Title: Grosse Pointe Author: Natalie Barnes Genre: Historical Romance (Prohibition Era); Mafia Romance
The year is 1926. Champagne, pistols, and dolls… I am responsible for making sure that the booze flows and the drugs show. If trouble were to birth, all I have to do is whip out me persuaders. Kilkenny bred, New York bound, Detroit laid. This is me story. Brek O’Brien. The blood on me hands cannot lie, for they speak the truth. I’m afraid of God—however… I be not afraid of man. Savages we be. For I keep searching for that light. Then she is bestowed upon me. Gabriella… Me Love. Grosse Pointe
25 November 1926Shadows swarm my vision as I try desperately to latch on to light. With the only light bestowing is the thought of her… My ears throb as if they were a hammer, making use with nails that’d be piercing through my skull. Through the holes in my beak seeps in the worn scent of gun powder. The burn ripens, a sear growing within me. Keen to know damn well just where I be, by the scent of faded flesh and rotten walls. However now, the air around grows heavy. The thickness of it swallows me. I tilt my weighted head back, yearning to take what seldom breaths this confinement allows. For this air holds the icy secrets of this decaying joint. A grim cackle cuts in from behind me. My head lowers at the horrible sound. For it belongs to only a shell of a man. A shell he be, for he never truly lived. After all, only true existing is placed once the fluttered wings of an angel flitters over one’s heart. Nah, Carmine’s soul is slated, as my sight be right now. His heart be as foul as the stench that beds around me. I aim for sight, only to lose against the woven cloth. It be from the sack that cloaks my lids. This only sets a squall inside of me. My jaw bolts shut while my chest stiffens against the rope that binds me to this damn chair. “You ought to be feeling right at home there, Brek…” Carmine’s vicious head snakes closer on my left. I become rigid when the touch of his greasy stub of a hand curls around my neck. My breath and sight surrender to this drowning sack. I recoil, wanting nothing more than to lose the feel of his crummy clasps. Yet his nubs still grab ahold of my chin and yank. The pinched force splits my mouth open, unlatching my lips that were once shut. Bile hints on his breath as he begins to shout. His spit sprays right where my ear would’ve shown. That is, if it were not hidden underneath this cloth. “Right into the potato sack where you belong! You worthless, Paddy!” Visions of work from the true hands of Lucifer himself dance inside my wicked mind, of slicing a worn blade through Carmine’s pipe. How joyous of a thought that is. Sadly, though, soon as it leaps within my head, it swiftly seizes when Carmine’s fist slams down onto my skull. “You’re a damn snake, O’Brien…” Carmine hisses in my ear. He be the one who is a feckin’ snake. Every. Last. Damn. One. Of. Them. Except her… “Gabriella…”
Natalie Barnes resides in Michigan’s beautiful Upper Peninsula. Born and raised in the Eastern Upper Peninsula, Natalie is a tribal member to Bay Mills Indian Community. Ojibwe native. Libra sun and rising, Natalie sets the stage for her tales. Tales of hope, gritty and in dire needing… No matter what, love succeeding If that’s how you want it, Natalie Barnes is your author!