Happy Holidays!

I know some of us celebrate all kinds of events this year so I went with the over all "Happy Holidays" to all of you out there! 
During this time of year, I do some shopping, some baking, and some holiday partying...  but mostly when it gets cold, I start to write. 
I'm busy with 3:05 a.m. now and we have the first few chapters written, but they're raw. The kids keep me running around so I'm not moving along in this story as fast as I usually do, but at the same time, I am enjoying my characters. Sitting with them makes a cold snowy night zip by. 
Here is a little bit of chapter 1 of 3:05 a.m. An Ice Era Chronicle... Read at your own risk! There is mistakes and what not. It's only the beginning. (Key exciting music here!)

*Chapter 1*

     Her moaning hit an ear piercing crescendo as she reached climax. Screams of pleasure thundered over Rourke louder than the rain pelting the windows. In the small dirty office overlooking the ocean, Rourke leaned back as her orgasm transformed her face. His brother’s current girlfriend collapsed to the floor in a heap. Con’s black shoulder length hair covered one eye as she panted and clutched her open shirt. Her perfect breasts heaved and tinted pink with exertion. The black underwear around her ankles made her look bound even though everything about this was willing.
     Rourke yawned.
     Once upon a time watching a pretty woman in ecstasy was fun. That was then, this is now. And now was his mission. Nothing about this was fun.
     Outside, stomping and cussing was the racket of a massive group of dock workers. He lifted his head to glance out the grimy windowpane. The men meandering around the halls didn’t even notice Con’s carnal delight. Three other ships had just reached the harbor and everyone was busy with the arrivals. One boat had docked and two waited off shore. Men unloaded crates and bags. Rourke ignored the new swarm. He was only looking for his brother Weber’s stolen cruise liner, The Carnival. The smaller vessels out there weren’t his concern. The Original’s ship would be here soon and that’s what he needed to get on. Of course, if the dark-haired beauty on the floor wasn’t impressed with the way she came, he would never see the man he planned to kill. Getting into Con’s good graces was one step closer to his brother. It was time to finished what they’d started in Texas.
            “It’s always a pleasure, Con.” Rourke pulled on his sleek brown leather gloves and straightened his clothes as he came to his feet.
            “Don’t think an orgasm is going to get you on your brother’s ship.” Con reached her ankles and pulled up her underwear. “I’m not that easy.”
            “What about two?” Tipping his ass against the old wooden desk, Rourke checked the zipper on his jeans as he gave her his best sexy grin. This smile was the one all the women fawned over.
            Con merely raised one dark eyebrow and buttoned her shirt. “I can’t invite you onto The Carnival, no matter how many orgasm’s you want to heap on me.”
            “Heap? I can heap all over you, baby.” Rourke offered Con his hand and helped her to stand. She rolled to her feet easily as a smile teased her lips. The smile he recognized. It was the one where he was in the winner’s circle. Rourke received that you-got-me-look all the time. The slim young woman straightened her shoulders before her eyes met his.
            “Here’s what I can do.” Con walked to the desk and sat. She leaned back in her chair as she arranged her hair into a ponytail. “I can let it slip that The Carnival with a few of The Originals will be near this harbor tomorrow. Now if you happen to get someone to take you by boat out there, and you happen to get on somehow…” Con gave a dainty shrug of her shoulders. “I might just say I know nothing about it.”
            Rourke eyed the petite woman lounging on the office chair. Con was no fool and she was the closest thing to his brother that he’d found so far. Trust wasn’t given between The Originals, but screw it. This time he would take what he could get and go with it.
            “Why would you do that for me?”
            “Who said this is for you?” Con chuckled. “Didn’t you say you have some place to be?”
            Con was kicking him out of the dingy little office. Fine. He had all the information he needed. Now he could return tomorrow and get on The Original’s ship. Once he was on the cruise liner, he would find Weber.
            The time on his wrist watch blinked. Con was right. He did have some place to be, and he didn’t have time to figure out why Con was being helpful. Maybe she didn’t know what happened in Pharr, Texas, or maybe she still had a sexual stupor hanging over her brain. It didn’t matter either way. If this was just her stupidity, then he would take it. A dumb girlfriend of his brother’s was what he needed. No point in looking so hard at an opportunity that it might vanish.
            “I’ll see you around, Con.” Rourke winked.
            “Don’t miss the boat.” Con shuffled papers on her desk and didn’t look at him.
“I won’t.” Rourke had the feeling she implied much more than those four words. He would figure it out soon enough.
            Once he left the office, he took the rickety stairs two at a time down to the dock. Bolts of lightning lit up the sky and a rain-snow mixture battered his leather jacket as soon as he stepped away from the office building onto the boardwalk. Ducking between men and women hauling plastic bins of silverware, Rourke hit solid land and jogged inland along a rock path. As he pulled his collar up, he marched straight for a row of weathered brick buildings dimly lit by flickering lamp poles.
