by Beth Flynn
She then turned her anger on me. She lunged at me with her hands outstretched. She was going for my neck.
Before she reached me, Grizz grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground with one hand. He had her suspended, and she was kicking her feet. She had both her hands wrapped around his one hand and was trying to pry his fingers loose. Gurgling sounds came from her throat. Without saying a word, he tossed her, and she fell onto one of the flimsy lawn chairs, crushing it beneath her.
A figure rose from the group and went to her. I recognized the gravelly voice from earlier.
“It’ll be okay Willow, honey. He’ll play with her a couple of days and be back in your bed before the weekend is over.” The man tried to help her up but she brushed him off.
“Shut the fuck up, Froggy,” Willow barked. “You don’t know nothin’. I’m supposed to feel better knowing my man is sleeping with that white-trash piece of shit? You just leave me alone. Stop touching me! I can get myself up.”
She stood up and brushed herself off. She stuck her nose in the air like a queen and started to walk toward the motel.
“I’ll be in our room, Grizz darlin’, waitin’ for ya, honey. Just come on home when you’re done and I’ll show you how a real woman feels underneath ya.”
I watched her walk to the motel, open one of the doors and walk in. I looked back up and he was staring down at me. Without taking his eyes off mine he said, “Moe, take her to number four. Settle her in. Stay with her.”
Take who? Me?
A tiny person rose from the ground. She’d been sitting close to the fire and had been staring into it during the whole scene. At first I’d thought she was a young boy. I remember thinking they had kids here so it couldn’t be too bad. Now that hope was gone. She had short, jet-black hair. She was wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt, black jeans and combat boots. As she rose and walked toward us, I could see her face was done up with black eye makeup to the extreme. She probably had a pretty face under all that paint. As an adult I would see young girls made up during the Goth craze, and I would think none of them held a candle to Moe. The original Goth girl.
Without saying a word she walked over to me and just stood there. She didn’t meet my eyes, but looked at the ground. I looked to my right where Monster was sitting. He wasn’t even looking at me. Sometime during the last ten minutes (or had it been an hour?) he’d gotten a beer and was sitting there with his head thrown back, chugging it. To his right was the man called Froggy, the one who tried to help Willow. He was looking down at the broken lawn chair. Maybe he was trying to see if he could fix it. I don’t remember anyone else, although I know they were all there that night. Sitting around the campfire, watching, waiting, obeying.
I stood up and Moe slowly walked toward the motel. I clutched my bag to my chest and looked straight ahead as I followed her. Without turning around I knew with certainty that those mesmerizing eyes would watch me until I was behind the closed door of room number four.
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Nine Minutes
Acknowledgments
The acknowledgments should be the most exciting part of finishing a novel. For me, it’s always the most difficult because I can never seem to find the words that adequately describe the level of appreciation that I feel. My apologies if I’ve left someone out.
First, and always foremost, I thank my Heavenly Father. The Iron Tiara wouldn’t have been possible without inspiration from above, and so it is with a grateful heart that I give credit where credit is due. Thank you, Lord, for once again bringing me to a new level of spiritual awareness. You issued a challenge which I battled against for almost five months. I was convinced it just couldn’t be done Your way. But, You proved me wrong. May You always continue to prove me wrong as I seek Your will.
If any of my readers think they might know what this challenge was, I’d love to hear from you at [email protected]. I’m always up for a good old-fashioned God discussion since He happens to be my favorite topic!
Jim, Kelli and Katie. Thank you for being a continued source of strength and unconditional support for this crazy passion I found so late in life.
And now, in alphabetical order by first name, I give my heartfelt gratitude to the following:
Adriana Leiker and Nisha Reading. Thank you for the extraordinary privilege of being your friend. I am so grateful that the Three Musketeers are still as strong as the day we first discovered each other. I love you both to The Milky Way and back!
Adriana Leiker, Christy Baldwin, Darlene Ward Avery, Kell Donaldson, MeLissa Ferlita, Nicole Sands, and Nisha Reading. Thank you for your amazing beta reading skills. Your attention to detail, keen insight and passion for me and my stories is evident by the giving of your time and words of wisdom. I am eternally grateful to each and every one of you.
Amy Donnelly. Thank you for your tireless efforts in editing this story. And I do mean tireless because I know there were some days I drove you nuts! You’re not just a fantastic editor, but you are a cherished and trusted friend, and I'm honored to have you in my life. Your faith in me and The Iron Tiara kept me going. I love you, Amy!
Cameran Morgan Beckman. Thank you for helping me to keep Naples true to how it was in the seventies. Your help was much appreciated.
Cheryl Desmidt. Thank you for your willingness to put the finishing touches on The Iron Tiara for no other reason than because you love me and my crazy stories.
Christine Pappas, Eli Peters, Kali McQuillen, Tracy Justice, and Trisha Bass. Thank you for agreeing to help me with a last-minute favor. Your willingness to jump in at the eleventh hour was so very appreciated.
Jay Aheer. You took an almost impossible vision and created a masterpiece. Thank you for a book cover that went well beyond my expectations.
Judy Zweifel. You are always the last stop before publishing, and you never disappoint. Thank you for your excellent proofreading skills.
Kim Holden. Thank you for being you. I am always on the receiving end of your wisdom, your guidance and most importantly, your love. And for that, I am eternally grateful. You are my sunshine, Kim.
Maggie J. Cullin Nosbusch. Thank you for advising me on law enforcement verbiage. Any errors or deviation from standard are my own. Your help was greatly appreciated.
The Niners. Writing can be a singular and lonely experience, yet you make me smile every single day. Your love for me and my stories has brought immeasurable joy for which I will be forever grateful. Thank you from my whole heart.
Tijan. I remember you being one of the first authors to reach out to me when Nine Minutes started to get some notice. You’ve been a trusted friend since, always offering advice and guidance. Thank you for the gift of your friendship. You’re as classy as your name, and I love you!
I did very little research regarding Cherokee and Seminole heritage and customs sometimes choosing to create my own or expound on myths or stories I may have come across in the past. Any deviation from Native American culture was spun strictly from my imagination, and no disrespect is intended.
Keep In Touch
Thank you for reading The Iron Tiara. I’d love to hear from you! You can reach me here:
Beth Flynn
P.O. Box 2833
Cashiers, NC 28717
[email protected]
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Website: Author Beth Flynn
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About the Author
Beth Flynn is a fiction writer and USA Today Bestselling Author who lives and works in Sapphire, North Carolina, deep within the southern Blue Ridge Mountains. Raised in South Florida, Beth and her husband, Jim, have spent the last 19 years in Sapphire, where they own a construction company. They have been married 33 years and have two daughters and a temperam
ental pit bull named Lady.
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In her spare time, Beth enjoys writing, reading, gardening, church and motorcycles, especially taking rides on the back of her husband’s Harley. She is a six-year breast cancer survivor.