One of the things that didn't make it into the final cut of Gilded Hearts, were the point of view bits from Jack himself. Rather than simply discard them, I thought it might be fun to post them here. Over the next little bit, I'll put them up for you to read. Hopefully, it will give you a bit of insight into my poor Jack and the twisted life he'd led. Each of Jack's scenes took place at the end of their respective chapters.
You can pick up a copy of Gilded Hearts, book 1 of my Shadow Guild series at Amazon, B&N, Kobo, iBooks and Google Play.
Chapter One - Deleted Jack scene
The tree—London plane, platanus hispanica—is the same temperature as the night air. The rough bark hurts to press into, dents in my palms, slivers of wood beneath the skin, but pain is a way to focus.
Well look at you, Sammy-boy, just beyond the plane trees, all grown up. Fucking respectable and smart. I see your little gadgets, you always did love to play with them. You might not like the ones I've played with quite so well, Sammy. Cogs and wheels and wires and darkness, stretched on and on and on, units of measurement that ought to strain my comprehension but they don't. Things man was not meant to know.
The girl is new, the whore, they're all whores, but she isn't new to you, is she? You've been pining for her, I see it now, it explains so much. She won’t come with you. Won’t chase after you, see right through you. Not like I can. You’ll have to listen to me sooner or later, or sooner, sooner than even that. Finally pay attention to the things I’ve been trying to tell you. No more excuses, Sammy-boy.
It’s time to play.
Chapter Two - Deleted Jack scene
The streets are so full of people, fat, stupid and blind to what’s around them. They’re nothing more than sheep—Ovis aries, ruminant mammals—easy to lead where I want them to go.
Ah, Sammy-boy, I think I understand why you ran. There are so many colors and sounds, smells of dirt and metal, airships roaring overhead, their fans used for what they were intended, pushing hot air into giant bladders going up, up, up and off to murder the French. These people strut about with their fine fashion covered in the soot, goggles for eyes and metal for limbs.
I wonder what would happen if I took your friend’s hand off?
You’d be so proud of me. I know what I’m intended for now. I have my knife and a plan. It’s not my plan, but who the bloody hell cares. I stuck my hand inside him, squeezed the flesh, the soft slickness, ridges of veins—intestines, human male, quarter of an inch thick—rolling between my fingers.
You and your whore would have been upset. I wanted to be upset, but all there is, all I feel is cold, black, nothing. I think I’ll enjoy this plan. Try again, again, over and over and wee wee wee all the way home.
Sammy, Sammy the Sergeant, not major, captain, commandant or general. I wonder if you’ll stop me?
Think I’ll see.