Deadly Precious a Romantic Suspense by Larion Wills ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway

 

 

Deadly Precious

by Larion Wills

Genre: Romantic Suspense 

Drew Dray had one purpose in life, destroy his father and the inheritance his wheedling, gutless brother thought would be his. Only one thing interfered with his goal, nearly crippling pain from a bad hip. To ease the pain, he agreed to an injection, had a drastic reaction to the drug, and his plans changed. He awoke in a hospital, manacled to the bed. The last thing he remembered was knowing he needed help.

He was told while hallucinating from the drug, he’d walked into a stranger’s house, attacked the woman there, and raped her, and unbelievably, the woman, Letitia Winters, wasn’t going to press charges. To his mind, any woman who could dismiss such an attack, regardless of the circumstances, had to be simple-minded. What did he care? Pay her off and be rid of her, but the woman and circumstances kept driving him back.

When he discovered his actions resulted in her pregnancy, and her husband divorcing her for refusing to abort his baby, Drew proposed and bullied her into a marriage of convenience, to give the child his name his only reason. After being branded a bastard by the man he meant to destroy, he swore no child of his would suffer the label. Even after her raving ex-husband warns that she isn’t normal, that she’s a witch who makes bad things happen to get even with people, he goes back. He didn’t believe it or credit it to the house burning down or his plane crashing.

Was she the naïve, submissive mouse she seemed? A witch casting spells to keep him going back? Was her aim revenge or was she just a greedy, dangerous woman who found out he had millions? Would he survive to destroy his father or discover how deadly sweet, bland Letitia could be?

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Excerpts from Deadly Precious, Larion Wills.

#1

CHAPTER ONE

“I’m tired of your hospitality.” He crossed the short space to the closet and jerked the door open. Reaching in for his clothes, he hesitated, stared at the shirt, and willed his head to cease its spinning. For a man who made his way trading on his physical abilities to find them impaired, for any reason, was infuriating.

“There isn’t any hurry. I seriously doubt Mrs. Winters will change her mind about pressing charges.”

The shirt came off the hanger with enough force to bounce the hanger off the back of the narrow closet.

“She won’t allow that husband of hers to file any civil suit, either, if that’s what worries you,” the doctor added.

“It doesn’t worry me. What’s her address?”

“I don’t think−”

“I take care of my own affairs.”

“You do realize that shirt has blood on it, her blood.”

Drew dropped in a chair and fumbled for a shoe to hide another wave of dizziness. “If you don’t give it to me, I’ll get it somewhere else.”

“For God’s sake, leave her alone. You’ve done enough.”

“Either this is the biggest con going or someone’s made a mistake. I don’t rape women, and I damned sure don’t cut them up with chunks of glass.”

Dr. Ames dragged another chair up and sat down opposite him. “You thought she was someone else, and you didn’t cut her. You were too far gone to know there was glass on the floor. It was unfortunate, but it happened. A drug made you crazy, and you hallucinated. It wasn’t your fault. Letitia Winters was the first to say so.”

“I don’t believe it,” he said flatly.

“If you go out there, it’ll only cause more trouble. Her husband is nearly crazy over it as it is.”

“I don’t believe I did it.”

“For God’s sake, it was your semen. That’s her blood on your shirt. The ambulance picked you up at her house.”

“I never raped!”

“Then, don’t believe it. Just go away, believe whatever you want, and leave her alone.”

“I will, just as soon as I find out the truth.”

 

 

When Letitia Winters opened the door, she jerked and clutched the door edge tight enough her fingers hurt.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he told her.

She shook her head, looking behind her. She jerked again when Eddie stormed out of the kitchen. She looked back at him, said, “No,” and shut the door.

Eddie elbowed her aside and jerked the door open again. “Can’t you read the damned sign? No solicitors or salesmen. Now get the hell out of here before I throw you off my property.”

“Would you like to…” Drew Dray’s words trailed off as she stood behind Eddie, shaking her head, pleading with her eyes. “Forget it.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Eddie yelled after him, “Stay the hell away, or next time you won’t get off so easy.”

The door slammed behind him. “I guess I showed that son of a bitch.”

“I’m sure you did,” she said with a sigh and turned to walk away.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, catching her by the arm.

“You’re hurting me,” she said quietly, the jerk pulling at the stitches in her back.

“What are you going to do about it? Sic that hillbilly kin of yours on me?”

“Don’t push anymore.”

He pushed, making her stumble to keep her feet. “You’re going to press charges.”

 “It wouldn’t accomplish anything. He’d never be convicted.”

“Not with the garbage you’ve been saying.” His voice changed to a singsong while he mocked. “He thought I was someone else. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

She walked away from him. He followed, still shouting. “You ought to want to see him punished unless you liked it. Maybe I ought to work you over a few times, so you’ll respect me.”

“You know better.” The sound she’d been waiting for finally came. A car started and pulled away. She went to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of juice, not listening to what Eddie shouted any more than necessary to be able to give some kind of answer when he stopped.

