Posts Tagged ‘thriller’

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of A Daily Rhythm.

TeaserTuesdays2014e

Anyone can play along! Just do the following:
• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page.
•Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

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My Teaser for this week is from

 Tropical Depression

A Billy Knight Thriller #1

by Jeff Lindsay

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I just reviewed the second book in this series, Red Tides. Check it out and enter the giveaway HERE.

My Teaser from 29% in the eBook.

I have known guys who would chase a humpbacked sheep if she had large breasts, or great legs, or a firmly rounded butt. I have always been more attracted to a woman’s hands. To me they reveal so much more about who she is than any other feature. Faces can be made up or controlled. Figures can be accidental, or contrived. And legs, after all, are just something to walk around on.

The hands alone are naked.

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My Review

Right from the beginning, the author sets a fast pace with action, drama, horrific events, and intrigue.

When a botched hostage rescue goes horribly wrong, LA police officer Billy Knight loses everything. It’s all too much and he leaves the force, heading for calmer waters.

Key West is his final destination. He hangs up his gun and starts over as a charter fishing boat captain. Sun, cold beer, and the salty breeze over aquamarine waters give Billy a tenuous hold on his sanity.

So, he wasn’t happy to see Roscoe. He’d left all that behind. He agreed to listen, but flat out refused to get involved in the investigation of the murder of Roscoe’s son, and he sent him on his way.

Later, Billy goes looking for Roscoe, feeling bad about how he treated his friend and former co-worker, but he’s already grabbed a flight back home.

The news of Roscoe’s murder a few weeks later hits Billy hard.  No matter how much it hurts. No matter how difficult it is. No matter how dangerous it is. Billy will not rest until the killer or killers are caught, dead or alive.

Billy Knight is a wounded warrior. He’s been through so much, more than most can bear. When he went back to investigate the murders, I was reminded of that saying, “let a sleeping dog lie.” Billy woke up and did whatever he had to do, regardless of anyone’s approval or cooperation.

There are some guys you don’t want to get angry. You won’t like them when they’re angry. And Billy is angry.

Lots of intrigue, dirty little secrets, and corruption keep you emotionally engaged. The cast of characters go from funny to sad, from boorish to just plain bad.

The story never bogs down. The author helps you visualize places and scenes clearly. And the doses of humor give you a bright spot in a dark venture.

I happily recommend this book and the series to all thriller and suspense fans.

4 Stars

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Read on if you want to know more.

Synopsis

Before there was Dexter, there was Billy Knight.

NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author Jeff Lindsay mastered suspense with his wildly addictive DEXTER series. Before that, however, there was former cop and current burnout Billy Knight. When a hostage situation turns deadly, Billy loses everything—his wife, his daughter, and his career. Devastated, he heads to Key West to put down his gun and pick up a rod and reel as a fishing boat captain. But former co-worker Roscoe McAuley isn’t ready to let Billy rest.

When Roscoe tells Billy that someone murdered his son, Billy sends him away. When Roscoe himself turns up dead a few weeks later, however, Billy can’t keep from getting sucked back into Los Angeles, and the streets that took so much from him.

Billy’s investigations into the death of a former cop, and his son, will take him up to the highest echelons of the LAPD, finding corruption at every level. It puts him on a collision course with the law, with his past, with his former fellow officers, and with the dark aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement. Jeff Lindsay’s considerable storytelling gifts are on full display, drawing the reader in with a mesmerizing style and a case with more dangerous blind curves than Mulholland Drive.

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How about you? Got a tease? Tell me!

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PerfectlyToxic banner

I’m thrilled to showcase another book by Kristine Mason

If you’re looking for an intense, suspenseful, romance, you need to read this series.

Kristine takes it to next level and then some!

Enjoy the glimpse inside the book.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

PerfectlyToxic cover

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Genre: Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

What do you get when you mix a mad scientist, a psychopath, an ice cream lady and a repo man? Something perfectly toxic…

Melanie Scarlet is a knife-wielding badass who knows how to dispose of a body, and make evidence disappear. But Mel, a.k.a., the Ice Cream Lady, draws the line at one thing: she refuses to live with her husband, Cash Maddox, unless he quits the repo business that nearly got him killed—no matter how much she loves him.

To thaw Mel’s heart and convince her to leave the Everglades and move back home to Tallahassee, Cash is finally ready to retire from his adrenaline-fueled job…until homeless men begin vanishing. As Mel investigates the disappearances, Cash’s temper goes into overdrive when he realizes his wife has been keeping a dangerous secret from him. She’s been doing more than scooping ice cream—she’s a cleaner for the underground criminal investigation agency, Above the Law.

Mel isn’t the only one with a secret. A scientist has created a drug that will cure psychopaths by deadening the urge to dominate, hurt and murder. To prove his chemical combination works, he uses the homeless as test subjects. He breaks and scrambles their minds, turns them into killers, then tries to fix them. But what if the scientist creates a killer he can’t fix? A true psychopath he can’t control? As Cash joins Mel and the ATL crew, they learn firsthand, the results could be…toxic.

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Excerpt

When Melanie reached the front door, she touched the faded, sun-bleached wreath she’d made over two years ago. Nostalgia settled over her heart. Although Cash had still been recovering from his injuries, those days had been happy ones. He hadn’t been able to repo.

Betrayal and frustration gave nostalgia the boot. Dang it. They could have been good together. She knocked on the door. Instead, they were living separate lives because she wasn’t enough. Not enough excitement, not enough of a challenge. His accident had taught her that she didn’t need those things anymore. Then again, she had signed on to ATL and did still chop the occasional car or boat. Oh, God. There was also those bodies she’d disposed of in her daddy’s swamp.

The door opened and Cash’s large body filled the threshold. His t-shirt clung to his arms and chest, revealing the muscles she loved to hang onto when she rode him. Her heart beat hard as she shifted her gaze from his chest to his mouth. How she’d love to shove him against the door and kiss that arrogant, overconfident smile off his lips.

“How are ya’, babe?” Cash asked, his tone rough, sexy.

She met his gaze. His dark-brown eyes held hunger, lust and smugness. During their two-year separation, they’d found excuses to see each other. Then they’d have a long weekend of hot sex. Cash was in for a rude awakening. Just because he knew how to make her moan didn’t mean he’d be getting any action during this visit.

He took a step forward and crowded her space. She inhaled his cologne as he slid a finger along her jawline until he reached her chin. “I’ve missed you.” He leaned forward, brought their mouths so close together his warm breath brushed her lips.

God, how she ached for him. If only he loved her enough. The reminder stung and bolstered the promise she’d made to herself: no sex, discuss making their separation permanent.

