Category Archives: Crime Fiction

KOBO books from Dell Sweet



by Paul Block series Singles

Dead is a collection of eight short stories that all look at death from different angles. Ordinary people in ordinary circumstances that death just happens to play a leading role in.

Alive Again

by Paul Block series Singles

They had been three. Traveling together for safety. In the world of the Un-dead… And they didn’t kid themselves, it was the world of the Un-dead, and there was little enough protection even traveling as a group.

Guitar Works

Guitar Works Volume Five: Neck Refret

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

This manual is designed to get you comfortable with doing your own neck repairs, refretting jobs and cutting, shaping and installing your own nut or saddle. It covers a complete rebuild of a damaged neck: Fret board removal, truss rod installation; it will show you how to radius the new board and install new frets. …

Guitar Works Volume Nine

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

I started this build about a year ago and then left it. I originally intended to build a seven string slim bodied guitar, but I lost enthusiasm for it when I realized I would probably rarely play it. I hate building guitars that just sit. Guitars are made to be played.When I built the Acoustic Seven string Jazz guitar I used a donor acoustic as the base. That acoustic had a bad neck set and at the …

Guitar Works Volume Six: Repair a Broken Neck

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

Whether we are customizing a guitar, repairing a fractured neck, refretting a beloved instrument or building our own guitar from scratch, there are those of us who love to work on and modify our guitars. I have done so for many years and I build hundreds of guitars in the process.This will cover a snapped neck, where the neck is cracked in two. How to make a lasting repair and the order in which …

Guitar Works Volume Seven: Bone Nut and Saddle

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

Whether we are customizing a guitar, repairing a fractured neck, refretting a beloved instrument or building our own guitar from scratch, there are those of us who love to work on and modify our guitars. I have done so for many years and I build hundreds of guitars in the process.It will show you how to take a bone blank and turn it into a saddle; how to get the shape and measurements you need to …

Guitar Works Volume Three: Custom Builds Two

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

The AdjustOvation Build:This is a complete start to finish custom build. The base is an Ovation Applause with the upper bout holes. I planned out this build for several months and then put the pieces together for this build over a few months while buying other parts for my guitar site.The idea was to build a Jazz guitar . I wanted a vibrato. I wanted a roller bridge. Things that must seem …

Guitar Works Beginner Builds

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

This guide will give you information that you can use to build your own guitars. As with any project there is a great deal of time involved with learning to do things correctly, but I have found over the years that slowing down, doing things step by step, you can come very close to perfect results every time.This Guide can provide the step by step methodical approach I employ in doing a guitar …

Guitar Works Volume Two: Custom Builds 1

by Geo Dell

series Guitar Works

This manual will give you information that you can use to do your own custom repairs on guitars. As with any project there is a great deal of time involved with learning to do things correctly, but I have found over the years that slowing down, doing things step by step, you can build what you want consistently every time. This manual will provide that step by step instruction to guide you in…

Settlement Earth

Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book One

by Wendell Watson

series Settlement Earth #1

I took a trip around the upstairs. The boards are all tight, but the night is dragging on and the dead are still too quiet: That bothers me a great deal. I don’t know what they are up to. I will be glad when morning arrives, although to be honest it doesn’t seem to stop them much anymore. They are getting used to it, if they ever weren’t. Maybe it is just my own mind that is more comforted by the…

Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book Two

by Wendell Watson

series Settlement Earth #2

Andrea Zurita had been alive for the second time for more than three days. The men who had left her body had done so carefully: Senor Prescott would be very angry to find them on his land: Transgressions had been met with violence in the past, the bodies dumped into the ocean.Andrea Ivanna Zurita had taken I’ll three days before in the small village near to Prescott’s property. She worked for …

Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book Three

by Wendell Watson

series Settlement Earth #3

An alarm that was mounted partway up the wall above the huge banks of monitors began to bray. Long, strident calls. Mieka turned to the alarm, frozen for a second. It had never been triggered in the ten years he had worked at the Alaska station, never, he had begun to believe it would never be triggered. He thought of it as the Oh Shit, alarm. It was triggered from the central office on the …


Connected: Dello Green

by W. W. Watson series Short Stories

Jimmy West:Jimmy West backed his big Dodge around to an open dumpster container, late afternoon was a perfect time to dump a body here…

Connected: Short Hauls

by W. W. Watson series Short Stories

A collection of twelve crime stories; including Harrows…They had been drinking one night when Robby had come out with the murder bit.

