Book Description:
Terrell Hawkins, his closest cousin, and his best friend set out to have a good time on a Saturday night. Alcohol, marijuana, and immodest girls who like to partake in both are part of that pursuit. They all expect to be hung over the next day, but they do not expect the tragic accident that will unravel their lives that very night. Nor do they expect their horrible response to embroil them in a struggle to avoid the authorities while growing increasingly distrusting of each other. Terrell and the others quickly learn that dirty hands can lead to desperate acts and that the worst of circumstances can cause even the best of friends to become enemies.
Excerpt:
A diminutive young woman lay sprawled at Terrell Hawkins’s feet. Her motionless form confessed no sign of life.
“She’s dead.” Terrell’s cousin Brock confirmed his fears, speaking in a choked voice from the tiled bathroom floor.
The girl’s shapely chest did not rise and fall in the hallmark of the living. A ring of blood highlighted the hair at the crown of her skull. Her head collapsed to one side when Terrell pressed his middle and index fingers against her neck. Neither her neck nor her wrist revealed a pulse.
"I told you… she’s dead,” Brock moaned. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears.
Terrell’s first thought was that if he had kept a low profile while Monet was visiting her sick mother in Virginia Beach, this horrible situation couldn’t possibly have occurred. Instead, he agreed to let Brock and their friend Shawntae bring some random sluts to his apartment in northeast Baltimore. If he had said no or at least not actively participated in the debauchery that ensued, there wouldn’t be a dead girl in his bathroom. But he had participated quite vigorously. His mind returned to earlier that night, recalling the events that led him into a drunken, post-coital slumber as the girl at his feet lost her life.
“She’s dead.” Terrell’s cousin Brock confirmed his fears, speaking in a choked voice from the tiled bathroom floor.
The girl’s shapely chest did not rise and fall in the hallmark of the living. A ring of blood highlighted the hair at the crown of her skull. Her head collapsed to one side when Terrell pressed his middle and index fingers against her neck. Neither her neck nor her wrist revealed a pulse.
"I told you… she’s dead,” Brock moaned. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears.
Terrell’s first thought was that if he had kept a low profile while Monet was visiting her sick mother in Virginia Beach, this horrible situation couldn’t possibly have occurred. Instead, he agreed to let Brock and their friend Shawntae bring some random sluts to his apartment in northeast Baltimore. If he had said no or at least not actively participated in the debauchery that ensued, there wouldn’t be a dead girl in his bathroom. But he had participated quite vigorously. His mind returned to earlier that night, recalling the events that led him into a drunken, post-coital slumber as the girl at his feet lost her life.
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