“Don’t touch me,” she murmured. “I have my period.”

~~~~

Author Kristine Mason

PerfectlyToxic author

Kristine Mason is the bestselling author of the popular romantic suspense trilogies, C.O.R.E. Shadow and Ultimate C.O.R.E. She is currently working on her next trilogy, C.O.R.E. Above the Law, along with a series of Psychic C.O.R.E. novellas.

Although Kristine has published a few contemporary romance novels, she focuses most of her energy on her romantic suspense stories, which she loves for their blend of dark mystery/suspense and sexy romance. She is fascinated with what makes people afraid, and is famous for her depraved villains whose crimes present massive obstacles for her heroes and heroines to overcome.

Kristine has a degree in journalism from Ohio State University and lives in Northeast Ohio with her husband, four kids, and two dogs. If she’s not writing, she’s chauffeuring kids, gardening, or collecting gnomes. Oh, and she makes a mean chocolate chip cookie!

Facebook / Twitter / Website / Email

Purchase on Amazon

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Click on the banner below to follow the tour and comment.

The more you comment, the more chances to win!

Goddess Fish Promotions

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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FALLING AWAKE:

Magic or madness? Can your dreams really take over your life?

Falling Awake is the story of a book and the power of imagination to turn two lives upside down.

 

When Mary Parker finds an unusual book everything in her life changes. As she reads, she dreams, and the quiet, repressed woman is transformed.

She gives the book and the phenomenon a name, ‘falling awake’. The existence of the book seems to make others act out of character too. Joe’s usually dour father gambles with the factory where Mary works, and Joe, the romantic daydreamer, engages in a sexual eternal triangle to keep the dull routine of the accounts department at bay. The dominant partner in the triangle is Clem; dark and dangerous.

Extricating himself from Clem, Joe meets Mary. They fall in love and marry in haste when Mary falls pregnant, but this is no happy ever after tale. Their joy turns to misery when Mary miscarries and she turns inward to her darkening ‘falling awake’ world. Then Joe’s father dies, and he has to fight for control of the factory. He falls into Clem’s clutches again, and to make things worse, he believes Mary is going mad, and the people and places she remembers all just dreams dreamt inside her insanity. But then how can Joe remember them too?

Magic or madness?For Mary and Joe, the impossible – or the deadly – might only be a breath away.

Falling Awake is a brain teaser, an atmospheric mystery, an exposition of madness; an examination of the impossible, a fantasy, a ghost story, a psychological thriller, a love story, and a story of intrigue and sudden death. It will keep you awake at night, wondering, and pausing during the day, questioning …

One editor has already described it as:

 

“In the best traditions of Audrey Niffenegger and Carlos Ruiz Zafón…”

And others comment:

“…one of the most original, quirky manuscripts I’ve read for a long time…”

“…I especially like the fairy-tale and myth undertones that creep in from time to time throughout the novel: Sleeping Beauty clutching her book with echoes of Snow White in her glass coffin, the transformative red mac with its Red Riding Hood connotations, Mary’s Cinderella transformation from emotionally abused child to confident woman, the mermaid dress, Mariam’s Scheherazade dance, and especially the gambler as Rumpelstiltskin…”

“…a light, authoritative touch with both …story and characters.”

Amazon

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Debrah Martin is a British author writing under three different pen names and in three very different genres. She plots fast-paced thrillers as D.B. Martin, with the first in the Patchwork trilogy, Patchwork Man, having been recently awarded a coveted B.R.A.G. Medallion. Her YA teen detective series is penned as Lily Stuart – THE teen detective; irreverent, blunt, funny and vulnerable. Webs and Magpies are the first two books in the series. And as Debrah Martin she writes literary fiction. Her first literary fiction, Chained Melodies, a startling transgender story to rival The Danish Girl, and described pre-release as “…a beautiful book about love, acceptance and self-discovery…” was also released earlier this month.

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Net Galley reviewers can access an ARC of Falling Awake there from 27th October, and all reviewers can obtain a copy and more information about Debrah’s other works by contacting her at the email address below.

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For the first thirty reviewers to post a review of Falling Awake on Amazon, if you email Debrah with a link to the review, she’ll send you a bumper bundle (digital) of her other adult fiction books, including the award-winning Patchwork People series. Reviewers are also invited to contact Debrah for review copies of any of her books.

Debrah Martin can be emailed on info@debrahmartin.co.uk

Her website is www.debrahmartin.co.uk

And she is on:

Twitter: @StorytellerDeb

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeborahMartin.Author?ref=hl

Pinterest: http://uk.pinterest.com/Debrah_Martin/

And Sign up to Debrah’s mailing list for news and special offers: http://eepurl.com/3-965

 

Book trailer:

Read an excerpt from Falling Awake –

 
‘What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story.’


Pedro Calderon de la Barca

 

Prologue

No-one could sleep forever.

But apparently she could. It was the unusual challenge to the premise that had brought him here against the inclination to evade responsibility and slip home to his own dreams. She’d slept continuously for days now, without the need for water or sustenance; her only requirement, seemingly, a book. He peered curiously through the viewing panel as the attendant hovered behind him.

‘That’s her,’ the attendant announced as if pulling a rabbit from a hat. ‘Mary Parker.’

‘She’s very pretty,’ the tall young man declared, deep blue eyes narrowing to slits as he studied her. The woman’s long red hair cascaded over the side of the bed like blood streaming to the floor, her face a marble effigy of life. She reminded him of Millais’ Ophelia as she floated downstream on her layette of wild flowers – except this frozen beauty was merely asleep, not dead. He wondered what she was dreaming about. She seemed very familiar in a strange half-forgotten way.

‘Yeah, she is – and quiet now, but she weren’t once. Blimey – you should have seen her then, screaming and hollering. Wasn’t until we found that old book and gave it back to her that she shut up.’ The attendant picked at his nails and watched the tall young man lean in closer still. The corner of a book poked out from under the tightly clasped hands. ‘Then she just slept,’ the attendant added, shrugging his shoulders.

‘What’s its significance?’ the young man asked. He could just make out a title scrawled longhand across its spine. He wondered if the woman had written it on herself. He could only decipher the first word – ‘Falling’.

‘Not a clue, Mister; it’s just an empty book.’ The attendant shifted impatiently, as if tired of waiting, then asked, ‘How’d you know her again?’ He flipped the visitors’ page back to read the tall young man’s entry.

22nd Sept ’92: Time in – 5.45pm. John Hathorne, Director: Geo. Tooley & Sons.

‘I don’t really. She worked at the factory, that’s all. We have to be seen as caring employers so I’m here to check on her before we sign her off the books.’ He paused. Now he came to think of it he might have met her once. There had been a girl with bright red hair like hers the day he’d been shown round the factory. He’d been surprised by her scarlet mac because of the colour clash. He dragged himself from his reverie.

‘You said she had no family?’

‘Nope, apparently the mother died a while back and the neighbours say she’s been a bit odd ever since. Before they brought her in here she was wandering the graveyard down the road babbling about how she couldn’t find herself any more. Shame – when you got no-one.’

‘How do you think she can do it?’

‘What?’

‘Not eat or drink for so long – just sleep.’

‘Beats me. Maybe she’s not really there and we’re just imagining her.’ The young man stared at him. The attendant laughed. ‘Only joking. You done then?’ The attendant looked expectantly at him, and the young man found himself involuntarily offering his business card before collecting his briefcase and coat.

‘I suppose I could see if I can do something to help her if she comes back to the land of the living.’