Connected: Sanger Road

by W. W. Watson series Short Stories

Connected, a series from W. W. Watson. Sanger Road: Book one…
Pulled from his mundane life, Billy finds a world where anything is possible if you are willing to risk everything…


Fig Street W. G. Sweet

Under the city of Glennville a series of caves cut from the limestone by the Black River attract visitors, children, some have entered and never come out; maybe lost, maybe part of Glennville’s secrets. Something else lives in the cold, dark caves. Something some have suspected but refuse to believe. After all, it’s 1969. Things are rational, safe.

Alabama Island W. G. Sweet

Just after Joel began to lower the rifle the Suburban’s headlights suddenly flicked on and the rear tires spun on the slick pavement smoking and screaming as they clawed for purchase. The engine whined higher in pitch and the big Suburban seemed to jump out into the intersection… #Apocalypse #EndTimes

Earth’s Survivors

Earth’s Survivors Rising from the Ashes Geo Dell

An epic adventure to survive the end of society as we know it. The end begins with scattered survivors struggling to understand what has happened to the safe, familiar world they knew, and whether there is any hope for mankind. Governments are gone. Cities have fallen. Millions are dead. Those who have survived will have to find others and a new way to live… #Apocalypse #ExtinctionEvent

Earth’s Survivors The Nation Geo Dell

We think so highly of ourselves that we believe that the end of society means the end of the world, and I guess it did for us… some of us. But the end of the world? No. The world will go on and on when we are nothing at all but dust upon the ground.

Dead Road

Dead Road Trigger James Whyte

I want the two of you to head out from here. One vial here, then one of you heads west, the other south. Go for the bigger cities… Water supplies… Reservoirs… Release it in the air or water, it doesn’t matter. #ApocalypticFiction #Zombie

Dead Road Bang James Whyte

He had hid for three days until the word had trickled down to him some federal agents from the U.S. were looking for him. It hadn’t taken much to put two and two together. He had managed to get a beat up old Ford pickup truck and then filled-fifty five gallon drums full of gasoline that rode on the back of it. He set off into the desert.

Knock free preview and link

Copyright 2015 all rights reserved. This short story, became the book Knock…

Geo October 29th

I buried Della this morning. I knew they’d find out, hell they probably knew immediately in that slow purposeful way that things come to them. I can hear them out there ripping and tearing… They know. Yeah, they know, I know it as well as I know my name, Geo, Georgie, Mother used to say. I… I get so goddamned distracted…. It’s working at me…

Bastards! … If they could have only left Della alone, I could have…. But it’s no good crying about it or wishing I had done this thing or that thing. I didn’t. I didn’t and I can’t go back and undo any of this, let alone the parts I did.

In August when the sun was so hot and the birds suddenly disappeared, and Della came around for what was nearly the last time I hadn’t known a thing about this. Nothing. It’s late fall now and I know too much. Enough to wish it were August once again and I was living in ignorant bliss once more.

Della: I didn’t want to do it. I told myself I would not do it and then I did it. Not bury her, that had to be done, I mean kill her. I told myself I wouldn’t kill her, and that’s a joke really. Really it is, because how do you kill something that is already dead? No. I told myself that I wouldn’t cut her head off, put her in the ground upside down, drive a stake through her dead heart. Those are the things I told myself I wouldn’t do, couldn’t do, but I did them as best I could. I pushed the other things I thought, felt compelled to do, aside, and did what I could for her.

The trouble is, did I do it right? It’s not like I have a goddamn manual to tell me how to do it. Does anybody? I doubt it, but I would say that it’s a safe bet that there are dozens of people in the world right now, people who have managed to stay alive, who could write that manual. I just don’t know them… I wish I did. And it won’t matter to me anyway. It’s a little too late.

