Tag Archives: Rhani D’Chae

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA – Rhani D’Chae @RhaniDChae

Winter of the Drill (excerpt) by Rhani D’Chae

EXCERPT FROM UPCOMING NOVEL, “WINTER OF THE DRILL”

By Rhani D’Chae

 

***

 

Decker leaned against the hood of his car, talking to JT in a low tone of voice. His face wore a pleasant expression, and a casual observer would have had no clue as to the seriousness of their conversation.

“Second floor, third from the left?”

JT nodded without turning, keeping his eyes focused on Decker’s face. “That’s what Hunt said, and it does make sense.”

“Are you sure?”

The boy closed his eyes, remembering Hunter’s words immediately after the shooting.

“I think it came from that window over there!” Hunter’s eyes zeroed in on a building across the street. “Second floor, three in, left.”

JT nodded his head, confident that he had given the correct information. “Third from the left. I’m sure.”

Decker dipped his head almost imperceptibly, flicking his eyes quickly over the row of windows on the second floor of the nondescript building. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but he had not expected to find anything. However, the address of the building, as well as the location of the window and anything of interest nearby, went into the small notebook that he always carried with him.

“Well?” JT’s voice held a touch of impatience. “Do you see anything?”

“Yes.” Decker laid one hand on JT’s shoulder. “I see a boy who needs to learn that some things take more than a minute.”

The addition of a friendly smile took most of the sting from his words, and JT responded with a smile of his own.

“Okay.” Decker rose from his perch and stepped on to the sidewalk. “I’m hungry, and you never got to the Olive Garden. Let’s find some food.”

 

* * *

From his vantage point at the front window of the Greyhound station across the street, the man known only as Rhegan, watched them head toward a small cafe. He had returned to the strip in search of street gossip but had surprisingly heard almost none. And what he did hear was not worth listening to.

As he watched the pair walk slowly along Pacific Avenue, he thought back to when he had sighted on the boy and pulled the trigger. He had aimed carefully, not wanting to kill, but even so, he was surprised to see JT back on the street so soon.

After the shooting, he had taken a few minutes to watch the fireworks, knowing that the police would not be called.

His victim had fallen hard, his panic obvious as he managed to scrabble behind the nearest parked car.

His companion had reacted with cool precision, slipping one arm behind the boy’s shoulders and speed-dialing his cell phone with the other hand.

Even from a distance, Rhegan could see that the man was scanning the street. When the steel-blue eyes passed over the window that he looked through, he felt a sudden chill, as if those eyes had looked directly into his and issued a challenge.

A few passersby stopped to offer assistance, but Rhegan could tell that the man was dismissing each with a plausible excuse, for there was none of the panic that usually accompanied a public shooting.

Within minutes a car had pulled smoothly to a stop, collecting both men before exiting at a sedate speed that would not attract attention.

Rhegan had expected the part-time bouncer to run crying to Valdez, resignation in hand. Hopefully, the news that another person had taken a hit in his name would force a desperate Valdez to sign his club, the Toybox over to Malone, at whatever terms had been typed above the signature line.

Malone had told Rhegan that desperation was the only thing that would put a pen in his rival’s hand and had given him a list of potential targets. Malone had laid out his plan of attack, and Rhegan had no problem with any of it.

But, instead of running, his first victim had returned to take care of business. Head high and shoulders straight, he walked the sidewalk that still bore spatters of his blood, not even glancing down when his boots passed over the red splotches.

He was doing what Reagan himself would have done, and the hard-eyed gunman respected that, even while he planned when and where to take the boy out for good.

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Rhani D’Chae RWISA Author Page

2018 #RRBC WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG HOP! – RHANI D’CHAE

Today on The Indie Spot, I am proud to support 2018 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo sponsor and RWISA author Rhani D’Chae!

Shadow of the Drill by Rhani D’Chae!

A brutal experience transforms an unproven young tough into a ruthless killing machine.
For fifteen years he waited, building his body into an unstoppable weapon so that vengeance would be had through the strength of his will and the power of his hands.

On the bloodstained streets of a northwestern city, the enforcer known as the Drill stalks his prey. Judge, Jury, and Executioner; he seeks out those who target the weak, condemning them to the kind of justice that has made him a legend.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my profile of this great read! If you did, head on over to Amazon and pick up your copy today!

