Those Dangerous Times

By Christopher Newman

Part 3 of the Ravenswood series,a bloodthirsty ghost targets a set of ex-Marines for a death in Grenada years before. Running for his life, George Dabrowski reaches out to his old squad, including Noah Ravenswood, practicing wizard/occultist. But when the ghost traps them Noah and his associate, Dr. Booking, have only hours to uncover the truth behind why the wraith is attacking them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Roast Press
• Release date: Jan 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452409443

Christopher Newman

Chris Newman lives in northeast Ohio. A life-long fan of Robert E. Howard, Richard Matheson, and Stephen King the bookshelves at the Newman residence run the gambit from erotica to horror to spirituality to humor. In fact, Chris hopes one day to inherit a library (or a castle with a library, that'd be nice!). Surrounding his eclectic library is his collection of medieval weaponry, helms, and shields. Woe be to the foolish mortal who tries to invade the Newman home.

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Those Dangerous Times

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All rights reserved. Except for use in promotional review, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, by technologies now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Dark Roast Press, Calumet City, IL, 60409.

The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Those Dangerous Times Copyright © 2008 by Christopher C. Newman. All rights reserved.

Those Dangerous Times Cover Art and Design © 2008 Persephone’s Pomegranate

Smashword Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book & did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Darkroastpress.com & purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel goes out to my children, their spouses, and grandchildren for the support and ideas they have given me in my writing career. I would like to thank my kids Matthew and Audra, Candice and Jose, Ben, Anthony, and Brendan for their wonderful comments, critiques, and cheers. More kudos go out to my grandkids Sebastian, Duncan, Miguel, Keegan, Nathan, and Siobhan, for giving me hope for the future

Those Dangerous Times

A Noah Ravenwood Adventure

By

Christopher Newman

Chapter One

It was just another hot summer night, another cold beer, in another rundown tavern. George Dabrowski sat in the dark, smoky atmosphere of the honky-tonk just outside of Tyler, Texas with a sick look on his face. He gazed around without really seeing the rest of the patrons of the establishment. There were the usual characters here, not unlike any other place he’d ever set foot in to have a quick beer, cruise for a fight, or chase the occasional skirt.

The Copperhead, as it was called, was really more of a biker bar than a place for country music, line dancing, or mechanical bull riding. Pool tables took up most of the floor space, with the exception of the room taken by the beat up tables and chairs that looked like they had once played a part in a Hollywood movie about the Hell’s Angels. Names, carved into and around the stained circles left by wet mugs, soaked up new spilt beer, sweat, and blood every night.

There was a pair of scraggily dressed biker chicks swinging their asses to the pounding beat of a Deep Purple tune coming from the jukebox. The first blonde was dressed in a frayed denim jacket, Daisy Duke cut-offs, a tight once-white tee shirt, and mid-calf biker boots. Her nipples that stuck the tee shirt out and the occasional flash of ass cheek both were testaments to her lack of any undergarments. Her straw haired dance partner had poured herself into tight black leather pants, a leather vest, and a tight low cut blouse with the Harley Rose emblazoned on its lower right side. Their long, dirty blonde hair shook like a cheerleader’s pom-poms as they ground their hips into one another, to the appreciative howls of those watching.

Blood pumped rapidly in the veins of both the spectators and the dancers; each seemed to feed off the other. The men and women at the tables pounded fists and beer bottles against the rickety furniture, hoping for an outbreak of lesbian frenzy. Shouts and whistles of encouragement began to rise to a fierce crescendo as the dancers laughed and raised the drama level of their performance.

A quick, violent argument escalated after one customer accused another of cheating at pool. One large biker in a ratty tee shirt thrust his finger into the other’s black leather jacket while insults erupted from his mouth. The men’s faces got within an inch of each other as they sprayed one another with obscenities and spit. Knuckles whitened upon the fists clutching the pool cues and then the pushing and shoving began. Dabrowski watched, noncommittal, as a circle began to form around the soon-to-be combatants and sides were chosen before the battle commenced. A growled vulgarity sparked the fuse on the powder keg and the fight was on. Flashing sticks, blurred fists, falling chairs, and short scuffling steps clattered over the jukebox’s music. It was a brief brutal contest that quickly ended with several of the participants lying in pools of blood on the floor.

