Death Wish

By Darren Shell

Short story with a great plot twist. Raw, hot, playful, and smart-assed—all my favorites! This short and sexy romp across the country had me wishing for more wishes!—Arlis Sells...East Clay Times.
“Darren Shell...I don’t know whether to laugh out loud or call you names. This is no chick read, but I still chuckled my way through the naughties...”— Dawn Elkins, Artesian Reader Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fideli Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781604142136

Darren Shell

Darren Shell started writing in the spring of 2005. His first effort was a simple story about Dale Hollow Lake for his daughter, who was then ten years old. “It was crude and simple, but heart-felt and tender,” Shell says. “It was a ghost tale about the making of Dale Hollow Lake and how they had to dig up old graveyards during the construction.” Several people ended up reading this first effort, and many more began asking for copies. Because this first story was so well received, Shell wrote a prequel to accompany it. The reception for this writing was as popular as the first. Building on that success, Shell wrote six additional short stories that all fit into the first. These were eventually combined into a comb-bound book he printed himself and then sold. This book was also published in perfect-bound form, but is now out of print. “To this day, I still get requests for that book,” Shell says. “I’ve sold more than 500 copies, and occasionally I still find the need to print one from my computer for a friend or family member.” After this success, Shell broadened his scope by writing a series of historical stories for local newspapers. This collection was then published in book form titled Stories From Dale Hollow, and sold close to one thousand copies. These stories prompted Shell to start his company, Gravedigger Tours. Each season, he gives guided “ghost” tours of the park in the center of Dale Hollow. “It’s a historical tour,” Shell says, “and my character, one of the lake’s old gravediggers from 1942 when the lake was made, tells all the tales. It’s a crowd favorite and has earned me the nickname ‘Gravedigger.’” In the fall, a full-fledged set of tours are set up and tourists and friends come from miles around to hear the Gravedigger’s storytelling. This is also a great time for Shell to sell copies of his books. Shell’s latest work, The Big Ones—The World Record Smallmouth Bass of Dale Hollow Lake, deals with a different type of lake history. The book tells of the controversy surrounding the number-one world record smallmouth bass, profiles the number two and three record holders, gives the reader a glimpse of the men behind the those catches and includes several fishing experts’ top 10 tips for catching smallmouth bass. Shell has also set aside 50 signed copies of the book for charity. Dubbed “Fishing For Charity,” Shell’s goal is to donate a total of $5,000 in charitable funds to charities chosen by the people buying the special books. Darren Shell lives and works at his family-run marina on Dale Hollow Lake in middle Tennessee.

Book preview

Death Wish

David Shuler

Smashwords ebook edition published by Fideli Publishing Inc.

© Copyright 2017, David Shuler

No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Fideli Publishing.

Smashwords 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 person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

"Loving her…" he told the bartender,

"… is like trying to fuck standing up in a hammock."

Chapter 1

You disgusting, lazy-ass, self-indulgent pig.

Damn, she looked good.

I see you are still working feverishly at being the most boring, drunk-ass bastard on the planet.

Bitch had a point. I suppose the three empty Guinness bottles and scattered shot glasses on the bar were a blatant tip-off. This crappy dive of a bar was my second home. I still hadn’t created the proper derogatory slam to hit her with, so I simply sat quiet and let her do what she did best.

You are just exactly how I expected to find you, belly-up to the bar and still mentally constipated. What’s the matter … pussy got your tongue?

I took another long draw from my Guinness. Yeah, she looked hotter than Bionce’ in her fuck-me pumps.

Not a word from you in a Goddamn year, and this is how it’s gonna be? Speak to me, you arrogant prick.

You’re giving me a hard-on. By now, she was inches from my ear and shouting as if she was somewhere across town.

I fucking hate you, you miserable, sorry-ass, fuck-up of an idiot. I oughta rip your testicles off one at a time and cram them down your throat, you cold-hearted jerk-off.

Yeah…I think I could love her.

So, Mr. I’m-gonna-be-famous, Mr. Super-mega-author-writer, Mr. World-kiss-my-ass…how’s your stench of a life going, anyway? Here I stand, looking damn good in this hot little outfit, and all you can do is stare at the fucking bartender?

You know what else you’d look good in? I asked, dry and emotionless. She just growled into my ear like she was going to eat her way through my head. I finished my sentence. …A straight jacket and a gynecologist chair.

Her fists were squeezed up tight as drums, and I was just certain one would push through my inner ear any minute. I was doing pretty good, really, despite my usual lack of self discipline with her. I held my own, sort of…that is, until she drug her tongue up the outside of my ear and ended with one of those kisses that could ejaculate a brass monkey.

So…miss me? she asked.

What the hell was I going to say? Hell yeah, I missed her. My shipwreck of a life was as lackluster as an Al Gore speech. In the last year, since our biggest and worst fight of our life, Cat stomped away from my tiny apartment and out of my life. And I thought it was for good. Since then, I just kept typing out enough words to sell to the half-dozen smut magazines and paparazzi