Follow Rhani D’Chae on Twitter

Find Rhani D’Chae at RWISA

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Follow the Blog Hop Tour

Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RRBCWRW – Day 2

THE WEEK MY FATHER DIED

 

I was at work when my mother called to tell me that dad had been rushed to the hospital the night before, suffering from excruciating pain in his abdomen.

 

Dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer about fifteen years earlier and it had spread to other parts of his body, but he had been doing fairly well so there was no reason to anticipate something like this.

 

Mom told me that dad had spent quite a bit of time at the hospital while they ran numerous tests to discover the cause of his pain. Long story short, his kidneys were failing and there was nothing that could be done. He was sent home with a hospice nurse, so that he could be with his family in comfortable surroundings when the end came.

 

We rented a hospital bed and put it next to the front window so that he could see outside into the yard. We kept instrumental hymns playing on the stereo and moved mom’s chair closer to the bed so that she could be nearer to him.

 

And that’s when things started to get a little crazy.

 

James, my seeing eye son, was living with mom and dad at the time, and my sister, who I was living with at the time, drove out with me every day.  Gail, my other sister, also came out daily, as did her husband, her four children and their collection of young ones.

 

Gail’s grandkids were all under ten and did not really understand the severity of the situation. They knew that Papa was going home to see Jesus, but that was about as far as it went. Gail’s family had never lived close to mom and dad, so their kids only saw my parents three or four times a year. None of them had a close relationship with dad, so the thought of losing him did not rate overly high on their radar.

 

For five days, the kids ran through the house, slamming the doors and yelling to each other. Even when they were sent outside, the noise was loud enough to be heard everywhere in the house. Their respective parents would occasionally tell them to tone it down, but they were kids and that’s what kids do.

 

At one point, one of my nephews-in-law decided to commemorate the occasion by putting it on film. He videotaped everyone going to my father’s side and saying goodbye. Maybe it was the stress of the situation, but I didn’t like what he was doing. My father’s death was not a photo-op, and I resented anything that made it seem that way.

 

I remember being called into the living room and told to say something to dad. I had already spoken to him several times, telling him that I loved him and assuring him that mom would be taken care of. Having my niece’s husband dictate to me where to stand and how long to talk so that he could get it on film, was infuriating.

 

As six families moved through the house each day, my mother spent most of her time sitting with dad, reading the Bible to him and making the most of the time that remained. She loved having her family close, but as the days passed, I could see that the noise and constant disruption was getting to her. I did speak to my nieces individually on several occasions, asking if they could please keep the kids quiet, at least in the house. They always said they would, and I know that they meant it at the time, but it never happened. The noise, the chasing from room to room, and the constant interruptions into my parents’ private space, continued. I could see that it was upsetting my mother, and I finally decided to put my foot down.

 

I took my mom and Gail into the bedroom and asked mom what she wanted or needed. She thought about it for a long moment and then said, very simply, that she wanted to answer the phone. Either Gail or one of her daughters had been taking the phone calls and making a list of the callers. Mom wanted to speak to those people, most of them from her church, and was upset that she was not being allowed to do so. And she wanted the volume around her to be turned down to a much less disruptive level.

 

Gail said that she would take care of it, and she did. Within hours, her grandkids had been taken by their fathers to another location. I didn’t know where they went, and I didn’t much care. They were gone, the house was quiet, and that was all that mattered to me.

Later in the day, James, my other sister Sharon and I,

took mom to Cold Stone for some ice cream. Dad was fairly unresponsive by then, so she felt that it was okay to take a little break.

 

We were gone for about an hour, and by the time we got back, everyone else was back as well. But at least mom had a few hours of uninterrupted time with dad, and I’m so grateful that the girls understood and were willing to do what was needed to give her that.

 

My father passed that night, surrounded by family and carried home on the sound of our voices singing his favorite hymns. Standing in a semi-circle around the bed, we held hands as we sang, while my brother-in-law, a minister, laid his hands on my father’s head and prayed him home.

 

As cancer deaths go, my father’s was fairly quick. He had been fully functional up until the night he went to the emergency room, enjoying his life without much discomfort. He avoided the long hospital stays and horrific pain that are so often a part of that kind of death. My aunt Gloria died of lung cancer when I was eighteen or so. I went to see her in the hospital, and I remember a shrunken figure in the bed, hooked up to monitors and numerous IV lines. Her time of dying took several long and torturous weeks, and I will always be thankful that my father was spared a similar end. I would have hated to have my last memory of this strong and vital man, be that of a wasted shadow of the man that he had always been.