Dabrowski looked at the bartender, a heavily tattooed and pierced man with a bulging gut spilling out of the bottom of his faded black Harley-Davidson shirt. His eyes glittered above the grayish-white of a beard that was interrupted by a long scar. It was probably an old knife wound from just such a brawl in the man’s checkered past. It ran up from his lower left jaw to stop just a half-inch below his left eye. George knew the injury probably hurt like hell when it had first happened. The bartender was wiping off a beer mug without displaying any visible emotion. But George knew that he was closely watching the fight’s end and was keeping in proximity of the gun he kept under the bar.

Another beer, buddy? the man behind the bar asked.

Sure, George answered with a sigh of boredom coloring his deep voice.

As the bartender poured, George sat there looking at the circular ring of water his mug had made on the bar. A flash of memory shook his body as he recalled a similar shape that was once created by a woman’s mouth a few days ago. A sob nearly escaped his tightly pursed lips as the big man quaked with a loathing dread. One would have never guessed this man, six-foot four and two hundred pounds, could be afraid of anything.

George was the veteran of many campaigns with the Marine Corps. He’d been decorated for bravery in combat along with many other similar ribbons. He’d served in Granada, Kuwait, Afghanistan, and Iraq just recently. He had just retired from the Corps last October with the rank of E-6 (Staff Sergeant) with full honors and a good pension. He would have risen higher in the ranks if he could’ve just kept his nose a bit cleaner and out of trouble. But he had no regrets. The Corps was his family, the only one the former orphan had ever known.

Right after his discharge he bought a 2006 Harley-Davidson Night Train with a 1450 cc Twin Cam engine in Vivid Black. All through his time in the Marines, Dabrowski had wanted to retire and ride cross country just for the hell of it. He started out from San Diego and was now in Texas, two months later. And he’d been having the time of his life until two days ago outside of Austin. It was there that he ran across the reason he was shaking in his shoes. His mind wandered back to that night.

***

Lisa, she said, with a bright smile. My name’s Lisa Marie, just like the King’s daughter, get it?

George looked over the skinny, big breasted barmaid as she handed him a cold beer in a frosty glass. Her yellow tee shirt had been deliberately slit from the middle of the collar to expose the tanned delights bulging out of her tight bra. She was a gorgeous red head with sparkling green eyes and full lips painted in a metallic scarlet shade. A dotting of freckles seemed to be painted on her cheeks just beneath those dancing orbs. A mole to the upper right of her upper lip only accented her face; he took in her beauty with slow consideration.

She can’t be a minute over twenty, he thought to himself as she continued her small talk.

I ain’t seen you in here before…? she said, and she dangled the sentence for him to finish.

Name’s George, he replied with that deep voice of his as he took off his dusty black leather motorcycle jacket.

Where ya from, George?

San Diego, California… well, that’s where I grew up.

Nice ‘tat.’ She grinned as she pointed to the artwork on his right shoulder. It’s very… sexy.

The tattoo she was referring to was of Thor, the Thunder God from Norse mythology. It had been very expensive since it ran down his right shoulder, past his bicep, and onto his forearm. The God of Thunder was doing battle with his ancient enemy the Midgard Serpent amid white capped waves that crested down George’s wrist. It had cost him quite a bit, but it was well worth its weight in gold when the ladies noticed it.

I got others, he said, endowing the statement with all the subtle implications she needed to make the request to undress him and see them.

I might be interested…

He laughed and took a deep gulp from his glass.

What do ya do for a living’, George? she asked as she leaned over the bar, pressing her breasts up higher, making him shiver with delight.

Just got out of the Corps.

You were a Marine?

No, I am a Marine, George educated her. Once a Marine, always a Marine. I’m just retired.

On your way to someplace special?

Nope, just passing through, he commented with a wink. Got a comrade or two I’m going to visit on my way to the East Coast.

I ain’t never been east, she said with a sultry smile.

I got room on the back of my Harley, he suggested with another wink. He was surprised when she hopped onto the bar and scooted forward towards him. With smooth movements of her legs and ass she slithered until his beer nearly touched the fringes of her cut-off denim shorts. She leaned over his right shoulder and her soft lips caressed his earlobe. George’s heart pounded with excitement as her breasts dangled near his chin. He could smell the heady aroma of her perfume wafting out from her deep cleavage.

I get off at one o’clock in the morning, she drawled hotly in his ear with her Texas accent. I ran away from my folks six months ago. I can’t get out of this one-horse town… will ya take me with you?

