Threads of Life: Ensnared - sneak peek

Threads of Life:

ENSNARED

By

I.N. Foggarty

This is a sneak peek at Ensnared, the first novel in I.N. Foggarty's debut novel series Threads of Life. What follows is a synopsis of the novel and the prologue.

Two Gangsters... Three Teens... One Target.

In the heart of Chicago three senior year high school students, Anna, Dylan and Matt have to contend with the typical drama and angst of teenage life. Anna, an emancipated minor must juggle school with work and her relationship with Matt. Dylan, legitimised son of a multinational business tycoon, suffers from benign neglect, the weight of his father's high expectations and a desperate need to control those around him. Finally, Matt finds himself in way over his head as he tries to protect the ones he cares about most and struggles on his journey to discover who that really is.

Meanwhile, Ramone Gonzalez, a member of local crime syndicate Los sin techo, proves that even criminals have drama to contend with. While reluctantly assisting with a trafficking operation on the orders of his boss and one-time best friend, Sergio Gutierrez, a negotiation goes wrong and Ramone finds his life spiralling out of control. With no money, family or friends to help him, he accepts a last-ditch job - kidnapping a teenager of significant value. With the promise of a large pay out, Sergio may be able to deal with more than one outstanding debt, effectively getting Los sin techo back on top and giving Ramone the thing he yearns for most, the chance to go straight.

When these two worlds collide the Threads of Life will intertwine. The pattern of destiny will be reshaped. Individuals will become ENSNARED.

Prologue: Reflections

The solitary bulb, dangling from its tether of thin wire and rusted metal, cast the room in a dim colourless glow; that held no warmth. Cracked tiles with moulded grouting adorned the cramped walls, awkwardly framing the minimalistic facilities.

The metal fixings of the cold tap screeched when forcibly turned, causing the pipes to wail. Cloudy water poured forth into the washstand as the room's sole occupant ran his hands beneath the icy jet, splashing some onto his face. He shivered, rubbed his eyes and gazed into the chipped frameless mirror above the sink, absent-mindedly closing the tap. His youthful, soft features seemed to have hollowed somewhat since the start of the evening's activities.

He let out a slow, deliberate breath. The words of his mentor echoing from the depths of his mind, "the first is always the hardest." A thin humourless smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. She had been right on that account. However, it had not meant the subsequent ones had been easy, at least not in his experience.

Turning the man exited the claustrophobic bathroom into the adjoined bedroom. Peeling peach wallpaper, worn patched carpet and battered furniture added to the impression that the motel's better days were so far gone even their memory had a thin covering of dust. This room lacked a working light source. The singular bulb had blown and swung uselessly in the centre of the ceiling forcing him to use the bathroom light instead. It illuminated a small portion of the carpet and the bottom of the bed, leaving the rest of the room to dank shadow.

From atop the mould spotted, musty bedding he picked up his jacket and withdrew a bulky black mobile telephone. Thank heavens for technological advances he thought, crossing the room to stare out into the parking lot: it was deserted. The motel lay on the outskirts of Chicago and had proven to be relatively quiet. Dinginess had its advantages. Punching the number in, he hit the call button and brought the handset up to his ear.

A female voice on the other end, sharp and stern answered. "The white bishop captures the castle on b5..."

He smiled, the familiar words almost comforting. If technology continued to progress at its current rate there would soon be little use for such passphrases, face to face calls might even be possible. Nevertheless, he dutifully replied, "...the black pawn advances to e4, one step closer to becoming a queen."

"You're late," the woman snapped upon confirmation that she was talking to the right person. "I thought something had gone wrong and I would have to send a pawn to clean up after you."

"Something did go wrong, the timings were off by almost an hour. The client's information must have been inaccurate."

"Is the job done?"

The man paused for a moment. His mentor had a bad habit of sounding callous when she ought to be more concerned. "Yes..."

He had barely uttered the response before she leapt upon his feelings of unease. "You still do not agree with the council's decision to accept the contract?"

"No," he replied, calm yet steely. "Nor do I agree with the demand of children as payment for our services. Especially those that have not yet been conceived. Besides, a minimum of nineteen years seems like a long time to wait for something that may never be."

On the other end, he caught a short hollow laugh. "It is not your place to question the council. You are an emissary, an extension of their will, nothing more. They lead, you follow."

He smiled to himself. They both knew her words were rhetoric, nothing more. "When the council makes decisions I adhere to their judgement. However, that does not mean I won't question it when a mistake has been made. When we follow blindly the cliff edge only becomes apparent after we have already stepped across it... Is that not what you once taught me?"

This time the woman's laughter was genuine, her tone holding a warmth that only he could detect. "And if all you did was obey my teachings you would soon find yourself in freefall."

The man shook his head. Even now his mentor still had the ability to twist his words back on him and impart her wisdom.

"In this instance though I would advise you to take heed. Formulate your opinions but be careful where you voice them. Harmony does not exist within our walls in the manner that the council would..."

"...Quiet!"

From outside the sound of an engine cut the lecture short and headlights flashed through the motel room window. Pulling the phone away from his ear the man cautiously looked through the gap in the curtains. Two black muscle cars had drawn into the parking lot at the far end. As burly figures began to climb out someone ran to greet them, arm outstretched and pointing towards his room.

"...Respond!" He heard the woman say from the device.

"I've been followed..." he hissed, bringing the device back up to his ear.

On the other end, he could make out the woman's muffled curse. "Shit!"

"...or betrayed. There were only two people aside from myself who knew where to find me. You... and the Client."

"Don't make assumptions," the woman snapped. "You have no reason to suspect the Client. Besides, you have more pressing problems to deal with."

"Don't worry," he replied, the emotion suddenly drained from his tone. "I know the rules."

Hastily the man darted over to the bed. From within his neatly packed suitcase, he withdrew a thin cylindrical object. "I get out or I die." He shut the case.

"Good luck," was all she said before the line went dead.

Pulling on his jacket he pocketed the phone and withdrew his Beretta M9. Expertly he fixed the suppressor to the barrel; the sound of footsteps on the wooden decking outside becoming audible. He would be outnumbered by at least six to one. Turning his head he glanced up at the bathroom's dangling lightbulb. There was no time to run and turn it off, was it best in half shadow or total darkness?

Raising his gun, he fired a single shot. A light pop rang out through the still air and the room plunged into gloom. Suitcase in hand he took cover behind the double bed. In the brief moment of silence, a single thought crossed his mind. How hollow would his face look the next time saw his reflection...

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