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Monday, February 18, 2013

A Peek at Clone


Eva’s toes hung over the ledge as she stared at the crowd twenty floors below. The people clustered around the gates and paced along the street, and appeared as though they were bugs she could squash under her heel. Tininess aside, she could still hear the roar of their fright. They’d gathered around the palace because of the riots. They wanted her sympathy, her reassurance things would continue on as usual, that the towers they’d built for themselves would not crumble.
The Europian Commander of Joint Forces, General Michael Axis, stood beside her on the deck, clutching the rail, not daring to get any closer than the ten feet that separated them. His knuckles were as white as his face, and for the first time since she'd known him, he truly looked frightened. As he should be. All he’d worked for, threatened to die with her. His soldiers, collared for the moment, were about to be released and there was nothing he could do about it.
The wind whipped loose tendrils of her coif, beating the strands against her face in an angry assault. The fine silk of her suit snapped around her like a banner in a hurricane. For the first time in her life she knew her purpose, had no fears. Concede. Die. Fight. Live.
“Madam President, you need to come down off the edge.” The soft words were trimmed with a threat no one else could hear. Sharp like a razor, cold like forged metal, he used his coercive blade like he always did, but this time, it had no effect. She was beyond caring. “Ana.” Angrier, a little harder, more pronounced. He might as well scream, “heel, heel”.
Not today. He knew her name, and it wasn’t Ana. He’d put her here, given her this power. When his plan failed, and he realized he’d lost control, Michael stooped to begging. Pathetic as it was, she savored every moment. No, you heel. The smile came easier than it ever had. Oh, she planned to come down, but not as he intended. “They’re free.”
 “You must come down. Your country needs you. The people are frightened. I don’t know what to tell them. They’re afraid we’ve lost control. There have been murders, clones that have somehow broken free of their girdles.” His pretty speech was for the benefit of witnesses only, those council members he’d manipulated to bring a means to a end, who’d come with him to talk her down. The device in his hand, well that was different. It was designed to control her, but he’d found it to now be useless. She didn’t care if he killed her. It was her time. He could not win this standoff.
“Not somehow,” she said. Hundreds of thousands were free of their bonds and tasting liberty for the first time. In a few minutes, the soldier clones would follow, their collars falling from their necks, their hands filled with weapons he’d put there. It was what he feared most. Michael was a general with no control of his army, and they were about to turn on him.
The people of Europia would suffer for the pain they’d heaped upon the clones. He would suffer for what he’d done, and when the sun set and his body lay broken in the street, no one would take pity on his corpse—or his human soul. If he had one. 
“I know you’ve lost your husband and friend. It’s a tragedy, but the people need you, your daughter needs you. You must come down.”
Her wrist monitor beeped as the last code locked into place and the satellite transmitted the order to the soldier clone’s collars, releasing every last one. Michael glanced at the blinking band and brought his gaze back to hers. His face grew paler and he swallowed, as though he choked on his own bile.
Boom. Loud blasts begin to sound around the city, coming from every direction. “No,” he muttered. His thumb slid over a button on the device in his palm and he pressed.
Eva grit her teeth. This was it. He looked down and back up. Jab, jab, jab, Michael poked the button over and over, before he lifted his chin and looked into her eyes. “How did you...?”
For several seconds she held his gaze, waiting for the pain in her head, the ending he’d promised if she didn’t do as told. Nothing. Dante. My love.
His eyes popped wide and his mouth fell open. “You can’t do this. The people need you. What do I tell them to reassure them of their safety?”
“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.” Let them eat cake. She spread her arms and greeted the open air, falling forward into the storm, and the arms of the man she loved.
As twenty floors rushed by, a young woman in the same tower began her tale about the clone who freed the world, treason, lies, and forbidden love.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Say No to SOPA

Yes, artist, musican and author copyrights need to be protected, but not at the price we will have to pay. No controls and way to much wiggle room for big corporations to abuse this law.


As an author, I'm opposed to this bill and you should be too, if you value your rights.

Speak to your congressmen and women, let them know that Big Brother has crossed the line and we will not tolerate cyber-babysitting. Say No to SOPA and make sure those that are considering passing this law, know how you feel.


D L Jackson

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Seducing Liberty is out!

Spies, time travel and a ménage make up the premise of Seducing Liberty. I don’t often write historical novels, but a story about Washington’s Culper Spy Ring, proved to be irresistible when penning this 1NightStand story.