The attendant turned the card over and read aloud, ‘Bespoke leisure wear and stage costumiers; themed event supplies a speciality.’ He studied the tall young man. ‘Versions of reality, huh? You’ll be getting a lot of custom soon, then.’ He sniggered. Outside the midweek rush hour traffic distantly hooted on its way home. The light had dimmed to the half-dusk of early autumn, but fallen leaves and skeletal trees said winter was already in the air.

The tall young man had spotted the now redundant leather straps on the side of the bed when he’d been trying to decipher the title of the book. The reddening round her wrists indicated where no doubt they’d been clasped until recently. ‘Halloween does tend to be a busy time,’ he agreed, suddenly uneasy. The place was oppressive and the sight of the comatose and confined woman depressed him. ‘Such a waste. Will she ever recover, do you think?’

‘Don’t know, mister. Not sure if she’s actually ill. Probably just the stresses of life – grief and disappointment. They do strange things to us, don’t they? Perhaps if she had someone to look after her, she’d get well again, but then who knows when anyone recovers from life.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Maybe it’s better to just dream?’ The tall young man considered the idea for a while.

‘No, reality is always better, no matter how hard.’

He went back to the viewing window and studied the young woman for a few minutes more before gathering up the Essex County Gazette he’d brought with him and stuffing it under the arm carrying the briefcase. The pages creased and he made to flatten them, but stopped abruptly and tossed the paper back on the table the attendant had been sitting at when he’d arrived. He peered at his hand as if there was something wrong with it before shaking his head. The attendant cleared his throat meaningfully and opened the unit’s outer door.

‘I hope her dreams are sweet,’ the young man added sadly as the attendant ushered him out. The attendant flicked the light off and the room behind them sank back into shadow.

Neither saw the frozen figure thaw, stir, and open her eyes – deep green pools of luminescence. They fixed on the door and she listened intently to the low rumble of the tall young man’s voice as he made his goodbyes. The marble features creased to a frown and the slack body tensed. The book still clutched in her hand shivered.

‘No!’ she murmured. ‘No, no, no!’

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Two (2) print copies of Falling Awake by Debrah Martin (INT)
Ends November 19th
Prizing is provided by the author, hosts are not responsible.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This event was organized by CBB Book Promotions.

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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Baad Dog Tour Banner

Isn’t it cute?! Such a sweet little doggie.

Come on in and meet Queenie.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Baad Dog-Cover-Final

Baad Dog by Sal Conte

Publication Date: October 16th, 2015

Genre: Horror/Thriller

My Review

If you ask Harry why he went in the store, he’s tell you it’s because he’s always wanted a dog. And the kids would love it too. He figures he can get around his wife’s objections with this dog.

Queenie is a robot. She looks and acts like a dog. The plus is she doesn’t eat or drink, so Pam won’t get stuck having to take care of her. She doesn’t pee or poo so there are no accidents to clean up. And she comes fully programmed so you don’t have to train her.

There’s still a problem though. Queenie doesn’t seem to like Pam. How can that be?  And the robot dog comes with a warning. Don’t ever over charge her battery.

Well, you know what happens don’t ya? Queenie is left on the charger too long and has a melt down and starts to act weird. This is where Pam can and does say, I told you so.

A robot dog sounds ideal. Until you start thinking about all of those movies you watched and books you read. Nothing good can come of it.

I really got creeped out by this story. Once Queenie went bad, the horror began.

Imagine this cute little doggie, hiding in the shadows, setting traps, luring you into the dark. And then…..

I could see it. Lured outside by a sound, seeing this tiny dog appear from the shadows. It steps towards you. So little. So cute. So dang scary.

I almost felt sorry for Queenie, Almost. Then the terror began and all I wanted was to run her over with a big piece of farm equipment. Smash her flat. But I had a feeling she’d be too slippery for that to happen.

Queenie is a Baad Dog. If something seems to good to be true, don’t buy it!

There’s plenty of chills and hair raising scenes to make any horror fan a happy camper.

5 Stars

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Synopsis

Don’t let the cute face fool you

Cujo has got nothing on this cute fuzzy faced little mongrel… or should I say fuzzy faced little killer?

Harry wanted a dog.  He’d wanted a dog ever since his mother gave away the pup they’d adopted when he was a kid. She gave her away because Harry and his brother, Lenny, wouldn’t take care of her.  Now Harry is a grown man with children of his own.  He brings home, Queenie, a miracle of modern robotics that looks and behaves just like a real dog.  Big Mistake.  Harry’s wife, Pam, feels there’s something off about Queenie right from the start.  But will Harry see the light before he and his entire family become dog food?

Excerpt

Some dogs are dangerous…

You can’t deny it. Everyone’s heard a story or two about the friendly pit bull, or the loveable Rottweiler who was the treasured family pet until the day he was playing with the kids in the yard and chewed little Liza’s fingers off.

But truth be told, those dogs— Rottweiler’s, Pit Bulls, Dobermans, aren’t born mean, they’re mean because they’ve been mistreated. A mistreated dog is nothing more than ticking time bombs just waiting for the right moment to go Cujo on an unsuspecting public lulled into a false sense of confidence by their giant gentleness.

But my, dog… my dog, the man thought. His dog was loved and cared for right from the start. His was a lap dog, cute and cuddly, and… perfect, which is why he was having the damndest time accepting the bitter truth— that his cute, cuddly, well treated dog was also a murderer.

So he lay there, his legs rendered useless, feeling as if they’d been set on fire like Christmas kindling. His world was spinning, spinning, spinning as if he’d been set down on a runaway merry-go-round. Through the pain and the spinning he heard the dog coming for him, coming to finish him off, her soft, doggie footsteps scratching gently toward him on the dust covered road.

Then she climbed up onto his body as he lay, eyes gazing up at the moon. She stood on his stomach, and teetered for a second before looking into his eyes.

Go get help, he thought. I need help. Of course, he knew better. She was the reason he was in this position in the first place. As the little dog began moving up his torso toward his chest, he thought of all the killer dogs he’d heard about or seen on the news over the years, and as his dog closed in for the kill, he wondered: since when did man’s best friend become his very own worst nightmare?

About the Author

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Sal Conte is the horror writing alter ego of Amazon #1 Teen Horror author, E. Van Lowe. As Sal Conte, the author turns his talents to gruesome horror with stunning results. Sal Conte is the author of 80s pulp horror classics “Child’s Play” and “The Power,” as well as recent shorts “The Toothache Man” and “Because We Told Her To.

“Baad Dog” is Sal Conte’s first solo ebook.  You can visit him at http://evanlowe.com/sal-contes-page/

Goodreads / Twitter / Website /Amazon Page / Facebook Fan Page

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Some scary Halloween fun to share before the giveaway!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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The Tour

October 19th:

Wag The Fox– Promo Post
Awesome Book Assessment– Review
Book Wormie Spot– Promo Post

October 20th:
The Bookie Monster– Review

fundinmental– Promo Post
Read to my Heart’s Content– Review

October 21st:

Rainne’s Ramblings– Review & Promo Post
Bookwormia– Review

October 22nd:

Books! Books! Books!– Review
Book Crazy Lady– Promo Post

October 23rd:

One Book Two– Review
BooksChatter– Promo Post

October 24th:

fuonlyknew– Review

fundinmental– Review

October 25th:

BooksChatter– Review
Paranormal Sisters– Review

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of A Daily Rhythm.

TeaserTuesdays2014e

Anyone can play along! Just do the following:
• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page.
•Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