 

I thank the Lord that it didn’t go that way.

 

 

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

 

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Rhani D’Chae RWISA Author Page

How would you like to become a RWISA Member so that you’re able to receive this same awesome FREE support? Simply click HERE to make application!

 

 

 

 

“TREAT” Reads Blog Hop! Day 6

“Greetings!  Welcome to the 2nd RRBC “TREAT” Reads Blog Hop!  These members of RRBC have penned and published some really great reads and we’d like to honor and showcase their talent.  Oddly, all of the listed Winners are RWISA members!  Way to go RWISA!

We ask that you pick up a copy of the title listed, and after reading it, leave a review.  There will be other books on tour for the next few days, so please visit the “HOP’S” main page to follow along.

Also, for every comment that you leave along this tour, including on the “HOP’S” main page, your name will be entered into a drawing for a gift card to be awarded at the end of the tour!”

Author, Rhani D’Chae

 

 

Book: ONE DYKE COZY 

 

 

Book Blurb: People come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason…

 

“Shy taught me to fight like a champion, love like a poet, & live like it was my last day on earth.”

 

One Dyke Cozy touches on the lives of two girls, Gabby and Shy, from their first meeting as children to Shy’s untimely death.

 

This novel contains profanity and adult situations.

 

 

Twitter: @rhanidchae

Watch RWISA Write: Rhani D’Chae

August is Watch RWISA Write month. Today, we celebrate author Rhani D’Chae!

 

   

 

The characters in the following story are from my novel, Shadow of the Drill. After a moderately grueling assignment, they take a day off to enjoy a Sunday barbecue.

 

A Break in the Battle

 

   Charlene squealed, leaning to the side to avoid an airborne hot dog. She need not have worried, for the meaty missile bounced neatly against the chest of JT, who was seated next to her.

   “Damn it, Rudy!” JT grabbed a napkin from the table and scrubbed at his shirt. “That wasn’t funny!”

   “Really?” Rudy flashed an innocent grin over the top of barbecue grill. “I thought it was hilarious.”  He flipped a pair of hamburgers, then added a dash of seasoning to each.

   “You got hot dog grease on my shirt,” JT said crossly. “Next time, warn me so I can duck.”

   “Don’t run your mouth, and there won’t be a next time.” Rudy raised his right arm, pointing at the cast that encased it from wrist to elbow. “Even with this, I can hit what I’m aiming at.”

   JT shot a glare in Rudy’s general direction. “Can you believe him?”

   “You shouldn’t have said he was getting old, and you definitely shouldn’t have said he was losing his touch.” Charlene refilled her glass from the pitcher of lemonade on the table. Lemonade, and just the right amount of tequila.

   “Who’s getting old?” Decker stepped from the dining room onto the deck, leaning on a cane with one hand and holding a bowl of potato salad in the other. “You best not be talking about me!”

   “Don’t worry, Peter Pan, we weren’t.” Charlene pulled the chair to her left away from the table so that Decker could sit. “JT said it about Rudy.”

   “Well, that was stupid.” Decker set the bowl onto the table, then dropped into the chair, leaning the cane against the table before reaching for the pitcher.

   JT pointed to the stain on his shirt. “You’re not kidding! Good arm, bad arm, it don’t matter. He’s dead on.”

   He shifted in his chair, muttering a soft curse when his broken ribs objected.

   Decker smiled sympathetically, knowing from firsthand experience how he felt. “Give it a couple of weeks,” he advised. “You’ll feel better before you know it.”

   “I know,” JT replied. “But in the meantime, it really hurts!”

   “Your face looks better.” Decker reached across the table, tilting JT’s head to the right. “At least, the swelling’s gone down. You’ll have the color for a while, yet.”

   Charlene leaned back, tuning out the conversation while she thought back over the last six days.

   It had started as just another job, but it had quickly become so much more. Hired to find and retrieve a stolen Shelby Daytona Coupe, Decker and his team had landed in the middle of an auto theft ring that stretched from Bellevue to Portland. Finding the missing car had been difficult – retrieving it had been damn near impossible.

   The car had been located in Vancouver and liberated in the dark of night with considerable damage to all concerned. By the time the Shelby was safely in a truck headed north, Decker had calculated how much of a wear and tear fee he was going to charge his employer before the car was offloaded at its destination.

