The Sun Down Motel Novels & Stories

“What is the name of the motel?” “I don’t know, it was something like sunlight, please. I’m begging you," he gasped. “Think harder.” I pressed. "Alright, it was Sunrise. Sunrise Motel—that's the name, I swear.” He rushed his words. I let go of him and pulled him back in. I threw him on the floor and kicked him in the ribs. He groaned and curled up in pain.

parking lot, I receive a text message from Zeke. “Booking confirmed. Keeley will come to you @ 17:30. Reservation @ Motel 5 on Hollywood Blvd under Jessa Monroe. Text back when you have the room number.” I relay the information to Mary Sue, who rolls her eyes and responds, “Motel 5. Great. The hotel that makes Motel 6 look like the Ritz Carlton.”

I let go of the bars and sat on the dirt again, listening to him attentively, “What do you mean?” “The motel belongs to the owner of the restaurant. So, whoever goes there and checks in is reported straight to the restaurant. Well, the motel doesn't have food services, so you have no choice but to go out and search,” he replied, “they lure you in, jump you for trespassing and throw you in here while they ransack your stuff for anything valuable. It's horrible! A town loaded with criminals.” I regarded him dejectedly, “Sure you wouldn't want to take your own advice? You told me not to speak bad about them.”

Just me and a sleeping boy who deserved a father who didn't trade him for a mistress's bed. The motel was called The Blue Moon. It was a squat, two-story building with a buzzing neon sign that cast a sickly pink glow over the oil-stained parking lot. The woman behind the bulletproof glass didn't even look up when I handed her a hundred-dollar bill. "No ID, no questions," I said, my "Savage" edge returning out of sheer necessity.

"Stop your fucking whining. He's dead, get over it. The bitch killed him and all you have left is revenge. I feel the same way about my sister. Both of them will pay along with their men." We're in a dump of a motel room in a shithole town called Casa Grande, which is far enough away from Phoenix that Moon won't look here for a while. I need some time to regroup and I also need a man with Goose. One who can drive because this piece of shit never learned. How you live in the United States without driving is fuck-all ridiculous.

But I didn’t find any, except for Alpha Riley’s mobile and packhouse office numbers. I took the receiver from its cradle and dialed the Silver Moon packhouse phone number, hoping it would be the Beta that would answer the phone and not the Alpha. My heart was thudding loudly as I clutched the receiver tightly, waiting for someone to pick up the phone. After three rings, someone did. "Silver Moon Territory, this is Dawson. May I know who’s on the line?" "Dawson? As in Dawson of the Green Valley Pack?" I asked, my brows hiking up.

By the time they returned to town, the sun had already begun its descent toward the western horizon. Evening wasn't far away. A strong sea breeze swept through the streets, carrying the sharp scent of salt. The two friends walked in comfortable silence toward the mansion of Ki Somanagara near the town square. Then a scream shattered the afternoon. A woman’s scream. High. Terrified. Echoing through the surrounding streets. Wisnumurti and Jaladri stopped instantly. “What was that?” Wisnumurti asked. “Maybe somebody got murdered,” Jaladri replied casually.

"Let's stop at the motel." Calvin was silent. Hazel didn't reply at all, but she could clearly see a motel plaque—Greenwell Motel, the only motel standing in that secluded spot with its lights half dimmed with age. Obviously he couldn't expect a luxury hotel like the Ritz Carlton and the like in this place. But even though the motel looked unconvincing, he hoped to find hot coffee and a hot shower to relax his tense body from driving. “The motel is dingy, but lots of cars are coming.”

She pretty much zoned out after that until the car stopped in front of a crappy motel. The Sunshine motel, the name from which Gianna spotted from the faulty neon sign outside, which made her roll her eyes. The name was an irony. The people smoking outside was enough for Gianna to plead to her driver to take her elsewhere. The cab driver said he was going home because of the rain that is to fall. The receptionist was nothing close to sunshine, she barely looked at Gianna doing their transaction. She popped her gum loudly and threw the room key at Gianna when she paid.

Flickering red neon light bled through the cheap, plastic blinds, casting jagged, bloody shadows across the stained carpet. The heavy footstep on the cabin porch had belonged to a massive, wandering mountain bear, not a tracker. But the sheer, paralyzing terror of the false alarm had shattered whatever fragile peace the cabin offered. They had abandoned the mountain immediately, driving relentlessly through the storm until the SUV's engine began to overheat. Now, they were hiding in the 'Starlight Motel', a dilapidated, off-grid roadside nightmare stinking of stale cigarette smoke and mildew. Locking the flimsy wooden door, Jordan threw the deadbolt. He shoved a heavy, battered wooden dresse