            Right as he passed a massive stone structure, a blur zoomed past him. The whirl and the movement weren’t the rain. Suddenly, Rourke was pressed flat against unforgiving concrete under a metal awning. Staring into to his eyes were the cold, black orbs of Snow-Everyone-Joe.
            Rourke wiggled against the sold muscle of an agent that made his heart jump into his throat. Fuck, Joe was scary.
             “Do you really need the knife, baby?” Rourke swallowed.
            The blade next to his throat was drawn back and moved to his ribs. H.S.P.C. Agent Joe stepped to the side and let go of his neck.
            “Stop calling me baby.” The older man’s face was an unreadable mask of wrinkles and death. The agent gave Rourke the chills. Even if Joe was in his early fifties, the guy could move, was lethal, and he looked like he ate souls for breakfast. After the debacle in Texas, Rourke had agreed to be a double agent for the H.S.P.C. and spy on The Originals. Of course, he never thought he would have to work with this snow-cone. People gossiped that Agent Joe was retired and an ant now, living underground in the Northern Earth Dens. Some said he was in a wheelchair as a decrepit aging cripple. No such luck. Joe was alive, healthy, and mean as a rattlesnake. If there was a way to never see Joe again, Rourke would take it.
           “Sure, baby.” Rourke did his best to look like he didn’t care what the other man had to say. On some level, he was positive Joe could see right through his lax attitude to his fear.
            “You’re late.” Joe’s deep husky voice was soft and could only be heard slightly over the rain beating the metal overhang.
            “I had to get Con to let me on Weber’s ship. If you want me to kill my brother, I have to see him.”
            Joe’s cold eyes slanted into a glare. Rourke should probably stop poking the bear.
         “If I think for even one minute that you’ve switched sides, I’ll kill you.” Joe glanced around the street.
            “Nah.” Rourke couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “I got the message with the knife. Whatever you say, baby.” He held up his hands in a peace gesture.
            If Joe was trying to scare Rourke it was unnecessary. First off, Joe was scary as fuck and he didn’t need to do anything but stand there and exhale. Second, there was no switching sides. Rourke was never fully with The Originals. He just happened to be part of Fletcher’s bloodline, and anyway, he had his own reasons for wanting to kill his older brother. Even though the H.S.P.C. was helping him, he would take down Weber whether he had backing or not.
            “Here.” Joe produced a gun from a bag on his back and handed the sleek silver pistol to Rourke. As Rourke gripped the sidearm, Joe eyed the street again.
            “What’s this for?” The plan hadn’t been for Rourke to shoot his brother. “Are we changing things?”
            “No.” Joe glance back and fourth down the alley. “Just a backup. Wow, everyone knows you should always have a backup plan.”
            Rourke tucked the pistol into his pants and nodded. “Anything else?”
            “If you run into an Original member named AK47, leave her to me.” Joe’s eyes flashed with fury. Rourke held his breath. If this woman got on Joe’s bad side, may God have mercy on her soul.
           “What did she do to you? Steal your favorite jammies?”
           “Just leave her to me.” Joe growled. “Also, here.” The agent pulled out a chain with a small round metal disk dangling from the end. He didn’t say more, but dropped the jewelry into Rourke’s hand.
Rourke held up the medallion.
           “Saint Christopher?”
            “Your dad sent it to you. Morgan-Roth said good luck or some shit.”
          Rourke pressed the disk into his palm hugging the little memento from his real father. Knowing him and Weber didn’t share the same dad had always been a point of pride for Rourke. The day his mother died and confessed that to him had made everything in his life better. His father was a good man, a priest. Even if they were all Fletcher’s bloodline it didn’t mean they had to be bad people. Morgan-Roth gave him hope. Just knowing in his heart that his dad was a priest gave him a something stable to stand on. Maybe he wouldn’t turn out like Weber or Silo or Felix. Maybe after all this was done, he could have a normal life with a home, family, friends, unconditional love. All the things he’s never had as a child.
          “One more thing.” Joe slipped his knife into a sheath on his belt. “If you get into any trouble, there’s a pass-code that agents use. It’s a challenge and a response.” Joe’s lips pressed into a grim line like he wasn’t sure if he should be passing on secret information. After the long pause he continued. “If it looks like you have no other options, and I mean no other options, call out ‘If Karma doesn’t catch up with you.’ You got it?”
           “If Karma doesn’t catch up to you.” Rourke repeated.
         “If there is an agent who can help, they’ll reply ‘Then God will.’ That’s how you’ll know you have help. I’ll be close. Watching you all the time.”
          “All the time?” Rourke groaned. “Great, baby. That’s just want I need.” 

​To be continued...

I hope you all stay warm during this winter season! Thanks for stopping on my page! I'm now back to 3:05 a.m. Wish me and Rourke good luck!