~~~

My Teaser for this week is from

All The Wrong Ways

by M.M. Charles 

25987172

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My Teaser from page 34 in the Paperback.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was shaking, and her fingers clutched her phone.

The sight pained her.

It destroyed her.

It disgusted her.

I won this book in a giveaway. It sounded good and I’m enjoying it so far. I like how the author presents the story.

This is an adult read with some graphic scenes. A dark thriller.

Read on if you want to know more.

THEN
Two years ago, amateur prosecutor Abra Fawley suffered a life-changing experience after handling a scandalous rape case. Unable to prevent startling circumstances beyond her control, Abra abandoned her prosecutorial duties and currently works as a dispirited private investigator. The guilt still remains…

NOW
Two years later, law student Anton Costa is accused of rape by a fellow classmate. While alleging innocence, his notorious past rears its ugly head. Despite a tainted reputation, Anton is sticking to his word: it was consensual.

She says it was rape.

A night off campus with Anton turns into a roller coaster ride to hell for Jentra Mendoza. It all happened in her room. She has the bruises to prove rape. All she needs is the support from her best friend.

A close acquaintance of Anton and Jentra, Lark Ridley is an intriguing girl with questionable intentions. She witnessed the incident. There is one problem: she is missing.

As a favor for a friend, Abra must work with a defense attorney and prove Anton is innocent.

While discovering the ugly facts about her new client, Abra’s doubts about the alleged rape makes her question the parties involved as well as herself.

Who is to blame? Or better yet, who is honest?

Synopsis

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How about you? Got a tease? Tell me!

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A Fistful Of Clones Banner

You’d think it would be handy, having a bunch of clones.

Henry finds out it’s not all cut and dried.

Check out A Fistful Of Clones.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

A Fistful Of Clones

by Seaton Kay-Smith

A Fistful Of Clones Cover

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Synopsis

Henry Madison is an apathetic young man with little to no ambition. When he loses his job and his girlfriend in one day, he is destitute and signs up for paid medical testing. The doctor creates clones of Henry and when these clones escape and start causing havoc in Henry’s life, he is hired in secret by the strange doctor and trained to hunt the clones down one by one and kill them. Henry soon finds out, however, that personality isn’t genetic but made of the experiences you have, and as time progresses, his clones become less carbon copied than he was lead to believe, growing their own identities and challenging Henry’s perception of what it means to be Henry Madison and of what it is right and what is wrong.

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Enjoy this excerpt.

As the sun rose over Duelham, a pair of brown leather boots stepped off the curb and onto the road. Cut from a long-dead cow, turned inside out, cleaned and stitched onto a foot, they walked down the grey-gold street and through the gates to Mingum’s Mill: a seemingly abandoned mill which towered over the rest of the town and imposed a certain enormity on the suburb. Previously home to rats, drunks, youths, and young drunk rats, Mingum’s Mill had recently opened its doors to a new venture. Though the youths, rats and the drunkards hadn’t been entirely evicted, “Medicine” was open for business and Henry, the owner of the boots, had the telegraph-pole advertisement to prove it.

Entering the abandoned mill’s front office, Henry passed the security guard fiddling with his phone and approached the receptionist, a young woman in a smart white blouse and navy-blue skirt. She looked up at Henry, who stared into her amber eyes with a steely look of determination.

Henry’s hand moved slowly but steadily to his breast pocket, his eyes never leaving the receptionist’s. Her heart beat faster. Henry could hear it. His hand disappeared into his jacket and promptly returned, not with a gun, but with a piece of paper: an advertisement, yellowed and weather-bleached.

Henry slammed it on the table in front of her. “I’d like to do it,” he said. Then remembering his manners, “Please.”

The receptionist looked across her desk to the paper she was presented with. She picked it up and studied it once more before returning her gaze to Henry. “Do you understand all the risks?”

“There’s understanding and there’s accepting,” Henry said with a gritty resolve, “and I see no reason to need both.”

The pair remained locked in their stranglehold gazes, neither willing to be the first to look away, to give in, to show weakness. The security guard watched on, his hand resting on his taser, ready for action but unsure of what action to take.

Finally, the increasingly tense silence was broken as the receptionist offered Henry a standard ballpoint pen. “Sign here.”

Henry cocked his head and smiled briefly. “The name’s Henry,” he said as he signed the document with that very name. Then, raising the pen to his mouth as if he was blowing smoke from a recently fired pistol, Henry pursed his lips and blew.

“What are you doing?” asked the receptionist, confused by his inappropriate and disease-spreading behaviour. That was her pen; she had to use that pen.

Henry’s gritty resolve dropped; his awkward self-awareness returned. It was as though he had suddenly sobered up at a party and realised he wasn’t actually having fun. An overwhelming sense of average took over his entire body and his mind went blank. Gone were his delusions of grandeur. He felt like a child in a world of adults. “I was just …” He stammered, unsure of what to say. “I was just blowing the pen.”

The receptionist leaned forwards in her chair. “Don’t.” She snatched the pen back from him.

Henry, shaken, feeling small, his voice almost a whisper, replied, “Sorry, I’ll take a—”

“Take a seat,” she said.

He was no cowboy, no western hero. He was just a man with a signature, a name, and little else. Henry took a seat and, fighting off a blush, picked up a magazine. It was a celebrity gossip magazine. Sometimes, it seemed, Henry couldn’t win anything.

~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A Fistful Of Clones Author

Seaton has written for The Roast on ABC2, Lost Pilots on FBi Radio, and is a regular performer of stand up comedy. Currently he is Head Writer at Paper Moose, a film and design collective based in Sydney.

You can get in touch with Seaton on

Twitter / Facebook / Website

Purchase on Amazon

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Extraordinary Days new banner copy

I have a wonderful series to share with you today.

Polly Beck’s The Extraordinary Days Series.

Enjoy the excerpt.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Extraordinary Days new ThursdaysChild_Cover Large

Genre: Romance / Mystery / Thriller

NOTE: A percentage of the sales of this book will be donated to Children’s International, a not-for-profit organization very close to the author’s family’s heart. Past books in the series have benefited The American Red Cross, The American Cancer Society, Tuesday’s Children [a 9/11 charity], and The Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption.

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Synopsis

A mystery is introduced in No Ordinary Day, the first book in the Extraordinary Days series that is carried through all eight volumes and solved in the last book, Sunday’s Child: Born on the Sabbath Day, due out in January of 2017.

In the late spring of 1991, a flood and fire of historic proportions tore through the pretty resort town of Obergrande, New York, in the central region of the Adirondack mountains.

The twin disasters destroyed a large part of the east side of the town that bordered the Hudson River and Lake Obergrande.

In the aftermath, a new dam was built, and that damaged part of the town “drowned,” covered by the new, larger lake.

During that terrible flood, five kindergarten girls were trapped in their drowning school, huddled together as the water rose higher, rescued just in the nick of time. The nightmare bonded them, and three others like them, to each other for life.

These are their stories.