She wondered why Drew Dray had come there and was grateful he’d backed off when Eddie threatened him. She knew, as well as Eddie—despite his bluster—that the man wasn’t afraid of him. She also knew the man had backed off for her sake. She was the one he’d looked at before he walked off.

“Did you hear what I said?” Eddie demanded.

“I won’t do it.”

“He scarred you!”

“Doctor Ames said the scars won’t be bad.”

Eddie grabbed her by the right arm, jerked her around, and the juice in the glass splashed over the sling on her left. She froze, drawing in a long, deep breath, and Eddie backed off. He stared at her a moment, his hands clenched in fists, before storming out of the house.

#2

He found his way back to the tiny café, hoping for a decent meal. He got a lot more.

Booths lined one wall, tables sat in front of the windows, and a counter ran along the back. Only two of three booths were filled. At the first one, the old biddies from before were avidly tearing someone apart. Drew took the empty booth in the back corner and read the menu, trying to curb his impatience and ignore the women.

“Why else would she be riding in this kind of weather if not to lose it?”

“She rides all the time, Hazel,” a younger woman stated.

With a snort, Hazel continued. “Not with the snow threatening to come down. I tell you, she’s trying to lose it, and why wouldn’t she? Who would want the child of a rapist?”

“She could have done that legally.”

“Why didn’t she? Poor Eddie begged and pleaded for her to get an abortion. No wonder he got that quickie divorce.”

Drew ground his teeth with the desire to choke Hazel.

“Abortion is murder,” another, older woman, said in a harsh whisper.

“So is deliberately causing a miscarriage.”

“Doctors say it’s all right to ride,” another said. “They told my Emmy to keep on, as long as it didn’t cause her discomfort.”

“Nonsense, a woman wasn’t made to be astride a horse while she’s carrying. Mark my words, she’ll lose it if she doesn’t stop this nonsense. I can’t say I blame her. I know I wouldn’t want a bastard beget by a rapist.”

Drew shot to his feet. The women glanced up as he stomped out of the café, slamming the door behind him. His temper hadn’t cooled in the slightest before Letitia finally returned home, on foot, looking like a beggar in a ragged coat, worn jeans, and scuffed, wet boots. Her look of surprise at seeing him pacing her porch was replaced with dread as he bore down on her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you leave it up to a bunch of evil mouthed bitches in a café to let me know?”

“Know what?” she asked in a tired voice.

He nearly shouted, “Are you pregnant?”

“Yes, I—”

“Is it mine?”

“Yes, I—”

“God damn you, that’s no reason to murder it!”

“Murder?” She took a step back, her hand resting on her stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“It seems to be common knowledge that you’re deliberately trying to kill a rapist’s baby. Why the hell didn’t you just abort it when poor Eddie begged you to?”

She stood up straight, all five-foot-seven inches of her. “I think you better leave.”

“You’re not going to murder that baby. I’ll find some way to stop you.”

He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her behind him. She was so stunned they reached the car before she struggled to free herself.

“What are you doing?”

“Get in.” He flung the car door open and pushed her in.

She bounced back out. He solved the problem of keeping her in by crawling over the seat and dragging her in after him. He held her in with one arm, started the car, and let the door shut with the momentum of the car moving forward.

“You shouldn’t do this,” she stated in her usual passive tone.

“I’m going to marry you.”

She twisted to face him, mouth hanging open.

“I don’t like the word bastard, and I won’t be responsible for one.”

“That’s no reason to get married.”

Glancing sideways at her, he said, “It’s enough for me.”

“Let’s talk this over reasonably. You don’t want a wife, and I don’t want a husband under those circumstances.”

“I’m not asking you to be my wife. As soon as the baby is born, we’ll get a divorce.”

“But…” She broke off, chewing at her lip. “Don’t you think we ought to discuss this?”

“No.”

“Mr. Dray, I don’t want to marry you.”

“I’m not too happy about it myself, Mrs. Winters, but it’s the only answer.”

“In today’s society, it isn’t—”

Drew cut her off. “I’m not having a kid of mine living a lie! He’ll have my name!

Still in the same placid tone, despite his shouting, she told him, “A marriage of five months is going to be more difficult than—”

“I didn’t say you had to get a divorce the instant it’s born. You can wait as long as you want. I don’t give a damn. That kid is mine, and it’ll have my name.”

Letitia sighed heavily. “That’s all you care about?”

“That’s all.”

“Other than it having your name so it won’t be a bastard, that’s all you care about?”

“I said that’s all,” he said firmly. “I meant it.”

She chewed on her lip and leaned back in the corner to watch him. She stayed that way until they reached Portland and a motel near the airport. While he checked them into two rooms, she wandered off. He found her, visiting with another woman and barely gave her time to hand yarn and crochet hook back to the woman before he pulled her away. At least, he thought to himself, she was being sensible about the marriage, though he was beginning to doubt the sanity of his rash decision.

Can you, for those who don't know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?