So the books say take their heads off. The books also say, for Vampires, put a stake in their heart, and older legends say turn them around, upside down in the grave. Isn’t a vampire a kind of Zombie? Isn’t it? Probably not exactly, precisely, but, could it hurt to have done the stake thing just in case? To be sure? To put her at rest? I don’t think so.

They can come out during the daylight, you know. I thought they wouldn’t be able to. Every goddamn movie I ever saw, starting with the Night Of The Living Dead they couldn’t. You could get some relief. You could get some shit done. And you could if it were true, but it’s not. They rarely come out in the daylight, that’s the truth. It’s hard for them, tough somehow, but they can: It won’t kill them. They aren’t weaker than they are at night. They just don’t like the daylight. They don’t like it. And don’t you think writing that makes me a little paranoid? Thinking it over once more? It does. I just got up and checked the windows. Nothing I can see, but they’re out there. They’re right out there in the barn. Sleeping in the sweet hay up in the Haymow. I know it, so it doesn’t matter whether I can see them. I can hear them and I know where the rest of them are. And I know they know what I did and they’ll come tonight. They’ll come tonight because I’m afraid of the night. Not them. Me.  And they goddamn well know it! They know it! They think. They see. Did you think they were stupid? Blind? Running on empty? Well you’re the fool then. Listen to me, they’re not. They’re not and thinking they are will get you dead quick. And what about me? How will I feel tonight? What will I think about it then?

Zombies: I thought Haiti, horror flicks…? What else is there? Dead people come back to life, or raised from the dead to be made into slaves. Those are the two things I knew and nothing else. Well, it’s wrong. Completely wrong. No, I can’t tell you how they come to be Zombies initially, but I can tell you that the bite of a zombie will make you a zombie. The movies got that much right.

I can’t tell you why they haunt the fields across from my house. Why they have taken up residence in my old barn, but I can tell you that it might be you they come for next and if they do you goddamn well better realize that everything you thought you knew is bullshit. See, Della didn’t believe it and look what happened to her! I know, I know I didn’t tell you, but I will. That’s the whole point of writing this down before they get me too.

See, in a little while I’m going to walk out the kitchen door and right out to the barn. I’ll leave this here on the kitchen table. First for my Son Joe, I haven’t heard from him since September, before things got really crazy. So, if he makes it here somehow this will be here for him. Second, it’s for you, whoever you are who happened along into my kitchen.

Goddamn zombies. Ever lovin’ Bastards! …

I am losing control, I know I am, but… Anyway, it was August. Hot. Hotter they said, than it had been in recorded time. There was no wind. No rain. Seemed like no air to breath.

It was on a Tuesday. I went to get the mail and there were six or seven dead crows by the box. I thought, ‘Those Goddamn Clark boys have been shootin’ their B.B guns again.’ So I resolved to call Old Man Clark and give him a piece of my mind, except I forgot. That happens when you get old. It’s not unusual. I remembered about four o’clock the next morning when I got up. Well, I told myself, Mail comes at ten, I’ll get that, then I’ll call up and have that talk.

I make deals like that with myself all the time. Sometimes it works out fine, sometimes it doesn’t: It didn’t.

Ten came and I forgot to get the mail. I remembered at eleven thirty, cursed myself and went for my walk to the box.

I live alone. I have since Kate died. That was another hot summer. I used to farm. I retired a few years back. I rent out the fields. The barn did set empty up until late September or early October when the zombies moved in… Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I walked to the mail box cursing my creaky brain as I went. When I got there I realized the Clark boys had either turned to eating crows or they had nothing to do with the dead crows in the first place. There were dozens of dead crows, Barn swallows, gulls. The dirt road leading up to my place was scattered with dead birds, dark sand where the blood had seeped in. Feathers everywhere, caught in the trees, bushes, and the ditches at the side of the road. There were three fat, black crows sticking out of my mailbox. Feet first. Half eaten.

