Author Bio
Veronica Bane grew up in San Diego, California and spent her days writing in local coffee shops and at the beach. Her writing was and has always been fed a healthy diet of chai tea lattes and film scores. She studied Creative Writing at Chapman University and now lives in Los Angeles.
Links
Author Website: www.veronicabane.com
Mara on Amazon: http://amzn.com/0615846130
Goodreads:
Chris moved away,
urging his sore leg to move faster. But the boy had recovered, and he slammed
his fist into Chris’s face and sent him tumbling to the ground. His face
smacked against the concrete building. He choked on his own blood, on the
cigarette smoke, on the humiliation.
A couple passed by, eyes
flitting to Chris. He met the man’s amber eyes, he opened his mouth to plead,
but the couple doubled their steps and disappeared down the sidewalk without
glancing back.
“What do you say I take his
pants off?”
“Ew,” said the girl, rolling her
eyes. “That’s just nasty, Wilson.”
“Not going to do anything,” said
the boy. “We could take his clothes so he has to walk home naked. Better yet,
we could light them on fire.”
The girl rolled her eyes and
gave a flick of her wrist. “Do what you want, Wilson.”
The boy grinned and reached for
the top of Chris’s pants. Chris kicked back and then groaned as the pain in his
leg seared.
“Don’t make this take longer
than it needs to, Native,” snapped Wilson, slapping Chris hard. “I could always
light them on fire with you still wearing them, you know.”
At once, cracks appeared in the
building behind them, the sound slithering through the night. The girl lifted
her head, eyes narrowing as she traced a crack erupting in the faint light.
“Wilson…”
Wilson stopped trying to force Chris’s pants off and
turned his head up to where she indicated. The building gave an unnatural moan,
and then with a hiss, a pipe exploded into the night. It sent bits of concrete
and dust raining over the three, and then the pipe itself ripped open. Torrents
of water screamed down around them, careening into the boy and the girl and
pelting them hard on their backs and shoulders. The girl screeched and dropped
her cigarette, running while flailing her pale arms. The boy followed, and the
water pursued them, leaving angry purple welts on their exposed skin as it
chased them into the night.
On the floor, Chris heaved,
covering the back of his head with arms, but he only received a soft pattering.
In the summer heat, it was a welcome rain on his bloodied skin.
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