The Sun Down Motel Novels & Stories

"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.

I just pray Jack can’t detect it any more than he already has. Soon enough, night falls and we’re traveling underneath a waxing moon down a desolate highway, Jack’s plush hotel reservation, nothing but a distant fantasy. Weary and with tempers are flaring, we roll into a lonely crossroads motel, a relic of the bygone Route 66 era. In the parking lot, its winking neon sign hums a feeble tune in the darkness, promising false luxuries like cable TV and swamp coolers. Kadeem holds open the door to the lobby and we carefully avoid each other’s eyes. The lobby smells of burnt coffee and bleach. It’s cramped and threadbare, with worn out carpet and dated sheets of wood paneling on the walls.

The light is golden. "Do you want to drive?" he says. "No." "Why not." "Because I like watching you drive." "That is weird." "Probably." He glances at me. "You are staring again." "I am allowed to stare." "At what." "At you. Being present." He does not respond. He just drives. The road unwinds. The world turns. --- We stop at a motel. Not a hotel. A motel. The kind with doors that open to the parking lot and a sign that flickers and a bedspread that has seen better decades.

No delays. Every second matters. If she’s still there… Please. Please let me not be too late. The motel appears just before dawn. Its faded sign leans sideways, one of the letters hanging by a single rusted bolt. TRIO A GLES MOTEL. The n has fallen off. The windows are shattered. Paint peels from every wall. Nature has begun reclaiming the building. Connor studies it. “This place hasn’t been operating for years.” “I don’t care.” I climb out before the vehicle fully stops. My wolf presses against my skin, desperate to shift. To hunt.

He hadn’t apologized either. He’d left me questioning myself. ⸻ I didn’t go home. Instead, my feet carried me down familiar streets until warm light spilled onto the sidewalk. The Half Moon Night Café glowed softly against the dark, its sign etched in silver and gold—a crescent moon cradling the word night beneath it. It wasn’t loud or inviting in the usual way. It felt like a secret you were meant to stumble upon. The bell chimed gently when I stepped inside.

My job is simple I clean the rooms every time the prostitutes finish with their Johns, I also clean up around other places. The owner Dale, try to preserve everyone that he is running a legitimate business. We all knew that was now true thanks to the mouth of the south, not only that everyone always see the same women taking different men inside their rooms. Dale motel is a run down place it looks like it have been fix in years, everyone knows about Dale, even the kids that goes to my school because if they are looking for a place to have a good fuck. Dale motel is the place to go, because Dale ask no questions the only thing he cares about is making money. I think back on that day I enter h