Wolf: Wild Child Trilogy – Book 1 Teaser

This book teaser comprises the entirety of Chapter 1 of my published book Wolf: Wild Child Trilogy – Book 1


Chapter 1 ~

The DEA agents watched from the woods as a “customer” walked up to their suspect’s door—Lyle Carmichael—a man that the locals called Wolf.

* * * * *

The head agent slapped at his neck for the hundredth time and hissed in a whispered tone, “Damned swamp mosquitoes! I’m being eaten alive.”

His partner chuckled—not being afflicted—spraying himself thoroughly with Off before the job, as he had been born and raised in the swamp. So, he knew better.

* * * * *

Inside the house, a small boy—four years old—played with the random beer cans strewn about the living room, stacking them and rolling them around. They were his only toy.

He was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, way too large for him and cinched tight at the waist with a cord tied around a chunk of the material from behind.

Travis had a bruise on the right side of his face—his eye swelled shut—along with other bruises and cuts all over his body. His most recent injuries were bright red welts across his back, bottom, and legs from a beating with his father’s strap and belt buckle.

Travis wasn’t even sure what the beating had been for, but he rarely did know. He just knew that his father got angry sometimes and would hurt him.

* * * * *

Wolf looked around outside after answering the door. But not seeing anyone else, he handed the man at his door a bag of homegrown weed—the best in the County.

Buford grinned as he handed over the cash. “Thanks, Wolf.”

Wolf nodded and shut the door after the man walked off and then flopped down on the couch, popped open another can of beer, and took a long swig.

He was completely unaware that DEA agents were arresting his friend outside, as one of them was holding a hand over Buford’s mouth to prevent him from giving Wolf any warning of their presence.

* * * * *

Wolf glanced over to his son and sighed at seeing the bruises and gashes he had made. He loved his son and didn’t mean to hurt him, but sometimes his temper would just come up.

“Boy, put those cans down and come over here. Daddy’s sorry for hitting on you.”

Travis looked over and bit his lip. He was generally wary of his father, but he could tell from his father’s tone that he wasn’t angry anymore. So, he went over and climbed into his father’s lap.

Wolf put an arm around his son and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, boy. Don’t ever doubt that.”

* * * * *

Wolf startled when his door was suddenly burst open, and he instinctively shoved Travis away from him; prepared to fight if need be. If he hadn’t been so drunk, his senses would have been more alert, and he would have known the agents were outside when he had answered the door; he would have smelled them.

* * * * *

The first agents inside took in the scene with disgust—at the conditions that this young child was being raised in, along with the bruises, welts, and cuts all over his body.

Travis trembled in fear at the sudden intrusion, the shouting, and the guns. His father took him hunting, even at his young age, so he knew what a gun was. It was used to kill.

The agents ignored the boy for the moment, focusing on Wolf who was now trying to run for the back door but he didn’t make it when more agents came in through the back. And he was taken down in the kitchen.

* * * * *

Travis watched through the door, biting his lip again, as his father struggled and was being beaten by the men for resisting, and then ultimately cuffed with his hands behind his back.

One of the agents looked over at Travis and pointed toward him, saying to others, “We’ll need social services here for the boy. No one said he had a kid in here.”

* * * * *

Wolf looked over at his son and shouted, “Run, boy!”

And Travis was up like a jackrabbit and out the front door running for the swamp.

The agent closest to the front door took off after him. But when he got outside, he didn’t see any sign of the boy. The foliage was thick this far out from town, it was the dark of night, and the child could have gone anywhere.

The agent shone a flashlight around the yard, looking under the porch as he murmured to himself, “Dammit! Where did he go?”

The agent called out after straightening up, “Boy! Come on out! No one’s going to hurt you! It’s dangerous out here alone!”

* * * * *

Though Travis heard him, he kept running; running for the hiding place his daddy had shown him—deep in the swamps. His daddy had told him to go there if there was ever any trouble.

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