   Bruised and broken, Decker’s team had limped back to Tacoma and gone their separate ways. After checking on the Shelby, Decker had contacted the owner and arranged a time to meet.

   Charlene had greeted him at the door when he arrived home, the sight of his battered body bringing tears to her eyes. He had assured her that he was not seriously hurt, so there was no discussion of seeking medical help. He knew his body – and its injuries – better than any doctor, so she did not question his analysis of the situation.

   Injured and exhausted, he had needed rest. A great deal of rest. But, after only a day and a half, he was limping restlessly from room to room, and she knew that something needed to be done.

   The barbecue had been her idea, and he had willingly agreed. Though they often entertained, they had never invited more than two or three people over at once. The fact that it was JT’s first social visit to the house contributed to the uniqueness of the event, as did the presence of Decker’s old friend and occasional teammate, Hunter Grae.

   The side gate rattled, and Charlene jumped up to open it before Davis dropped his armload of Tupperware containers. The investigator gave her a warm smile, thanking her for her assistance.

   Charlene looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Bert?”

   “She’ll be along soon,” Davis told her. “She had to run her mother to the grocery store, so she’s a little behind schedule. But don’t worry, she’s not far behind me.”

   He handed over three of the containers. “Pasta salad, deviled eggs, and some sort of asparagus thing.” He shrugged apologetically. “Personally, I don’t think asparagus has any business being at a barbecue, but you know how Bert is.”

   Charlene laughed, then sobered when she noticed the manila envelope beneath the remaining two containers. “That better not be what I think it is.”

   “It’s everything I could find for the Palmer job. I promised I’d bring it by today.” He waved at Decker and JT, then slid the envelope from beneath the Tupperware to show he’d brought it.

   Charlene put her hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Not today, please. He’ll open it up, they’ll spend the rest of the day plotting and planning, and that’ll be it for the day off. You know it as well as I do. They just can’t help themselves.”

   Davis thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Okay, I’ll toss this back in the car and give it to him tomorrow. I can’t stall any longer than that, but at least it won’t ruin today.”

   “Thank you,” Charlene said gratefully, then headed for the kitchen to unpack the Tupperware while Davis returned to his car.

   When she passed Rudy, he handed her a plate loaded with hotdogs and hamburger patties.

   “Here’s a first round. Is everything on the food table?”

   Charlene glanced over the long fold-up table that Decker had set on the grass. It held assorted buns and condiments, as well as paper plates and plastic silverware.

   “Just about. Hunter’s in the kitchen slicing cheese, and I have to put Bert’s stuff on plates, but it won’t take long. So yes, it’s pretty much ready. “

   “That’s a good thing.” Rudy pressed his fingers against the pieces of tape that held a long strip of gauze to the side of his face, checking that they were still secure. “So we’re just waiting on the cheese.”

   As if on cue, Hunter appeared on the deck, carrying a serving tray that had been loaded down with small plates of pickles, slices of cheese, and crisp lettuce leaves. He called out a greeting to Davis and Roberta, who were coming through the gate together, then headed for the picnic table to unload the tray.

   He was clad in shorts and a tank top, and Charlene could clearly see the stitches where the blade of a knife had cut into his calf, and the colorful section of bruising that a heavy object of some sort had left along his collarbone.

   She joined him at the picnic table, calling to the others as she set the plate down. She was able to get her hamburger onto a plate, along with potato salad and baked beans, before the table was surrounded by hungry people.

   Glad that she had escaped the swarm, Charlene returned to her place at the oversized table on the deck. Taking her seat, she enjoyed a moment of silence, knowing that a moment was all she would probably get.

   A light breeze brought the scent of roses, and Charlene closed her eyes, inhaling with pleasure. So far, the day had been wonderful, and she knew that the evening would be just as fine.

   Opening her eyes, she looked around at the people who mattered in her life. It couldn’t be more perfect, she thought with a contented smile. Fun, food, and the very best of friends combined to make a day that she would long remember. Especially since, for a few short hours, it was a fairly safe bet that no one was going to die.

  

Rhani D’Chae, RWISA Author Page   

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

   

  

 

Introducing Indie Author Rhani D’Chae

I am truly honored to share my blog with an incredibly talented indie author and fellow Rave Reviews Book Club member. This is Rhani D’Chae in her own words.