Extraordinary Days new ThursdaysChild_Cover Large

 

International attorney and human rights advocate Elisa Santiago believes she has life under control—an impressive career, a solid group of friends in Obergrande, and a handsome law partner for hot “car action” when she needs release. Little does she know that her entire world is about to burn down when she discovers that nothing she believes she knows about herself and

her past is true. Can the gorgeous former CIA operative, acting as her guide and guard as she returns to Colombia, the land of her birth, looking for answers, set her world on fire in a good way?

 

THURSDAY’S CHILD: Far to Go is the fifth book in the eight-book series The Extraordinary Days by breakthrough novelist Polly Becks. The first book, No Ordinary Day, tells the tale of an epic tragedy that changes life forever in a small town in the wild, mystic Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York, and the mystery surrounding that tragedy.

~~~~~

Enjoy this excerpt

Present day, Sunday, September 8th, 2:11 PM

Le Mille Neuf, 1009 Rue de Bleury, penthouse, Montreal

 

The young man at the front desk in the luxury apartment building looked up in surprise at the quartet of women making their way across the lobby, carrying what looked like a variety of flowers, sweets, and boxes, chatting happily amongst themselves as every male head in the lobby turned in their direction.

An older man in the uniform of a professional driver or chauffeur was following them, his arms piled high with packages, puffing slightly.

The women, who were carrying on an intense four-way conversation between them, did not notice the attention they were garnering like magnets. They ranged in height from just over five feet to just under six, with a variety of body types, hair and skin colors ranging from alabaster to ebony, and clothing styles, all of which had some sort of bright artistry to them.

They stopped in front of the desk.

The tallest of the group, a fair-skinned beauty with gray eyes and shoulder-length brown hair atop a tall, willowy figure, smiled down at him.

“Penthouse deux, s’il vous plait,” she said politely in a perfect French accent.

The young man slid his swivel chair quickly under the desk to shield his lap from view.

“Qui appelle?” he asked in a French-Canadian accent. “Er—whom shall I say is calling?” He picked up the phone.

“The—uhm—Fivesome,” Briony Windsor, known as Sarah to her friends, said.

The young man waited for an answer, requested permission for entry and, receiving it, directed the four women to the penthouse elevator, only to discover they had started across the back lobby while he was hanging up.

They already knew where they were going.

“Has anyone heard from Sloane’s father recently?” Dr. Corinne Byrnes, a veterinarian and the second-tallest member of the group asked the others as they entered the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.

“I spoke to him last night,” said Reverend Grace Fuller, the Associate Pastor of the Obergrande Community Church back in New York State. “He says she seems to be doing better, as long as she rests. Apparently he hasn’t been entirely successful at keeping her in bed.”

“Shocker,” mused Elisa Santiago, esq., a practicing attorney and civil rights advocate who divided her time between law on the international stage and a quiet practice back in Obergrande, the pretty Adirondack hometown of the four young women and the friend they had come to visit. At five-foot-three, she was petite, like Grace, and extraordinarily well put-together, every detail of her wardrobe perfect, just as every detail of her business and personal life seemed to be.

“Well, between us we have plenty of things to keep her amused in bed,” said Briony. “Although that’s like selling ice to penguins; Sloane has made of art of being kept amused in bed most of her life.”

“Truth,” mused Corinne as the elevator doors opened, providing a stunning view of downtown Montreal and its exquisite spires.

The four women hurried down the sunlit hallway of windows to the door where the number 2 was elegantly displayed.

Elisa pushed the doorbell.

A tall, strapping, dark-haired man with a finely-featured, neatly-bearded face opened the door a moment later.

All four women blinked in surprise.

“Dr. Marlowe?” Elisa’s voice broke the silence.

The man’s dark blue eyes blinked as well.

“Come in, ladies,” he said quickly.

The women looked at each other, then followed him into the penthouse.

“What’s he doing here?” Grace whispered to Briony. “Sloane told me they couldn’t stand each other.” Briony shrugged.

“Perhaps they’re working on the Quadricentennial?” Elisa suggested as they passed through the elegant central foyer into the open living area, a high-ceilinged room ringed with floor-to-ceiling windows.

She turned to Corinne, the only one not to have met Nathan Marlowe. “He’s a world-class history professor here at McGill and in New York at NYU, a specialist in the Adirondack Park

area and particularly in Obergrande. Sloane’s mother hired him to do the authentication and other research for the town’s four-hundredth anniversary next May.”

“Well, if her mother likes him, I can see why Sloane can’t stand him,” said Corinne. “Those two can’t agree on whether the sun is up or not.”

Dr. Marlowe was standing at the far left edge of the open sitting area, next to the door that led to Sloane’s bedroom suite.

The women and their driver, still lugging their packages, followed him.

A glorious spicy smell filled the air near the kitchen.

On their way past a recessed alcove in which a towering animal cage stood, Corinne paused and clicked softly at the sweet, melon-sized animal inside it.

“Hiya, Pfeffernusse,” she said. “You’re lookin’ good, gurrl.”

Ed Hillenbrandt, the driver, waited until she was following the other girls again, then paused in front of the cage himself.

“I still say you would make a nice hat,” he whispered.

Pfeffernusse just stared at him with her big black chinchilla eyes. Then she flicked her large ears and spun around, her white belly disappearing from view as she turned her gray-blue back to him.

“You’re not by any means the first female to give me the cold shoulder, ma’am,” Ed said as he went to join the women.

~~~~~

Author Polly Becks

Polly Becks has been making her living writing for more than twenty years, as well as working as an editor, curriculum developer, and teaching secondary-school Spanish. She has more than 350 books to her credit, mostly educational materials, as well as professionally published fiction in both the adult and YA market in a variety of genres, plus more than 30 Children’s books. She is excited about exploring the digital literature frontier and is honored to be the launch series for GMLTJoseph, LLC. – See more at: http://www.pollybecks.com/author/#sthash.pEZ6f3xO.dpuf

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Buy Polly’s Books

~~~~~

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Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of A Daily Rhythm.

TeaserTuesdays2014e

Anyone can play along! Just do the following:
• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page.
•Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

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My Teaser for this week is from

Grey Daze

  A Lance Underphal Mystery

by Michael Allan Scott

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My Teaser from page 51 in the Paperback.

  Finally, after eons, the faintest stirrings come through, like ancient static drifting down out of the either, soiling the atmosphere with its confusion. Its whisperings float around me like circling sharks. I can’t make it out. What’s it want? Near panic, I’m frozen, not even my blood circulates. I listen harder, trying to hear….what?

This scene is so chilling, I’d like to share a bit more.

Ever so faintly, I hear it, something new – a small child whimpering, lost, alone, and frightened. It hits me like a crack of thunder. That little voice,crying…crying,crying. And there’s nothing I can do. Overcome, I break down, weeping. I can’t ake it. I have to get out of here. The horror – I’ll face death, stare down evil – I can take it. But the child’s cries are too much, ripping my heart out. You can’t expect me to stay. I won’t make it.

This book is killing me and this is only a small part of it. It’s a psychic, serial killer, mystery/thriller, and boy is it intense. Intended for mature readers. Just thought I’d warn you.