Some noise in the woods had made me turn, but I can’t turn as fast as I used to. Whatever had made the noise was gone when I got turned in that direction, but there were bare footprints in the dry roadbed next to the box. They were not clear, draggy, as though the person had a bad leg. He had, of course, but I had yet to meet the owner.

Hold on…

The day’s getting away from me. My ears are playing tricks on me too. I thought I heard something upstairs, but there seems to be nothing. I have the bottom floor boarded up. Those zombies may be far from stupid, but it’s goddamn hard to get dead limbs to help you climb up the side of a house and we took everything down they could hold onto…

Where was I? … The mailbox. The mail never came that day. In fact the mail never came again. Already Emma Watson, our local mail carrier, was a zombie. I just didn’t know it.

I tried Clark, but got no answer. Later that day I heard a few shots, but we’re country folks. There’s deer wandering all over the place. Wouldn’t be the first time one got shot without a tag or a proper season… Della came later, upset, her boyfriend had run off somewhere she thought. It’ll be okay I told her.

I seen him a week later.

Della usually came at the ends of the month to help me with shopping, bills, she’s a… She was a good girl. A good one. A good zombie fearing girl. She was… She didn’t come and August turned to September and I was sitting by the stove that night and heard the scrape on the porch.

His leg was bad. Somebody had shot him, but her fella had worse things going on than that. He was dead. What was a bum leg when you were dead? Small problem, but it made him drag that leg. I’m getting ahead of myself again though.

I picked up my old shot gun where it sat next to the door, eased the door open and flicked on the porch light. He jumped back into the shadows.

“Step out into the light!” I tried not to sound like the old man I was.

“No,” he rasped

“Step out here or I’ll shoot!” I tried again.

“Della,” he whispered. His voice was gravelly, somehow airless.

That stopped me cold. I squinted, but it was too dark to make out much. Still, I had the idea it might be her boyfriend. Maybe he’d got himself into something bad. I couldn’t get the name to come to me. “You Della’s boyfriend that went missing…?”

Nothing but silence, and in that silence I got a bad feeling. Something was wrong. It came to me about the same time that he stepped into the light. There was no sound of breathing. It was dead quiet. My own panicked breathing was the only sound until he stepped into the light dragging his leg.

My heart staggered and nearly stopped.

“Della,” he rasped once more. He cocked his head sideways, the way a dog will when it’s not sure of something. One eye was bright, but milky white, the other was a gooey mess hanging from the socket on the left side of his face.

I found my old shot gun rising in my hands. I saw the alarm jump into his one good eye and he was gone just that fast.

I stood blinking, convinced that I had somehow dreamed the whole encounter, but I knew I hadn’t. The smell of rotting flesh still hung heavy in the air. In the distance I heard the rustle of bushes and then silence. Zombies are not stupid, and they are not slow.

The next day it seemed ridiculous. What an old fool, I thought. What had I imagined? But the days leading up to October told me a different story.

I drove into Watertown around the middle of October. I passed maybe two cars on the way, but neither driver would meet my eyes. That was wrong. Trash blew through the streets as I drove. The traffic lights were out on the public square and no one was on the streets. I didn’t see a single police car.

The mall was closed. The road into it barricaded. I found a little Mom-and-Pop place open on the way back, but there was next to nothing on the shelves. I got a jar of peanut butter that I didn’t want. A package of crackers, there was no bread, and paid with the last of my cash.

The store owner wore deep socketed eyes on a lined face. His attitude said, I will not speak to you. And he wouldn’t: After a brief attempt I went home. I never went back, but by that next night I knew what the deal was when Della showed up.

She came around noon. I heard the sound of her engine revving long before she came into sight. She took out the mailbox and crashed into the porch and that was that. We were up most of the night talking about how much the world had changed. She knew more than I did. She knew there were no more police. She knew there were roving gangs of zombies on the streets of Watertown. She had met a man who had come from Rochester. Rochester was a ruin. Another from Buffalo, the same story there. The zombies, it seemed, owned the world.

