Novel Midtown Tampa Novels & Stories

Something about a bridge being nearby is the only thing I can remember. Suddenly, the world swirls and I’m standing on that bridge with Kendric. “I fell off the cliff and then ended up here. This was our third life, for sure.” Kendric looks over at me with a confused expression. “Are you seeing this too?” A ticking clock sounds from somewhere nearby and I look around to see where it’s coming from. “Do you hear that?” A voice comes out of nowhere from somewhere above us. “Midnight is coming. Run while you can.”

But I didn’t build an empire by giving in to impulses. His file sat open on my desk, pulled from the dark corners of my network. Micah Reed, twenty-six, freelance hacker, no criminal record but a trail of debts. Unpaid hospital bills for his mother. A sister in college. He was good. Too good to be working for scum like Rico. And too reckless to realize he had stepped into my world. The shipping manifest he hacked was Sophia’s location. My blood. If the cartel had reached her first, I would have burned their world to ash.

“Sí, Teniente.” The Midtown distribution center was near the airport in a sea of warehouses and shipping containers coming from the port. I pulled my Mercedes into one of the loading docks. When I opened the door to the interior, I heard the echoes of things being moved in the back. Throwing the butt of the cigarette on the cement, I smashed it with my boot.

Don't lose that, son. She'll bring fire with her. Let her. —M. By the time he reached the end, Damian was gripping the page with both hands, jaw tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Nova swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. "He remembered you." Damian nodded once, eyes pinned to the bottom of the letter where a faint imprint marked the page. Something stiff shifted beneath the paper. He turned the envelope over and shook it gently. A slim, brass key slid out. On its tag, a faded embossed number: 127 – Midtown Bank, Atlanta.

Why am I going to this godforsaken place in Florida again? Kyle Montgomery had been asking himself that question since he'd landed in Tampa the night before. Why couldn't his parents have decided to open a new hotel there, in a metropolitan environment? Tampa had much to recommend it as far as shopping and entertainment venues and a whole selection of tourist activities. He'd also done some research and discovered an abundance of conventions were held at the various hotels each year.

Maya disagre‍e‍d quietly, saying that‌ sometimes trying‌ wa‍s a⁠ll anyone coul⁠d do. They t‍a‌lked about‌ smaller thi‍ng‍s af‍te‍r th‍at⁠, letting the conversation drift to safer territory. Adrian told he‌r about a r⁠estaurant he loved in Midtown, a hole‌-in-the-wall place⁠ that se⁠r⁠ved th‌e best dum⁠plings⁠ in the city. Ma‍ya told him about a booksto⁠re she had re‍ad about onl‍ine,‌ three floors of used books that smelled like possi‌bility.

Part One: Raw Edge of Danger Tampa, Florida. Home of the Tampa Bay Rays baseball team, the Lightning hockey team, the Buccaneers football team, the Gasparilla Festival, palm trees, oppressive heat, and the fucking lovebugs. Fucking lovebugs. If anyone ever found a way to eradicate the damn pests, Grey Holden had no doubt they could be president or anything else they wanted. Not the climate a native of Montana would have chosen for his headquarters. But the choice had not been his. Circumstances called the shots on this one.