~~~~

Synopsis

GREY DAZE descends. A fresh murder spins out of control, twisting into new realms of paranormal mystery.

Not for the faint of heart, the third in the Lance Underphal Mystery series, is an interplay of corrupt characters immersed in today’s world.

Paranormal twists and fast action in movie-like scenes set the story’s mystery/thriller elements apart from the typical whodunit/serial-killer thriller.

Guided by his dead wife, a reluctant psychic finds himself on a wild ride through a criminal underworld, slamming face first into corrupt police, gunrunning bikers, and a drug addicted killer–not to mention confrontations with the dead.

Layers of plots within plots twist this new thriller into a startling climax.

~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

How about you? Got a tease? Tell me!

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I admit it. I’ve picked a book up just because of it’s cover. I would have grabbed The Toy Taker because of that. Well, that and the title, and the blurb….

Check out this chilling suspense thriller!

The Toy Taker
by Luke Delaney
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 19360781
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Publisher:  Harper
Genre: Thriller/Suspense
Format: Kindle/Paperback
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 goodreads-badge-add-plus
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Synopsis
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Outside the house, it’s cold and dark.
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Inside, where it’s warm, children are sleeping.
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D.I. Sean Corrigan might have a tiny new office at Scotland Yard and a huge newbeat—all of London—but the job is the same. His team has aknack for catching the sickest criminals on either side of the Thames, thanks in large part toCorrigan’s uncanny ability to place himself inside the mind of a predator.
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But he just can’t get a read on this new case. Four-year-old George Bridgemanwent to sleep in his bedroom in a leafy London suburb . . . and wasn’t there in the morning. No tripped alarms. No broken windows. No sign of forced entry or struggle.
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As his investigation zeroes in on a suspect, Corrigan’s gut tells him it doesn’t addup. Then another child is taken. Now someone’s toying with Corrigan. And thegame is about to turn deadly.
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The Toy Taker is available for order at  
HarperCollins
amazon
BN
kobo
google play

 

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The Toy Taker Chapter 1:

 

The street was quiet, empty of the noise of living people, with only the sound of a million leaves hissing in the strong breeze that intensified as it blew in over Hampstead Heath in north-west London. Smart Georgian houses lined either side of the deserted Courthope Road, all gently washed in the pale yellow of the streetlights, their warming appearance giving lie to the increasingly bitter cold that late autumn brought with it. Some of the shallow porches added their own light to the yellow, left on by security-conscious occupiers and those too exhausted to remember to switch them off before heading for bed. But these were the homes of London’s affluent, who had little to fear from the streets outside—the hugely inflated house prices ensuring the entire area was a sanctuary for the rich and privileged. Constant highly visible police patrols, private security firms, and state-of-the-art burglar alarms meant the people within slept soundly and contentedly.

His gloved fingers worked quickly and nimbly as he crouched by the front door, the small, powerful torch—the type used by spelunkers, strapped to his forehead by an elasticized band—provided him with more than enough light to see inside the locks on the door: two deadlocks, top and bottom, and a combined deadlock and latch in the center. His warm breath turned to plumes of mist that swirled in the tubular light of the torch before disappearing into the night, making way for the next calmly expelled breath. He’d already unlocked the top and bottom deadlocks easily enough—a thousand hours of practice making the task simple—but the center locks were new and more sophisticated. Still he remained totally calm as he gently and precisely worked the two miniature tools together, each of which looked similar to the type of instruments a dentist would use—the thin wrench with its slightly hooked end holding the first of the lock’s pins down as the pick silently slid quickly back and forth until eventually it aligned all the pins in the barrel of the lock and it clicked open. It was a tiny sound, but one that in the emptiness of the street made him freeze, holding his breath as he waited for any reaction in the night that surrounded him. When his lungs began to burn he exhaled the dead air, taking a second to look at his watch. It was just gone 3 a.m. The family inside would be in the deepest part of their sleep—at their least likely to react to any slight sound or change in the atmosphere.

He inserted the slim hook wrench into the last remaining lock and once more slid the pick through the lock’s barrel until within only a few seconds he felt the pins drop into their holes and allow him to turn the barrel and open the lock, the door falling open just a few millimeters. He replaced the tools in their suede case along with the other dozen or so lock-picking items, rolled it up and put it into the small plastic sports holdall he’d brought with him. He added the head-torch, then paused for a second before taking out the item that he knew was so precious to the little boy who waited inside—the one thing that would virtually guarantee the boy’s cooperation—even his happiness.

He eased the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him and silently returning the latch to its locked position. He waited for the sounds of an intruder alarm to begin its countdown to the wailing of sirens, but there was none, just as he all but knew there wouldn’t be.

The house was warm inside, the cold of outside quickly fading in his mind as he stepped deeper into the family’s home, heading for the staircase, his way lit by the street light pouring through the windows. Their curtains had been left open and lights strategically left on in case little feet went wandering in the night. He felt safe in the house, almost like a child himself once more—no longer alone and unloved. As he walked slowly toward the stairs that would lead him to the boy, he noted the order of the things within—neat and tidy, everything in its place except for the occasional toy on the hallway floor, abandoned by the children of the house and left by parents too tired to care anymore. He breathed in the smells of the family—the food they had had for dinner mixing with the mother’s perfume and bathtime creams and soaps, air fresheners and polish.

He listened to the sounds of the house—the bubbling of a fish-tank filter coming from the children’s playroom and the ticking of electronic devices that seemed to inhabit every modern family’s home, accompanied by blinking green and red lights. All the time he thought of the parents rushing the children to their beds, too preoccupied with making it to that first glass of wine to even read them a bedtime story or stroke their hair until sleep took them. Parents who had children as a matter of course—to keep them as possessions and a sign of wealth, mere extensions of the expensive houses they lived in and exotic cars they drove. Children they would educate privately as another show of wealth and influence—bought educations that minimized the need for parental input while guaranteeing they never had to step out of their own social confines—even at the school gate.

More discarded toys lay on the occasional step as he began to climb toward the boy’s room, careful not to step on the floorboards that he already knew would creak, his gloved hands carrying the bag and the thing so precious to the boy. His footsteps were silent on the carpet as he glided past the parents’ bedroom on the first floor, the door almost wide open in case of a child in distress. He could sense only the mother in the room—no odors or sounds of a man. He left her sleeping in the semidarkness and climbed the next flight of stairs to where the children slept—George and his older sister Sophia, each in their own bedrooms. If they hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be here.

He reached the second-floor landing and stood still for a few seconds, looking above to the third floor, where he knew the guest bedrooms were, listening for any faint sounds of life, unsure whether the family had a late-arriving guest staying. He only moved forward along the hallway when he was sure the floor above held nothing but emptiness.

Pink and blue light from the children’s night-lights seeped through their partially opened doors—the blueness guiding him toward George, his grip on the special thing tightening. He was only seconds away from what he’d come for. He passed the girl’s room without looking inside and moved slowly, carefully, silently to the boy’s room, easing the door open, knowing the hinges wouldn’t make a noise. He crossed the room to the boy’s bed, which was pushed up under the window, momentarily stopping to look around at the blue wallpaper with white clouds, periodically broken up by childish paintings in the boy’s own hand; the mobile of trains with smiling faces above the boy’s head, and the seemingly dozens of teddy bears of all kinds spread across his bed and beyond. He felt both tears of joy and sadness rising from deep inside himself and swelling behind his eyes, but he knew he had to do what he’d come to do: a greater power than he or any man had guided him this far and would protect him the rest of the way.