On release day I usually show you the cuts that didn’t make it into the final story, and today will be no exception. During the delicate task of weaving this story together I had to make some choices. I wanted this to be one of those stories where the reader asks, did she really travel back in time, or did she black out and dream it? I needed it to be feasible in a fantasy setting, or contemporary. So here’s the ending that never made it, because I couldn’t work it into the real world.

Chop from Seducing Liberty: “That’s a wrap for the day, ladies and gentlemen. Want you back here Monday at 6 a.m. to finish the beach scene.” Liberty blinked, staring up at the mid-day sky. For a moment she’d thought she’d been in another place. A wet dream. That’s what she got for watching her assistant fuck. A shadow fell over and she lifted her chin to stare at a face backlit by the sun and in silhouette.

“You need a hand up?”

She reached out and took his hand. Something about him…

He pulled her to her feet and chest to chest. Liberty’s eyes widened. Dark hair, blue eyes and a wicked smile. Her heart bounced against her tonsils. No. it couldn’t be. Thomas didn’t exist—well, not in her time. He wore a white button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and blue jeans—so un-patriotic. Well, not something she’d ever seen him in, and damn if he didn’t wear 2011 well. “Thomas?”

“So this is what you do when you’re not spying for the Patriots,” he said.

A second man made his way over to them, dressed in knee length khaki shorts and a t-shirt with a sexy pirate woman and rum ad on the front. His hair was a little longer, but the spark in his eyes and the come fuck me vibe, was more than familiar.

Definitely not a wet dream. “Aaron? How did you…”

“Not sure, but I have to tell you the men’s room down the beach is amazing. You hit a lever and all the waste disappears—and hot running water pipes into a bowl for you to wash your hands. And jet skis, and my God, have you seen the bikinis? Do you own a bikini, Madelyn?”

“Bikini?” She blinked. “Are you really here? On the set? Was any of our date real or was it all a figment of my imagination?”

Thomas smiled. “Yes. Yes. And all of it—real. Somehow you brought us with you. When we woke, we were lying on the sand dressed like this. A note from a someone called Madame Eve was between us.” He handed it to her.

Liberty took the envelope and opened the flap, slipping the paper out.

Your dates have come to you. Enjoy. She looked up. “Are you staying?”

Thomas and Aaron nodded. “We talked. Wherever you are, we decided we want to be—if you’ll have us. Besides, we already have a job. Some director guy offered us a part in something called a movie. He said we looked like the perfect Patriots, and could use a couple of replacements.”

She couldn’t agree more. Liberty smiled and hooked each man’s arm, walking them down the beach and toward her trailer. “If you liked the toilets, wait until you see my shower.”

Buy Link:  http://www.decadentpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=385&osCsid=r3k7ufgetqfro68ic8mrffimu7

Thanks for stopping by and helping me to celebrate Seducing Liberty’s release day!

D L

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Hauntingly Erotic Scavenger Hunt

Boo!

You just might find a clue in a recent post.

Be sure to stop by http://backwardmomentum.blogspot.com/ for a scavenger quickie!

Thursday, September 22, 2011

What I'm working on this week.

Hear No Evil/sequel to Slipping the Past

Her soul! The fucker took her soul. Nate sat up, eyes wide open. Blood pounded through his veins and his heart slammed against his ribs like a jackhammer, driving the breath from his lungs. A trickle of moisture meandered down his spine. He swallowed, kicked the sheets away, shoved both hands into his hair and pulled his knees to his chest. No!


She didn’t kill herself. All these years—all this time he’d believed she’d committed suicide. He’d never known. Where was she now? Where did Ian put her?

He swung his legs over the bed. His innards twisted. “It was a dream.” He tried to convince himself, but he knew the truth. Why now? Ever since he’d inherited Ian’s body he’d been dreamless. The voices kept REM away and made drifting off impossible.

Tonight that all changed. What had awakened the small bit of the beast? Ian’s soul had been fragmented and destroyed, all but a small sliver that had been missed. It sat at the back of his mind and fed him dark thoughts, but never came forward, it wasn’t strong enough. It had felt like nothing more than an ugly thought.

Until now.

It reveled in the death of his mother. He felt Ian’s delight. He’d felt his hunger. Nate reached up and touched the brand that now burned. Ian’s energy felt stronger, harder to hold back. God, he was in trouble. He’d no one to talk to that wouldn’t trigger the voices and visions—an anchor to sanity.

