And away we go! Welcome to Son of a Pitch, Week 2. This week, I'll be hosting ten writers here on my site.
The top twenty will be selected and posted on Friday. Without further ado:
Title: SETTLE THE SCORE
Age and Genre: Adult Romantic Suspense
Word Count: 80,000
Years ago, twenty-nine-year-old pop star, Jill Aita found her ex-boyfriend beaten and left for dead. Later, because of her testimony, she ensured his conviction for narcotics trafficking. He was imprisoned, and she was to blame. His hate-filled letters made her fear for her life, so she gave up her music career. Sacrificed everything that mattered in life. Disappeared.
But living with fear is no life at all. And Jill wanted to live. Music pulled her back, and she’s thriving. Her album sales are soaring. Her tour schedule is filling up. She’s falling for the sweetest guy ever. It’s all perfect, until he is released from prison. Her ex-boyfriend. The one who said he’d find her and get even when he got out.
Her ex’s menace is renewed when her car’s lug nuts are loosened. She leaves a charity event to find her car windows shattered. Jill longs to disappear again, even though hiding means abandoning her career, leaving the man she’s come to love. But staying means her boyfriend and his daughter may pay the ultimate price. Her ex has killed before.
Virginia, Fall 2008
Jill pulled into the Emergency Room parking lot. She sat in her car, gnawing at her cuticles. The thought of what to do when she got here hadn’t crossed her mind. The only thing she was sure of was that she didn’t want to be associated with the beaten man in her passenger seat.
Her stomach twisted thinking of his past. Dealing narcotics. Smuggling. She knew who did this to him. Beat him and left him for dead. If they knew she saved him, there was a good chance they’d come after her. She’d end up beaten, or worse. Dead.
I can’t take him in there. They’ll question me. She noticed that there was an emergency button mounted on every other light post. She pulled up to the farthest one from the hospital doors. Reaching across Herb, she pulled on the door handle, and the car door swung open.
“I’m sorry, Herb.” With every last ounce of strength she had, she pushed Herb’s broken body from her car to the wet pavement. The sound of a few soft thuds from his knees and elbows hitting the parking lot gave way to something that sounded like a heavy cantaloupe bouncing a couple times. This felt inhumane. She felt like a monster.
As she stretched out to pull the door closed, Jill thought she heard Herb try to speak. Whatever it was he had said was so broken up by coughs and gurgles that she understood nothing. She closed the door.