She stayed until three days ago. I wouldn’t have been able to get this house closed up on my own. Della worked side by side with me. That was early, before we knew they would come out into the sunlight. Johnny, that was her fellas name, came for her in the daylight when we were closing up the house. If not for the bad leg he would have got her. If not for the fact that we were close to the living room door he might have got her. He might have got her because we both froze. And when I realized I had to move she was still frozen, just looking at his ruined, rotted face.

I got the shot gun and blew his head off. I thought she was going to kill me, then I thought he was going to manage to get back to his feet even without his head and kill me. He finally stopped and I managed to drag her inside and shut the door: After that we watched when we worked.

I had gone back out a short time later, after I got her laid down and sleeping off the shock, to take a closer look at the body. There were five of them eating him where he lay, and two watching the door: When I started out they were on me just that fast. I shot them both as fast as I could pull the trigger. My shot gun only holds four shells. Two were gone and they were slowed, but they were not deterred. I made it back inside, bolted the door and began to wonder if my heart was going to explode.

Later, before dusk, I went back outside. Johnny’s body was gone along with the other zombies.

After that it became a war, and then we decided, I decided, that Della had to try to get out. Drive out and find help. She was carrying a child after all, the zombie fellas baby, I suppose. Maybe there was a place outside of New York where things were normal, okay, zombie free.

We planned it. I got my truck, drained the gas from her car and my old tractor. That gave her a full tank in the truck and almost ten gallons in cans strapped into the back of the cab. There wasn’t much in the way of food, but we split what we had. She promised to send help, but we both knew that was a long shot. She left early morning and I thought she was away and free.

I don’t know what happened. I’ll never know. Did she get ten miles down the road before they got her somehow? Only a mile? How did they do it? I’ll never know. I only know she came back to me last night. Dead already. A zombie. Already reeking of death.

“Geo!” In the night: Her calling my name and it pulled me up from sleep with dread, fear, but hope that there was some sort of plausible reason why she was out there calling my name in the night.

“Geo! Please… Help me!”

I had thrown the bolt on the door and had it halfway to open before I realized what an old fool I was. It was too late then. She was on me before I could close the door. She was strong. So goddamned strong, and she knew where the gun was and tried to stop me from getting to it.

I got it, but I hesitated too long for the last time and she got me. She lunged and took a chunk of flesh out of my shoulder. I got her in the stomach with two shots, and then one more, after I reloaded, in the head.

I buried her this morning: Even when I did I had this strange urge to taste her. Just a small bite. Who would know? I was shocked that I had the thought. Shocked that I had continued with the burial and had not eaten her. I’ve been sitting here since then. They’ve come around. I can hear them. It was the noise of them digging her up earlier that I heard and thought had come from upstairs. I suppose they dug her up. I just bet they did. I should have kept her for myself, I think. But, God, What am I thinking? What?

I can feel it working its poison in my body. My sense of smell is incredible. My eyesight sharp. I’m hungry. It’s like something that is trying to drive me… Own me… I can’t stand it. I can’t. I…

Read the full story…

Knock : Whoever you are, consider this: One of the things we noticed as time passed was that those bastards got smarter… Faster… Like… Okay, Crazy-Town, as Lana would say, like they were evolving. There I said it… #Undead #Apocalyptic



The Borderline:

He had walked past the mouth of the alleyway twice already. There was someone in the car, just a suggestion of a someone, but someone nonetheless. Wasn’t there? Or was it his mind playing tricks on him?

The motor purred softly on the old Ford as it sat in the alleyway, the exhaust rumbling off the brick walls. Just far enough back so as not to attract a great deal of attention, but close enough that it had caught Billy’s attention. And the problem with that was it would not let him go. He had to know what the car was doing there.

He thought for a second longer, staring into the dimness, trying to see better. Checked the street; nobody, and then made his way down the alleyway. He bent and looked in passenger window. One man was toppled over into the floorboards of the car, blood pooled beneath him on the seat, and smeared across the seat back. The driver was dead also, he thought, slumped over the steering wheel, but a second later when he started to turn away a cold 45 was Jammed into his face.

