Word Count: 79,000
Genre: Commercial/Literary (Adult)
Two tours in Afghanistan might not have killed Rob Loxely, but after his army reporter fiancée Marian goes missing in a disastrous raid, Rob can’t live without knowing what happened to her.
To distract himself, Rob joins ROBIN HOOD - a secret organization determined to bring down Mayor John Lackland and his anti-homeless propaganda. Teamed up with his war partner Guillermo “Will” Escarlata--a former gang member and part-time drag queen--they rob jewelry stores and launder the money into nonprofits.
After a successful heist, Rob meets Jon--a fourteen-year-old homeless junkie and thief who does heroin so he can see an image of his dead sister. As they keep running into each other, Rob begins to question their coincidental meetings. He thinks saving Jon from his addiction might be his redemption for not being able to protect Marian. Enlisting Will’s help yet again, this time to mentor the troubled teen, Rob believes he’ll finally find peace, unaware that the sheriff of Nottingham County is prepared to blow the ROBIN HOOD organization to pieces.
First 250 Words:
Hot subway exhaust burst through the rusted ventilation grates. Even though they ran as quickly as their long legs could pump, Rob was hit by one of those steam explosions. He felt fiery air blast up his legs, a burning beneath his dark, brown corduroys. For a moment, Rob couldn’t breathe. He gasped behind the filtered mouth of his plague mask—a leather bird with hand-carved feathers stained with crimson dye, its details painted in black except for the white around its eyes. The bird mask covered Rob’s entire face, extended down beneath his chin, the fine grain shadowed by Rob’s large, hunter green hoodie. Under the glare of a street light, the feathered wings printed on the back of the shirt could be seen, rippling over his broad shoulder blades as he ran.
The fierce barking of dogs pierced through the wail of police sirens and honking taxi cars. A fucking K9 unit? Instinctively, Rob reached his hand out for Will, a simple brush of his fingertips against Will’s bicep to make sure that Will was there and that they were home and far away from the bombs and corpses and burning Humvees in the bloody desert sand.
They twisted their bodies, dodging through the swarms of commuters on their way to Penn Station. Midtown was the best place to pull the jobs, they’d all agreed.
Post a Comment