Shadow of the Drill by Rhani D. Chae

I was diagnosed with Diabetic Retinopathy about six or seven years ago, which was followed by cataracts and glaucoma. I’ve had over a dozen surgeries and procedures since then and I consider them a success because I can still see. This is how I measure everything that has been done; not by how much better my sight is, but by how much worse it isn’t. None of my doctors have given me much hope that my eyes will significantly improve but I’m okay with that, as long as I have enough sight to function. I think a lot of my animosity toward being completely blind is because I have a flash drive with over sixty works in progress and I have no idea of how to finish them without sight. I know, with technology being what it is today, that there must be a way. I just don’t know what that way might be.

I have 20/400 vision in my left eye and not much better in what I laughingly call my ‘good’ eye. When I type, I bump my font up to ‘theater marquee’ and use an array of magnifying glasses in addition to my bifocals. It’s a slow process, accompanied by a great deal of pretty colorful swearing and the occasional throwing of whatever is within reach. The cats have learned to duck, and they’re actually pretty good at it.

I occasionally get bleeds in my right eye and they completely obscure the vision for up to six weeks until the bleed clears. It’s a frustrating time because the amount of sight in my left eye is enough to keep me from walking into walls and that’s about it. I generally break at least one toe during a bleed and have broken my foot five or six times over the last few years. I’m clumsy on a good day but take my eye and I’m downright dangerous! If I bump my font to 48, I can still write during a bleed, but the text is fuzzy and very hard to read. Fortunately I am a touch typist, and I can usually get my seeing-eye son to help me as long as I dangle pizza in front of him. I thank God for this kid, because I would be lost without him, especially during those times when my sight is more obscured then usual. We get along fairly well, which is a good thing since I’ll probably be living on his couch once my sight is completely gone. I learned long ago to never let fear dictate my life, but I do think that once my eyes are gone, fear will be much harder to control, and at that point, I’ll need my son to help keep me from slitting my wrists with a butter knife.

I currently get shots in my eyes twice a month, and though I joke about the #eyeneedles, in reality they’re anything but funny. And again, my vision has not gotten better; I just don’t know how much worse it would be if I wasn’t getting the shots.

The last year has seen my vision drastically decline but it has also given me a much greater appreciation for what I used to take for granted. I wake up each day, grateful for what I can see while trying not to focus on what I can’t. It’s not an easy thing to do, and I have to constantly remind myself that God doesn’t afflict us with more than we can handle even though it may seem so at the time. I know that there is a plan for every life, and I just have to take it on faith that this is part of mine. My eyes will hold until they don’t, and in the meantime I will enjoy each moment of my sighted life as best I can. And when my lights do go out, I ask only to be at my computer, writing something amazing

Shadow of the Drill centers around a man whose life was destroyed by violence, who then embraced violence as a means to a very brutal end. It follows Decker and Rudy as they come face to face with their oldest enemies and attempt to close that chapter of their lives. The book contains graphic violence as well as sexual situations, and is not intended for young or easily offended readers. Shadow of the Drill is the first in the Drill series and the second book, Winter of the Drill, will hopefully be completed in the next month or two.

Thank you all so much for allowing me to share a bit of my journey with you today. To follow the rest of my tour, please visit 4WillsPublishing. Beem, you were a great host and thank you so much for having me!

REVIEW OF “SHADOW OF THE DRILL” at
Nonnie’s “RAVE” Reviews

BIO:
RHANI D’CHAE spent her teen years bouncing between WA, OR, and OK, but has lived her adult life in Tacoma, WA. She likes to read, though she doesn’t read as much as she used to due to diabetic vision loss, and is a fan of Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Brian Lumley, and James Clavell. She loves The Walking Dead, and any zombie film with a high body count. Ms. D’Chae enjoys connecting with people on social networking sites, and loves getting feedback from those who have read her work, so please don’t leave without sharing your comments.

PURCHASE LINKS:
“SHADOW OF THE DRILL” by Rhani D’Chae http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GBHQZZU

CONTACT INFO:
Twitter: @rhanidchae
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rhani.dchae
Google +: http://google.com/+RhaniDChae
Website: http://www.rhanidchae.com
Review of Shadow of the Drill at NONNIE’S “RAVE” REVIEWS

***This tour was sponsored by 4WillsPublishing.wordpress.com To book your own tour, please contact us.***