Borderline is included in the book Mister Bob along with 16 other short stories by Dell Sweet.

Mister Bob : Collected Short Stories 4.3 out of 5 stars Mister Bob is a collection of short stories from Author Dell Sweet. #Horror #Apocalyptic #Fantasy

A free look at books from Dell Sweet

Addictions: Conversations with my Fathers. Non-Fiction. This is a factual look at my life so far. This book is written as it happened. It includes bad language, drug use, prison life, street life and all the things that come along with that. If you are not prepared to read that sort of thing, please give it a pass, Dell.

Knock: Knock is a love story in the midst of the apocalypse. You have to read it to understand that statement. What will happen? Take a free read preview, or get the entire book free with Kindle Unlimited!

What is the Dell Sweet name all about. Dell Sweet, although it is my actual name, is a name I never published with until recently, so, you never know what you will find published in my actual name. Usually single stories, unconnected from series I write or contribute to. I hope you enjoy these offerings.

Mister Bob: Collected Short Stories. These are stories you won’t find in my mainstream collections, or larger pen name collections. These are stories I wrote for me, and in a couple of cases for another person, because they asked, or because I thought that they would enjoy them, Dell.

Crime Time Kindle Edition. Crime Time is a collection of crime stories I have written over the years. Each of them had a purpose, a reason for me writing them, but then because I am not known at all as a crime story writer, and because I was so caught up in the Earth’s Survivors series under my Geo Dell pen name, the little crime stories went in a drawer and stayed there for a while Now here they are, published in my own name. But! Amber Smith-Norton and I are working on a series of Crime Novels we will publish at some future date. So, watch for that!

the Dead Road Series free preview from James Whyte

A free preview of book three: This book will be out sometime in 2022, dependent upon scheduled publications in the Que…

April 30th

New York: Harlem 9:00 pm

Donita made her way down the sidewalk. It was icy, and so she was careful where she stepped. Bear walked beside her. He seemed to have no trouble walking on the sidewalk, ice or not. He had lessened his stride to stay beside her as they walked.

“Okay?” he asked now.

Donita laughed. “Damn slippery,” she said. Almost as soon as she said it she felt her right foot take off on some black ice ridged up against a subway vent. Almost as quick as that happened Bear had her elbow, holding her safely.

“Donita,” Bear told her. “You got to be careful… The baby.” He sounded reverent.

“I know about the baby, baby,” She laughed. “And I am being careful. This damn sidewalk is not cooperating. Why doesn’t Harlem have heated sidewalks like some of those places over off Park?”

“Ha,” Bear told her. “We ain’t getting no heated sidewalks ever. Are you kidding?”

“Hey,” Donita told him. “We got Bill Clinton over here.”

“Uh huh. And he can fall and crack his white ass too, ‘cause he ain’t got no heated sidewalks either.” He shook his head and laughed. It was funny to see a man as big as Bear laugh, or shake his head, or really anything. He was the sort of man you looked at and saw violent things coming from. Nearly three hundred pounds, over six feet, and muscular from a ten year stint in prison. And he had that way of looking at someone, any someone, but men in particular, which made them walk away from him. With women it did something else, and Donita watched out for that too, but Bear had no eyes for any other woman. She was it and she knew it; didn’t have to question it.

“The day Harlem gets heated sidewalks is the day that they’ll put another black man in the white house.”

“Baby we got that,” Donita told him. She had reached a section of walk that was shoveled and clear of ice both. A rarity after a heavy snow fall.

“And did he get us heated sidewalks?” Bear asked. He looked at her google eyed and she had to laugh.

Owning a car in New York was a tough proposition, Bear thought. They didn’t have one, but it would be nice. That way Donita could drive home from work instead of the Subway, and a long walk through a bad neighborhood.

Bear’s job was steel work. He was picked up every morning and dropped off again. For him a car or a truck would be a luxury. To her it was really a necessity. A necessity he was trying to work out, but it was tough to do.