Nate froze. Except her. He’d hadn’t heard, seen or felt anything when she’d spoken to him. Well, that wasn’t one hundred percent true. He’d felt something. He’d gotten damned hard and it had taken hours and an ice shower for it to go away. Everything about it was unnatural and if he’d learned anything lately, it was also fate.

He needed to talk. He needed to work through the dream without outside visions interfering. He needed to freaking think. Most of all, he needed to see Paxton.

She’d left her purse in the office. When Jocelyn hadn’t been looking, he’d rifled through it and had taken the opportunity to learn something about her. He should be ashamed he’d snooped, but he wasn’t. She was in trouble and needed help. But she wasn’t the only one. He needed her help.

Nate glanced out the window then at the clock. Three in the morning, a little early to drop by and return her handbag. He could go to her house and wait for her to wake. He sure wasn’t going back to sleep.

“I am not Ian Saefa. I am not a monster.” He eyed his reflection in a large mirror that leaned against the wall. The swelling in his face had gone down and the black and purple had faded to tan and olive. Not pretty, but better than before. They did indeed heal faster than most.

He reached out and touched the mirror’s frame. He kept it to remind him of what resided inside him and what he could become. He hated looking in. It always seemed like someone else stared back, and frankly, it creeped him out. But he had his reasons. Good ones. His gaze traveled to the corner to where a note had been scrawled across the silver surface.

“Know thy enemy.”

First thing when he woke, Nate looked into it and would recite the message over and over. Evil still resided in this body and he wouldn’t allow himself to forget, nor would he become the monster Ian Saefa had been.

“Know thy enemy.” The brown eyes, so dark they looked black, bore into him. Ian. That energy had wrapped him in a stranglehold, filling his head with cold thoughts, urging him to do things he would have never considered doing before—terrifying things—gruesome things—things that made him question if he was no longer sane. “Know thy enemy. Know thy enemy.” Nate leaned in. “Fuck you, asshole.” He stepped back and flipped the mirror on its stand so he could no longer see him.

Ian might have left him a hell of a body, as he was built like an Olympic athlete and not bad looking—but he also had that whole Boogieman thing down. Yeah, Ian had worked that to perfection. It was in the eyes—the windows to the soul, and his windows weren’t any place a sane person would want look. What had looking into those eyes done to Paxton? He didn’t want to scare her. He needed her—more than she could imagine. He rubbed his face again.

She seemed terrified of him, but at the same time he’d seen something else. It went beyond terror, the way she’d looked at the brand, the way she’d studied it. Interest? Curiosity? No, there was more to it. He had to find out what. His cock took notice at the thought and insured he’d be taking another ice shower before the morning was over.

For the first time since he’d inherited Ian’s body, he wanted to get into someone’s head and know their every thought. Funny how the thing he despised so much, was the very thing he wanted most. He wanted to know what Paxton had been thinking about him. No, wanted was too casual. He needed to know.

A ghost from his past once told him that there were greater forces at work in the world than he could possibly imagine. He’d but dipped his toe in the pool and he still couldn’t grasp it all. What if those same forces were at work again? Something brought Paxton to him—the one woman he couldn’t read—the one woman he could be around. He could see the desperation in her eyes, but she’d fled so fast he didn’t get a chance to ask what she’d needed.

Had he scared her away? He had to admit that Ian was the last person most would want to meet face-to-face, but he wasn’t Ian. That asshole was gone—mostly. He had to show her he wasn’t who he appeared to be, that she could trust him.

He ran his fingers along the scar tissue, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the brand. The previous owner of the body made sure of that. A tat could be removed.

The brand—impossible.

Nate rose and strolled to his closet. However, he could attempt to look less scary. What did a reaper wear just to pop in and say hi? He flipped through several shirts and pants to stop on a pair of black dress slacks and a red button up shirt. He yanked them off the hangers and pulled them on.

Yeah, black and red were real calming, no pastels or khakis in his closet, but at least the red shirt didn’t have a picture of the grim reaper flipping the bird, or big bold letters across the front that said “My Best Friend Went to Hell and All I Got Was This Lousy Tee-Shirt.” Not that they were intended to scare, they weren’t. They were supposed to be ice-breakers—jokes, purely meant to ease tension when people saw him.

Nate snorted. Yeah, that’s what his shirts did. Nobody this day and age had a sense of humor. His tee shirts sent people fleeing in terror like Godzilla stomped the city block. One look and they ran, cried or started babbling like idiots.