He knelt next to the boy’s bed and placed the bag on the floor, his face only inches away from the child’s, their breath intertwining in the space between them and becoming one as he gently began to whisper. “George . . . sssh . . . George.” The boy stirred under his duvet, his slight four-year- old body wriggling as it fought to stay asleep. “George . . . sssh . . . open your eyes, George. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I have something for you, George. Something very precious.” The boy rolled over slowly, blinking sleep from his narrow eyes—eyes that suddenly grew large with excitement and confusion, a smile spreading across his face, his green eyes sparkling with joy as he saw what the man had brought him—reaching out for the precious gift as the man’s still gloved hand stroked his straight blond hair. “Do you want to come to a magic place with me, George? A special place with special things?” he whispered. “If you do, we need to go now and we need to be very, very quiet. Do you understand?” he asked, smiling.

“A magic place?” the boy asked, yawning and stretching in his pale blue pajamas, making the pictures of dinosaurs printed on them come to life.

“Yes,” the man assured him. “A place just for the best, nicest children to see.”

“Do we have to go now?” the boy asked.

“Yes, George,” the man told him, taking him by the hand and lifting his bag at the same time. “We have to go now. We have to go right now.”

~~~~~

About Author Luke Delaney

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Luke Delaney joined the Metropolitan Police Service in the late 1980s and his first posting was to an inner city area of South East London notorious for high levels of crime and extreme violence. He later joined CID where he investigated murders ranging from those committed by fledgling serial killers to ganglandassassinations…
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For More Information
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Visit Luke’s website.
Connect with Luke
Social-Network-Facebook Social-Network-Twitter

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Until the next time….

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

Shaytan banner new

Title: Shaytan: A Journey Into Evil
Author: David S. Arthur
Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
Pages: 395
Genre: Adventure/Thriller

Shaytan 3

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My Review

Here’s the plot. The year is 1947.  Richard and Emily Quizzenbury are on an expedition in India and accept an invitation to stay with their good friend, Victor Bloodworth, for a week before venturing on.

Upon their arrival in Bombay, they are greeted by a very excited Victor. It seems there is a man-eating leopard attacking Gohatti villagers in Timarni, located deep in the dense forests and mountains, and they’ve requested his help. He invites them to come along, figuring it will be a quick hunt and kill.

That’s how it sounded, but that’s not how it was.

I loved how this story was told. You’ll read this as journal entries from Richard, Emily, and Victor. They each wrote about what was happening and shared their thoughts. This made it very easy to understand their actions.

The research for this book must have been immense as the author delves into historical facts and religious beliefs for the different areas.

The characters do, as they say, wax philosophical, and each contributes their own knowledge and beliefs, leading to many late night discussions with a good nip of brandy or gin. They don’t always agree and I also enjoyed the subtle disdain when one didn’t agree with the other.

As for the man-eating leopard. He’s very much a part of the story. Victor scoffs at the villagers and their belief that it’s Shaytan, a man by day and a leopard by night. As the killer repeatedly slips through his traps and drags off more victims, he becomes more determined to kill the beast and show them it’s just an animal.

The leopard isn’t playing by the rules and continues to elude it’s death. The bodies pile up, villagers barricade themselves in their huts at night, and the beast huffs and puffs, trying to get in.

This is where the thrills and chills got me. That leopard was evil with four feet. It eluded every trap and slipped through every barricade. I was reminded of the movie, Ghost and the Darkness.  The creature seemed to take on a mythical, supernatural ability, as it continued to steal lives.

A couple of scenes had my heart skipping and the tension was agonizing and exciting.

Another scene that gave me the willies was an encounter Victor had with a huge cobra. It’s safe to say, I wouldn’t have survived that encounter. Whether I died from it’s bite or from sheer terror.

So visually written I could feel the humidity, smell the rotting vegetation of the woods, and hear the leopard at the door, I was so thoroughly entertained that I went to bed late and got up early to finish this book.

Categorized as an adventure/thriller, if you don’t read this genre, I recommend you step out of your box and give it a go. A most excellent journey.

5 Stars

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India – 1947. In the heart of the jungle, death stalks the night. The authorities claim it is a man-eating leopard. The natives believe it is something far more terrifying—a creature that by day wears the skin of a man, but when craving human flesh becomes the demon…SHAYTAN! While on expedition to India, historical sleuth Richard Quizzenbury and his wife, Emily, suddenly find themselves on the hunt for a killer.

For his action-packed new thriller, SHAYTAN–A JOURNEY INTO EVIL, Santa Fe novelist David S. Arthur combines adventure, mysticism, and history to transport his readers into a world in which time marches to the pulse of the cosmos; where the spiritual and the supernatural merge and reality shares equal footing with illusion.

Fans of SHAYTAN–A JOURNEY INTO EVIL are already expressing excitement and fascination for the new book, among them Tom Wright, prominent American film and television director (NCIS, Supernatural, Castle). “Man you really get into it! The cobra scene scared the @#$% out of me. This is Spielberg on steroids.”

Seeking relief from the devastation of post-war Britain, Richard and Emily Quizzenbury embark on a tour of India. They plan to initially spend a week in Bombay with Richard’s old Oxford chum, Victor Bloodworth, after which they will satisfy their appetite for adventure by exploring historical sites throughout the Indian subcontinent.

On their first night in Bombay, Victor informs the Quizzenburys that he has been asked to undertake the hunt for a man-eating leopard that has been terrorizing the inhabitants in a remote
area of the Indian Central Provinces. Victor is the illegitimate son of a wealthy Englishman, now deceased, who was by trade a legendary big game hunter. While Victor has long since rejected his father’s brutal profession, he is himself a skilled hunter and reveals his intent to help the people who are being threatened by the leopard. Although the villagers of the region believe the man-eater is a demon that they call Shaytan, Victor is convinced the leopard is actually being forced to prey on humans due to injury or old age. He wants to capture the animal alive and relocate it to a zoo for scientific study.

Quite unexpectedly, Victor invites the Quizzenburys to accompany him on the hunt, explaining that his uncle and spiritual mentor, Ashok Kahn of the Forest Guard, will join them as an expert Shikari guide. The Quizzenburys reluctantly agree, hoping Victor will be able to capture the beast as quickly as he anticipates, so they can be free to pursue their travels. However, the hunt for the leopard soon escalates into a terrifying struggle for survival during which many innocent lives are lost, as the hunters – and the Quizzenburys – become the hunted.

Shaytan is far more than just a jungle adventure,” Arthur insists. “It is about the ageless conflict between good and evil, the ruthless march of empires, the rise of the world’s great religions, the discovery of the New World, the laying of this century’s geo-political foundations, and the establishment of hostilities that are today’s headlines. And India was the epicenter of it all.”