First you had to be able to afford to buy a car. Then you had to pay nearly as much for insurance as you did for the car. Then you had to pay for a place to park it. If you were stupid enough to leave it on the street it would be towed, stripped, stolen, or get so many parking tickets it wouldn’t be worth owning. So you needed a parking place, and that would set you back five times what the shit box car you had managed to buy had cost you. Bear knew, he had checked into it. He sighed now thinking about it.

“Stop worrying about a car,” Donita told him.

“I wasn’t,” Bear told her.”

“Oh, so you’re going to start lying to me now?” Donita asked him.

“No,” Bear admitted. “Just pisses me off. I see these people that are on welfare driving a Cadillac and I got to say, what the fuck! I mean we work hard. We really do. I don’t like seeing you have to walk.”

Donita laughed. “Baby, it’s a handful of blocks.”

“Uh huh, and you nearly bust your ass walking them,” Bear said.

She laughed again.

“Oh that’s funny that you might slip and bust your ass?”

“No,” She giggled. “Bear, God forbid the sidewalk that slapped my ass. I believe you would kill it, but I’m never gonna hit that sidewalk ’cause you’re always going to be there to catch me.”

“Huh,” Bear said. He laughed a little.

“Well, you will be and I know it. So it doesn’t matter,” Donita said. “And besides, I like this… I like this walk every evening with you.” She slipped her arm further through Bear’s own, and huddled closer to him. “And it keeps my ass nice and firm,“ she whispered as she leaned closer to him. She laughed and Bear broke into laughter with her. A skinny kid in a hoody, passing by them shrunk away from them, his eyes suddenly startled wide.

“Hey it’s just laughing, Cousin. Ain’t gonna rob you.” Bear told him.

“Baby,” Donita said.

“I know… I know,” Bear told her. He left off and turned away from the kid who seemed about to break into a run.

“Sometimes it isn’t about black and white,” Donita told him. “Sometimes it’s about you’re a very big man and when a man as big as you does something as simple as laugh a little loud it scares people.”

“Well that’s funny because it’s been about black and white for as long as I can remember,” Bear told her.

“Baby?” She waited until he looked down at her.

“It’s true… Now stop… This is something I enjoy. Don’t spoil it.” She held his eyes until he smiled at her.

 Their combined laughter faded into the gray of the evening as they moved off down the street.

Look for it in 2022 from author James Whyte

Books available now from author James Whyte:

Dead Road: Trigger:

Dead Road: Bang:

Amazon kindle books

Yellowstone Yellowstone from W G Sweet: 74,000 years ago the last big super volcano eruptions to hit the planet Earth nearly wiped out civilization. It’s happening again. Join Jack and Maria as they search for safety and others… #Survival #Apocalypse #SuperVolcano






The mental health unit: Age thirteen, suicide attempt three. I tried suicide for the first time the year before at about twelve, or just turned twelve. The time before that had been accidental… #Addiction #Recovery

Crime Time:  Crime Time is a collection of nine crime stories from author Dell Sweet. From short stories to near novel length… #CrimeFiction #Kindle

Mister Bob: Short stories from author Dell Sweet #ShortFiction #Amazon

Ghost Writing – Editing – Raising Awareness for your books

Short Stories to novels: I can ghost write to your needs. Ready to purchase manuscripts! W. G. Sweet

Light editing. Read through with error checks, common spelling errors, format corrections

Let me post your book links and raise awareness to your book. Raised awareness can lead you to a bestseller

Connected Crime Series

Connected: Short Hauls…

A collection of seven crime stories… They had been drinking one night when Robby had come out with the murder bit. Jeff had been talking about other men he had met in prison, before he had met Robbie…

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Connected: Dello Green…  Smith, who now resided in the trunk of the Dodge, had met Jimmy on a back road of the local base. Jimmy was now at the dump, because late afternoon was a perfect time to dispose of a body…

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Connected: Sanger Road… Pulled from his mundane life, Carl finds a world where anything is possible if you are willing to risk everything…

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