I’s time for the High Drama Blogfest. A special thanks to DL Hammons at Cruising Altitude for hosting this spectacular blogfest full of awesome giveaways. I’m a poor author; freebie books are always welcome. 😀
My entry is a clip from my completed romance The Secret Dreams of Sarah-Jane Quinn. A little history: Sarah has had previous dealings with Eric, first in a sexual harassment incident at work, and then later when he assaults and nearly kills her.
Gus flicks a glance at me, trapped under Eric’s weight. My eyes keep going to the gun—the gun I’m sure is going to take my life before the end of this very long night.
“Just let Sarah go, Eric.”
“Not gonna happen. Now there’s the small problem of you to deal with it, but that’s easily resolved.”
His hand moves on the weapon. My mind’s eye sees the gun spit a bullet at my husband, sees him crumple lifeless to the floor.
“No!” I buck upwards, throwing off his aim, and the bullet thunks into the door jamb above Gus’s head. Gus charges, launching himself off the ground. He hits Eric like a missile and for a terrifying minute their combined weight presses my face into the mattress and I can’t draw a speck of air.
And then they roll off the other side of the bed, fists and curses flying. The gun flies as well, bouncing off the end of the mattress to the floor. Eric rolls to his feet first, and Gus pistons himself off the floor. They crash into the window, shattering the glass. Jagged shards rain down on them.
Eric shoves Gus away, clutching a wicked piece of broken glass in front of him, shooting a glance at the gun. I’m closer to it than he, and it’s obvious that he isn’t sure what I’m going to do so he doesn’t make a move for it. He rocks onto the balls of his feet, preparing to lunge, and I can see a whole vista of nightmarish endings to this horrific scenario.
I scramble off the bed toward the weapon. Eric makes a feint at Gus, who dodges the wrong way; the glass slices through the sleeve of his tee-shirt and blood blooms in a spreading stain through the fabric and runs down his arm.
With no further hesitation, I aim the gun and pull on the trigger. Nothing happens. I pull again and again, but the trigger won’t depress.
“The safety, Sarah!” Gus shouts as Eric lunges at him again.
A precious second to find the safety and flick it off. I aim again and this time the trigger pulls, firing a round. It misses Eric, lodging into the plaster wall behind him, just below the window. He ducks instinctively, charging at Gus with head lowered.
I fire again as he raises the shard and stabs it toward my husband. This time I don’t miss. The bullet hits home in the side of Eric’s head. Blood, bone, and brain splatter my bedroom wall.
He topples to the floor, the glass shard falling from his bloodied fingers. The gun drops from my hand. My stomach heaves with rolling nausea, and I barely control my gag reflex in time.
Gus takes one step toward me, wobbles, and his legs collapse under him. Blood pours from a wound in his neck—too much blood. Eric’s last lunge at him with the glass punctured his skin. He puts a hand to his throat but it’s like trying to stop a flood with a handkerchief.
© 2009 Sharon Gerlach
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