How can I refuse a lady in distress? he chuckled into her bosom.

We gotta be careful. I owe the owner rent and I don’t have a penny to pay him.

I’ll be waiting for you in the parking lot, Lisa.

And he was; and they left in a big hurry on his large bike.

***

That’ll be two bucks, buddy, the bartender said, waking George from his recollection. He reached back and pulled his wallet out of his pants by the chain attached from it to his belt loop. He dug out a pair of singles and tossed them on the bar, where the fat man snatched them up. He took a deep drink of the icy beer and gulped out a ragged burp after it landed.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the blonde in leather had pinned her dance partner on an empty table. She had pushed up against the crotch of her denim shorts, spreading her legs wide apart. Her partner held her arms against the table top well over her head, lifting her breasts to make them strain against the flimsy cotton of her shirt. George watched, disinterested, as Leather-girl slowly and passionately began licking and sucking the other woman’s breasts through the material of her tee shirt, to the roars of the crowd. Their hips bucked together as they rubbed viciously against one another in true sexual heat. The air in the bar grew hot and heavy as the two biker chicks continued their sapphic show fueled by the joyous shouts and cat-calls. George watched as couples paired off, heading to dark corners of the room.

A skinny shirtless tattooed man thrust his long cock into the mouth of the chubby woman he had brought. He violently yanked her mouth on and off him with a handful of her hair gripped in his tight fist. A big assed woman was bent over a table just a few feet off; her man tore her panties away. She snarled cat-like as he plunged into her and began to make the table legs bounce off the hardwood floor.

George turned away from all the erotic sights and soon became lost in another evening not long ago when he would have gladly found a willing partner to join in the fun.

***

Lisa lay against the back of his bike, naked as the day she was born. Her hands gripped the sides of his saddlebags to steady herself when he plunged his face between her legs to mash his lips all over her sodden pussy. Her legs were spread wide and trembled as she cried out from his activities. The backs of her knees lay across his bare shoulders as he ate her with all the gusto of a starving man at a sumptuous feast. He was as nude as she was, their clothing tossed beside the fire he had lit to keep them warm during the night. The cuddling led to kissing, the kissing dissolved into groping, and now they were finally taking great sensual delight in each other’s bodies.

G-George… oh god…! she moaned as she tried to keep from tipping the bike over on top of both of them. Her ass wiggled on the saddle and drenched the leather with her musky scent. He smeared his tongue across her labia and clitoris before plunging it into her gaping pussy. His cock was hard as iron and lay against the cool metal of the bike’s gas tank. The Harley began to shift as she squirmed with near-orgasmic ecstasy.

F-fuck me, she cried out with passion lacing her voice, lending it a desperate tone and making him even more turned-on.

As you wish, he groaned into her nether lips. He pulled back, making her legs fall off his shoulders. He caught them just behind the knees and pulled her towards him.

Do it...just do it! she cheered, and she tried to inch forward on her butt. George smiled a wide grin and stuffed all ten of his inches slowly into the tight recesses of Lisa’s cunt. The gasping intake of air whistled past her lips; she was filled completely by the older man’s big cock. Her hands flew from their positions on the saddlebags and wrapped themselves around his neck in a frantic grip.

Yeah, George sighed with pure joy, you’re nice and tight, baby.

Oh… fuck! she whined as he began to piston in and out. The Harley rocked with George’s efforts as Lisa’s breasts lolled against his chest. He pushed her legs towards her face and slid as far into her shallow depths as he was able to go. He felt the head of his shaft butt up against her cervix, shaking another squeal of happiness from the twenty-year old. His cock retreated from her fleshy heated embrace, but her muscles gripped it with desperation and attempted keep him lodged deep inside of her. The delightful friction only increased their pleasure; he totally withdrew and pierced her once more.

Yes! she cried out as he released her legs. He watched as Lisa’s eyes rolled back as he licked, kissed, and bit at her tender nipples with random attacks. The big globes rolled and heaved on her chest as he thrust into her, making her scream with an enjoyment it was obvious she had never known before. He pushed hard, making her ass scoot across the saddle and nearly toppling them onto the ground. Her chanting voice cried out with repeated Ah’s as he rebounded off the very bottom of her orifice.

Oh baby, he sighed as she wiggled her bottom frantically trying to increase the sensations for both of them.