This blog tracks a ten year epic of kick-starting a whole writing career, with spies and thrillers and now, vampires. I cover the creative process, stuff that blows up, history, philosophy, and theology. If you like any or all of the above, you'll like this one. We talk about comic books, movies, music, and writing. Usually, all at the same time.
Yes, some of them. I'm not going to show you the ENTIRE book... And I haven't written it all yet.
But just to show you that I'm doing something.
Chapter 1: The Return
Sean Aloyisus Patricus Ryan shot the first FBI agent in the face, and
the next in the kneecaps.
He took a step forward, wheeling around the doorway, firing three
more times. Two of those bullets punching into, and through, his
target's face, and a third went right through agent number four's
Sean grabbed the survivor by the collar and dragged him into the
Sean tossed the whimpering mass of flesh to the floor, disarmed him,
and stomped on one of the ruined kneecaps.
Sean did a tactical peek outside the door, looking both ways. “Okay,
who sent you?”
“We're FBI agents!” the wounded man bawled. “We said that!”
“FBI agents come in twos, or in whole tactical teams. They don't
show up with four people at the door. You still have your balls, so
don't think I can't hurt you some more.”
“I told you–”
Sean didn't say anything, just swung the muzzle down to aim for the
“No! No! Don't! There's a bounty on your head!”
“How did you hear about that?”
“The darknet. I can show you—”
Sean stomped on the bounty hunter's head. “Thanks.”
Sean dropped to one knee, gun up, and patted down his still-breathing
victim. He came up with a cell phone, unlocked with a biometric
thumbprint reader. He unlocked it with the owner's thumb, and the
first thing that came up was Sean's cocky, smiling face, and a
caption that read, “WANTED DEAD: $10 MILLION.”
“Only ten?” Sean thought, shoving the phone into the luggage.
“Someone doesn't know me that well. I'm worth at least twenty.
They're going to put at least that much effort. And pay out that much
Sean slammed the door closed, and threw the bolt. His next step was
to grab his luggage, close it up tight, and hurled it through the
hotel room window.
And people wonder why I buy Halliburton cases for my luggage.
Sean then backed up, charged, and leapt right out the window of his
Thankfully, no one was in the pool when he landed.
Sean arose from the pool, trudged his way towards his suitcase, and
stormed down the concrete. He glanced at his diver's watch. “Dang
it. I might be late. Must be Tuesday.”
Sean shot two more of the gun-wielding idiots in the lobby. He
stopped at the concierge and shrugged. “Sorry about the mess.”
* * * *
Sean Ryan walked into yet another hotel and just looked up,
the atrium going through every floor, straight to the ceiling of the
“Nice. Why can't I ever stay in places like this?”
Sean looked to the side at the newcomer, then looked up again. The
lady was well poised, brunette, and freaking tall. Her
black hair flowed down her body, framing strong features, with really
deep brown eyes. Her outfit was monochromatic, with knee-high black
boots, white vest and pants, with black, long-sleeved t-shirts. She had a little flair pin of a cute gray kitten with dragon wings, and coughing up a fireball -- the caption read "Kitty Dragon."
“Hi," he said. "I'm
She looked Sean up and down, her glance clearly showing that she was
not expecting an international badass to be only 5'6” – six
inches shorter than her. “A pleasure.”
Wicklund took Sean over to the plush chairs over in the lobby. He
frowned at the layout, dragged a chair against the nearest column,
making sure to angle at a mirror on the wall.
Sean cocked an eyebrow. “You're kidding me, right? I'm in security.
Paranoia is a job requirement, but it's one of the few things I can't
actually put on my CV.”
Wicklund smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Which is
interesting, considering that you've put property damage and body
count on your resume.”