Posted on August 17, 2017 by Nadene @ Totally Addicted to Reading in Guest Post / 0 Comments

Today I have the pleasure of hosting Rhani D’ Chae author of Shadow of the Drill.

A Gritty and Violent Thriller.

A brutal experience transforms an unproven young tough into a ruthless killing machine.
For fifteen years he waited, building his body into an unstoppable weapon so that vengeance would be had through the strength of his will and the power of his hands.

On the bloodstained streets of a northwestern city, the enforcer known as the Drill stalks his prey. Judge, Jury, and Executioner; he seeks out those who target the weak, condemning them to the kind of justice that has made him a legend.

My name is Rhani D’Chae, and I live in Tacoma, Washington. I am visually disabled, having lost the majority of my sight to the vision loss trifecta: retinopathy, glaucoma, and macular degeneration. Because of this, I see the world through Coke-bottle trifocals and a variety of magnification aids.  The really bad thing is that I’m no longer able to read as much as I used to, and I miss it a great deal. So many great books out there these days!
Shadow of the Drill is the first book in a series about an unrepentant enforcer and the violent life that he reads. I would like to say that it all came to me in one glorious moment of absolute brilliance, but that wasn’t quite how it happened.   
Many years ago, I was working on a story and I needed a character’s name. I wanted a masculine, one-word name that brought to mind a specific image, similar to what happens when people hear the name “Rambo.” I couldn’t think of the right name, so I called my friend and asked for input. 
She gave me a few names that were not what I was looking for. Finally, she shouted “Black and Decker,” and hung up on me. Obviously, I couldn’t call my character that, but “Decker” had potential.
I never finished that story, but the name stayed with me. I spent some time thinking about how to use it, and piece by piece it started coming together.
Black & Decker makes power tools, including the electric drill. A man who will power into an adversary with unstoppable force might be nicknamed the Drill – especially if his name is Decker.
And so the character was born. A ruthless enforcer who has raised torture to an art form, Decker makes his own rules. I enjoy writing him, mainly because I’m never really sure where his path will lead.
The plot for Shadow came from a newspaper article about a young woman who had been raped in downtown Tacoma. It was a small article in the local section, nowhere near the front page, but it was enough to get Decker his first mission.

The fire was gaining ground, and he knew that time was very short. He tried to stay calm, to ignore both the heat and the ache of his burned wrists, but the horror of his predicament momentarily overwhelmed him. Panic raged and he thrashed against the ropes, losing his balance and falling face first to the ground.
   But the ropes held.
   The fire was close enough for Decker to feel the heat on his face no matter which way he tilted his head. His struggle had winded him, and he panted cautiously, each ragged breath searing his lungs regardless of how carefully he inhaled. He could sense death hovering, just out of sight, but he was not done yet.
   He inched his way across the floor, coughing and choking from the smoke that billowed around him in suffocating clouds. Breathing was torture, but he managed to keep going, his watery eye fixed on the dirty pane of glass. 
I can do this. I can make it!      
   However, it soon became apparent that he could not. He did not have enough freedom of movement to propel himself along the floor with the necessary speed. He was going to die, alone and most likely screaming, but even though he acknowledged that fact, he continued to fight for his life.
   His fingers dug into the floor as he tried to scoot along on his back. When that failed to accomplish much, he rolled onto his side, still trying to crawl. The window was barely visible, but he was not sure if it was the smoke or his own failing eyesight that obscured it.
   His pants began to smolder, and he felt panic rise again. He was not sure how easily the denim would ignite, but if it did, he would be unable to put out the flames.

Nadene @ Totally Addicted to Reading
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