I have always been a storyteller, to myself, from the time I was a child. I talked the stories out making my mother think I was conversing with an invisible friend. I started putting the stories on paper at about 21, really terrible writing, btw. I keep it just to look at once in a while and see how much better I’ve gotten. I did not, until about 15 years ago get serious about pursuing publishing. I had played around with the idea a couple of times but never followed through. It was easy to discourage me. One of the first ones I tried was one of those sucker you in for editing and having no intention of ever publishing for you. I didn’t learn about those until later. My problem then was cost. I told him my ego didn’t match my finances to take advantage of his offer. His response was it was after all it was only commercial, not literature. Spiteful or what?

It was years before I tried again after the kids—all grown and no longer one of my excuses--and my husband who had shared time with my writing for years, all insisted I do something. By then I had a computer so could no longer use I’m a lousy typist as an excuse. I no longer worked outside of the home. Another excuse shot down. I discovered everything is done online, so the cost of printing and postage for hard copies, etc, although minor, wasn’t a good excuse anymore, either. The only reason that held me back was plain old fear of rejection. My skin had gotten a little thicker through the years, enough I thought I could take it.

My first efforts, hard copies to agents, made me doubt that. I’d read, you see, that publishers didn’t want anyone who didn’t have an agent, and agents didn’t want anyone who hadn’t already been published. Another of my don’t bother you’ll never be accepted excuses. One agent, bless her heart, edited three pages for me. I took one glancing look at all those red marks, tossed to pages away, and told my husband I was too old to learn all of that. Highschool English didn’t cover it. The pages laid there for three days, waiting for me to get brave again. The first thing I noticed was the reoccurring symbols. I was doing the same things over and over. I took the first one, looked up what it was for and what I needed to do to change it and went through the entire manuscript. I made corrections for that one, then the second, then the third until I had everyone of those red marks cleared. That manuscript was accepted by the first publisher I sent it to and I’ve had only rejection since then and only because of a content conflict. My first publisher gave me the tag of Two names, one author, thousands of stories. I got off track for several years doing editing for others, not giving myself enough time to work on my own. I’m back. I’ve missed it, and Deadly Precious is just the beginning.

What is something unique/quirky about you?

I’ve been told I have a strange sense of humor. Would that count?

What’s strange about your humor?

I think things are funny that no one else seems to. I think it’s because I think of the results of what I see or hear, and that’s what I laugh at. The one person who out and out told me I had a strange sense of humor was telling me how sad it was that her boyfriend had flown in from Mexico and the airlines had lost his suitcase—full of marijuana. I told her he couldn’t very well go file a claim to have it found and laughed. See, this is one of those if you have to explain, it isn’t funny, at least not to others. What I pictured was him dumb enough to go in and fill out a claim, listing a suitcase full of illegal drugs as the contents and what would happen to him. Funny to me, but it wasn’t to her. She was offended that I wasn’t sympathetic to his financial loss. Sometimes, life just bites you on the butt. *Lol.

Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!

How not to celebrate the first contract attached.

What are some of your pet peeves?

My hair, (see attached) my hearing and why people insist on talking to you when you tell them you can’t understand them, people that insist on driving the speed limit in a no passing zone when I’m in a hurry, people that cut in line, rude people, people that are mean to animals, etc

Where were you born/grew up at?

I was born in Oklahoma and the family moved to Arizona when I was three. I still live in Arizona, although as a family we did try Oregon and Montana. Loved both states, but we followed the work and the last go round, settled here to stay. We live in the high desert, almost at a mile high, in a rural area with a 15-minute drive to the nearest store and post office.

If you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?

Probably not any different than today. I mean, how much can you do in a day.

What kind of world ruler would you be?

Horrible. I’m too much of a soft touch.

Do you have a favorite movie?

You may find this odd, but my favorites, currently, are the Star Wars and Marvels. When I watch a movie or read a book, I want a happy ever after ending. There’s all the heartache and violence I want on the news. I like some humor mixed in, no matter how serious, and I don’t want it so complicated if someone interrupts me—I won’t even tell you his name but he’s a master at it—and a miss a few minutes, I’ve lost what’s going on. During this paragraph he’s interrupted me twice. *lol.

Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?

Deadly Precious, of course, with Daisy Ridley as Letitia. I don’t know about Drew. There are so many good looking tall, dark, and handsome actors, but she has that childlike quality of Letitia.

As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?

I like humming birds, but I doubt they have anything to do with my writing although I do flutter around a lot.

Larion Wills, a multi-genre author, also writes under the name of Larriane Wills. From the present, to the past in historical westerns, to far in the future with science fiction, she holds up to her tag given to her by one of her publishers of ‘two names, one author, thousands of stories’, although not all of them are in print, yet. Born in Oklahoma but raised in Arizona she feels a native to the state and has settled in the high desert country. In a quiet, rural area with a family who tolerates her writer’s single-mindedness, she presents us with a collection of unique contemporary romances, many laced with paranormal settings, all with strong characterizations and suspenseful plots, capable of dragging you into a story in a genre you thought you didn’t care for. Under her other pen of Larriane she writes science fiction and fantasy. At her website, http://www.larriane.com , you can keep abreast of releases under both pen names, keep up with new releases through various publishers.

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