“Well, Paxton, I hope you like breakfast with your coffee.” He hoped she liked surprises too, because he planned to drop a big one on her. Six foot nine inches of surprise. He’d leave the Louisville. On the streets, there wasn’t anyone badder, and he really didn’t need his bat to prove it. She might be a bit intimidated by it anyway.

The idea was to present a calm, respectable image.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

What I'm Working on this

This is from book four of my Blown Away Series. Here, Avery and Trouble go out on their first mission to investigate an abandonned mining scoop called The Gold Digger.

“This whole situation seems unusual.” Trouble stepped into an open bay and let her gaze travel across the immense interior. The deck had an inoperable lift and emergency ladder for evacuation, should the power be cut, which it was. One shuttle remained in the bay, ice caked its exterior like frosting. Crates full of raw ore sat packed, waiting for transport to a smelting plant—billions in abandoned credit, left behind like trash.“ Why would anyone abandon the scoop and this cargo? A captain would never leave this behind. I see one shuttle, perhaps it belonged to the command crew, but why wouldn’t they have taken it? It’s weird.”


“They didn’t abandon it.”

“Well, it’s the only one left.” She surveyed the hold again; nothing retained any heat as though anyone were present, or had been present for quite some time. The lights in the bay flickered on. Trouble closed her eyes to block the brightness. She reached for the controls on the lift, but it didn’t move. Frozen like everything else onboard. She’d have to take the ladder down. “This whole ship looks pretty abandoned to me.”

“Not from where I’m standing. I’ve got bodies stacked up like firewood—a total of seven. Looks like your command crew. Well, some of them. I see the First Mate, but the ordnance officer, medical officer, security officer and captain aren’t present. Looks like a skeleton crew. Bare bones—what they’d leave behind to watch the ship until help could be brought in. Heating malfunction maybe.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. The captain wouldn’t abandon his ship to anyone else,” she said. “Not for a broken boiler,” she mumbled.

“A mutiny might explain it, but I’d expect to see blast marks and bodies everywhere. The ship would look like a war zone.”

“Who would kill them? They’re miners, right?”

“Yeah, but the question you should ask yourself is who stacked the bodies. It looks like they were prepared for a burial. I’ve got some kind of funny ritual marks carved all over them—post mortem. No blood.”

“Ritual marks?” Only people she could think of, used ritual marks to prepare the dead for the afterlife, and as Avery had mentioned, carved into the flesh. The funny symbols designated their rank and position after translation. Not good. Trouble’s heart pounded against her ribs. “What kind of marks?”

“Circles inside circles, intertwining braids and hash marks. I’ve even got a sun, pierced with what looks like a lightning bolts. This is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“What you describe sounds like an Odroxian ritual preformed prior to cremation.”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh crap.” Trouble fired up her blaster rifle. It began to hum. “Avery?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“How far away are you?”

“One minute—and running.”

“I’m starting up the shuttle. Did you see the bomb?” She put the blaster on percussion and fired a bolt at the shuttle. Ice shattered and slid off in sheets, dropping to the deck around it.

“No. Did you?”

“Negative.” Trouble slid the strap of her blaster onto her shoulder and yanked her helmet off. She needed to see each step and the visor hindered too much of her visuals. She scrambled down the ladder descending as fast as she could without losing her footing. One of the frozen steel bars snapped like a twig and her boots slipped out from under her, slamming her face against a metal rung. A crunch filled her head.

Bells rang in her ears. Trouble kicked out, trying to reclaim her footing, but the soles of her boots failed to find purchase and slipped again. Her weight dropped, breaking her grip. The blaster strap came free from her shoulder and the weapon raced her to the frozen deck, landing first with a loud clang and then sliding several feet away. She hit on her back and smacked her head again. Pain pounded through her skull and bright lights filled her eyes.

“Get up.”

She rolled to her knees, her head swimming, and her lungs burning. The world around her spun. She didn’t want to die, not like this—not this way. The knees of her squeeze suit stuck to the decking as she tried to crawl and her hands slipped out from under her. Trouble collapsed to her belly. “I’m stuck to the deck. The heated threads…” She gasped, still unable to draw a solid breath. Why had she thought taking her helmet off was a good idea?

“Get up.”

This time the voice wasn’t in her head. The rails of the ladder sang. Pellets of fractured ice bounced off the docking pad, followed by a loud thud as Avery’s feet hit the deck. A hand circled her bicep. He lifted her up, heaved over his shoulder and ran across the deck, breathing heavy but otherwise unaffected by what she suffered. Everything blurred before her eyes.

“Stay with me, Devoe.”

“Not going anywhere.” Then everything went black.