by Dawn Dugle
“Sounds like a good use of your training time.”
“I’d rather use a gun.”
“And what will you do if that gun gets taken away from you, like when you brought down Seth Campbell and Monica?”
I stared at him. “Damn it. That’s the same argument Sol gave me.”
Dixon beamed. “Then Sol sounds like my kind of guy. And it looks like the training is making you leaner and meaner.”
I flexed my bicep for him. “Yep. It’s also helping my stamina. I managed to catch up with my Dirtbag today when he ran off.”
“There’s the silver lining!”
“Speaking of the Dirtbag, he’s probably waited outside long enough. I’ve got to get him over to holding, so they can get him ready for court. Thanks for the beer,” I kissed Dixon on the cheek and headed outside.
The pain in my chest wouldn’t go away, even when I rubbed on it. These weren’t the kinds of pains that meant I needed to go to the hospital. This was an ache from something missing in my life.
“I love you, mi amor.”
I closed my eyes and could almost hear Luke saying the words to me while he rubbed the inside of my right wrist. It was a thing he did that would always light my fire, which would then lead to moaning, if you know what I mean.
Moaning. I could hear moaning coming from the back of my car. I peeked in to see the Dirtbag rolling back and forth on the carpet in the back area, trying to itch those fire ant bites.
He’s been my captive long enough. It was time to set him free-ish.
∞∞∞
3
Day 131
Luke
He just wanted to be free. Free from the drugs they kept pumping into his veins. Free from the asinine interrogation they put him through daily.
Free to return to his love.
Mi amor. Wysdom.
She was the only thing keeping him sane in this prison, which wasn’t really a prison, but it felt like one nonetheless.
He was being held in a ten by ten room, with no windows. There was a twin-sized bed, with a thin mattress on one side of the room, a bucket and a bottle of water on the other side of the room. A single lightbulb hung overhead and would stay on, day and night. Not that Luke knew day from night anymore.
He didn’t even know how many days it had been since they took him. Since he allowed himself to be taken. He thought he would learn something that would be helpful in taking down the “big bad” as Wysdom called it, but so far, he’s learned nothing.
He was starting to think this had been a bad idea.
The drugs were working their way out of his system, which means he only had about an hour until they came back to inject him again. And interrogate him.
He got down on the concrete floor and went through his workout routine. After 200 pushups, he moved on to planks. He could hold a plank for 300 seconds, five minutes, at this point. It burned, but the burn let him know he was still alive.
He was sweaty, but there was nothing in the cell to wipe the sweat off with. No sheets. No towels. Not even toilet paper for when he had to do his serious business in the bucket.
Once a week they hosed him down and gave him clean clothes. But that was the extent of personal hygiene favors from his captors.
He ran a hand over his face and the full beard that had grown since he disappeared. It wasn’t as itchy as it was in the beginning. That means he’s been gone a while. Wysdom must be frantic.
He had left her a coded message in the few moments before he was taken. He didn’t get enough time to tell her where to look for her clues, but he hoped what he left would be enough. It had to be.
She was smart. She would figure it out and run, far, far away from here.
He could hear shuffling in the corridor, and that meant they were coming. Luke laid down on the mattress, and let his right hand drift down to the wall next to the bed. There, he could feel the “WW” he had scratched into the concrete wall. He was still in the same place as yesterday.
They think he doesn’t know. Each room looks exactly the same as the last, but he’s smarter than they think he is.
He had first scratched her initials into the wall so he could stay sane and remember her face. One day he came back from interrogation and the initials weren’t there. At first, he thought this was part of the mind fuckery that they were doing to him. Then, he realized, they moved him while he was drugged.
At each new place, he scratched her initials into the wall. He lost track of how many times he’s done this, but he keeps scratching to stay sane.
The door opens and it’s the big guy today. “Prisoner, on your feet.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” he calmly stands up. “I’m being held hostage.”
“Da fuck you say?” Big Guy gets right in Luke’s face.
“Estoy loco, mother fucker,” he gives Big Guy one of his crazy smiles, then sends a quick jab and uppercut into Big Guy’s face. The punches don’t do much to slow down Big Guy, but Luke wasn’t trying to incapacitate him, just distract him long enough to get away.
Luke feints left, then goes around Big Guy to the right and out into the corridor. Except, it’s not a corridor. It’s a wide open warehouse with a door 200 yards away. Luke sprints for the door and is reaching out for the handle when he hears a pfft hiss. His legs go heavy and he can’t stand up anymore. He falls to the ground, blinking as a set of shoes appears in his eye line.
The Nergal. “Lucio! What did we tell you about trying to run?”
Stars dotted Luke’s vision and he cries out: “Wysdom!”
Everything goes black.
∞∞∞
A Counterfeit Midlife Crisis (Flamingo Cove Book 2)
Coming May, 2021
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Acknowledgements
Being a writer is incredibly weird. I'm constantly eavesdropping on conversations, writing down interesting names I hear and asking my retired police officer neighbor questions that might normally raise a few eyebrows. (For the record, he was very helpful with the clues and the crime scene details with the fictitious murder in these pages.)
I also want to thank my real-life artist friend who didn't take it personally when I told her I was killing off my fictitious artist in the novel. She gave me some helpful pointers too, including what to use for the murder weapon.
With friends like these...
Finally, thank YOU for picking up this book - either through a pre-order or through Kindle Unlimited. If you loved it, I'd appreciate a good review. This is how more people discover new authors and great books that they might like to read.
Thank you!
-Dawn Dugle
About The Author
Dawn Dugle
Dawn Dugle is an energetic, optimistic truth-teller who is also incredibly stubborn when it comes to looking on the bright side.
After retiring from an award-winning career as a journalist, she decided to spend the rest of her life telling good stories.
She is the author of several non-fiction books and two screenplays. In her spare time, she is the personal minion for her cat Gabriel - who secretly thinks he's a dog.
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