knew that unless there were others around here somewhere, she had a hell of a head start. Boyle knew it too. He started running down the flights of stairs that
separated him from the floor of the warehouse. He jumped three and four steps at a time, but there was too much distance and she moved liked a cheetah. She was gone, a ghost in the blackness of the night.
She ran, gliding over the unfamiliar ground, moving faster than she could ever remember running before. She screamed out at the sky as she went. "Nothing’s ever fucking safe!"
About the Author-
Born and raised in the middle of the American Midwest, Dennis Sharpe has been a writer as long as he can remember. His mother has told many people about the fantasy and science fiction stories he'd write on scraps of paper, and staple together as his 'books', before he'd attended his first day of formal education.
He has spent many late nights at diners and dives, drinking coffee with a tattered notebook to put a voice to his feelings of himself and the world around him, and other worlds that can exist only in fiction. The voices in his head don't ever stop talking to him, and so sooner or later he has to get out onto a page all that they've filled him up with.
Inspired by Neil Gaiman, Kurt Vonnegut, Frank Miller, Chrissie Pappas, Charles Bukowski, Stephen King, Issac Asimov, and countless classic literary influences, Dennis continues with the ability to write what at a glance might seem absurd, but quickly begins to resonate with our own thoughts and emotions. He writes people we know, love we've known and lost (and found again), and places we've been in our lives and in our heads. Even his fictional characters and worlds carry enough of the grey areas we experience in day-to-day life, to let us find the truth in his words, no matter how fantastic.
These days he can be found still writing, drinking coffee with friends, or spending time with his children (the true joys of his life), in Western Kentucky.