According to Arthur, for Richard Quizzenbury – who is never without his books – the expedition becomes a quest for truth, which is his passion – the truth about history and religion and science – the truth behind our darkest nature as a species and our most primal fears and beliefs.

“For Victor it is far more personal,” Arthur explains. “Victor is half English, half Indian – with a Hindu background. He is haunted by the memory of his mother’s murder when he was a child, his father’s apathy toward him growing up, his bi-racial heritage and his uncertainty about his faith. His Uncle Ashok’s presence brings these conflicts to the fore.

Through their daily prayers and rituals invoking the ancient gods to guide and assist them, Victor’s search for personal redemption transcends the hunt; plunging him into the arcane realm of Vedic (Hindu) mysticism, in which the Hindu deities play a deciding hand in his life or death battle against the beast.

As a writer, Arthur enjoys peeling back the layers of history, digging up the past, searching for answers to ancient riddles. “My intention is to entertain by taking my readers to exotic places they may never go and revealing things they might never know. In short, I write for the thrill of discovery, and I want my readers to share that experience.”

For More Information

  • Shaytan: A Journey Into Evil is available at Amazon.
  • Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

 Enjoy the Excerpt!

I am at present in hospital at Timarni Station in the Harda District of the Indian Central Provinces. I am recovering from certain unexplained maladies sustained during our hunting expedition to Gohatti Village and neighboring jungle environs. Although physically weakened, thankfully I have suffered no permanent damage. I am in sound condition and my mental faculties are now fully restored.

During the five weeks I pursued the Gohatti man-eater, six innocent victims met their fate in the jaws of this killer, including my own dear uncle, Ashok Kahn of the Central Provinces Forest Guard. There are those who may argue that my contest with this leopard was a battle between the forces of good and evil. Many have called this beast Shaytan, meaning demon. However, there is nothing to imply the Gohatti man-eater was anything other than a jungle beast doing its best to survive. Why it had developed a preference for human flesh, we shall probably never know.

The evening of my confrontation with the man-eater, I was seated motionless in the forest near a village called Nandwa, with my back against the base of a giant teakwood tree, waiting for the leopard. In front of me was a freshwater pool surrounded by a mature bamboo grove. Thorn barriers had been constructed around me, offering some scant protection. Above me in the tree on a machan, Richard Quizzenbury, my hunting companion, was guarding my back.

We sat patiently while the sun faded and the stars emerged one by one, glistening through the treetops. Algol the Demon Star was just appearing over the mountains and the moon was barely a crescent. Save for this and the light of the stars, we were soon surrounded by complete and utter darkness. My ears were to be my only defense. Should the man-eater come—and I had no doubt that it would come—its attack would be instant and unexpected—as would be my death if my attention flagged. While waiting and listening for the arrival of my adversary, I repeated a charm often recited by my uncle. From all that flies, from all that crawls, from all that prowls the mountain, oh night, protect us.

From all that crawls, indeed. From all that slithers.

I heard the great snake well before I felt its horrible weight against my leg. By the extent of its glide, I had a sense of its length; by the rustle of its passage, an appreciation for its girth. To my horror, I realized that the King of Cobras had come calling. All of my plans suddenly came undone. In my strategy to kill the leopard, I feared that my greatest vulnerability would be the loss of hearing due to wind or rain. Now the very unmistakable sound of the enormous reptile’s approach sent a shudder through every muscle in my body.

The cautious touch of its muzzle against my thigh brought a nearly overwhelming urge to recoil, but I knew the slightest twitch would bring certain and agonizing death. In each hand, I gripped the stock of a rifle. Under such circumstances, they were useless. Cobras hunt by sense of smell, and I had no doubt it could detect my scent; even more so, my fear. While I sat rigid with terror, it probed the space between my legs with its deadly snout, working methodically closer and closer to my groin, inching its heavy body back and forth across my legs with each sweep of its venomous head. I imagined its tongue lapping the air, sampling the sweet smell of its prey and perhaps wondering what manner of creature it had ensnared in its deadly strike zone. I was not something cold and scaled; not some smaller serpent, its habitual feast. I was something much larger and warmer, exuding a peculiar odor from every pore, saturating myself with an alien scent to which the terrible viper was unaccustomed.

At my waist, the cobra suddenly reared upright, its head rising well above me in the moonlight. The great hood was fanned as wide as my two hands. Sensing danger, it opened its mouth and hissed, emitting a foul stench past its lethal fangs. I clenched my eyes, anticipating the spray of its venom, enough to kill a man. But it did not spray, and I braced for the bite. But the bite did not come. I could hear its breathing close before me, slow and purposeful, calming like a mantra.

Breathing in and breathing out. Just like a mantra.

And our breathing became as one, the cobra and I. Breathing in together. Breathing out together. Together we invoked the rhythm that is the vibration of all living things, the perpetual mantra of existence, the breath of the cosmos—the supreme resonance of the Om.

And I concentrated on the Om in order to steel myself. Om, the absolute reality—without beginning without end. Adi Anadi. Embracing all that is. Beyond limit, undeniable, transcendental, indestructible, the wholeness of eternity, the echo of the Brahman.

I opened my eyes to find the terrible reptile looming over me, watching, breathing, swaying side to side, to and fro, hypnotically, its majestic hood expanding and contracting in perfect tempo with our breathing, no longer threatened, no longer threatening. Above its broad head hung the crescent moon, haloing its royal crown with an unearthly aura, casting its shadow full across me. And I prayed to the gods, an ancient charm.

Let not the serpent slay me, O Gods. Reverence be paid to the demon brood! I close together fangs with fang, I close together jaws with jaw. I close together tongue with tongue, I close together mouth with mouth.

Whether or not in answer to my invocation, slowly, imperceptibly, the viper leaned forward, and I prepared myself for the sting. But it did not sting. Rather to my absolute and indescribable horror, it wrapped itself slowly around my neck, not once but three times. Like the serpent on the shoulders of Lord Shiva, it came to rest with its weight full upon me. Its head was erect next to mine, just beside my cheek. I could hear it breathing, and I breathed with it.

Bound in those dreadful coils, I was gripped by the certainty of Samsara, of the soul traveling from one lifetime to the next. Like a man whose death has already come, I felt myself released from my physical bonds into a realm where heaven and earth, reality and nonreality, flowed without form or substance in a never-ending stream of unconscious awareness. Then I whispered the Shiva mantra, Maha Mrityunjaya, the call for deliverance.

O praise to the Three-Eyed One, who increases prosperity, who has a sweet fragrance, who frees the world from all disease and death—liberate me, as the cucumber is easily severed from the vine. O Shiva, grant me immortality!

And I thought of the amulet around my neck—not the bauble given me by a sadhu mystic, but the scaled one, Vasuki the lord of serpents, wound thereabout three times, breathing in my ear, poised to strike its deadly blow; and I heard the words for protection the sadhu had offered me.

Upon the strong is bound the strong, this magic cord, this amulet. This charm, foe-slayer, served by many heroes, strong, powerful, victorious, and mighty, goes bravely forth to meet and ruin witchcraft.

Again, I smelled the breath of the serpent king. I felt a sharp prick upon my cheek, and I sensed its departure from around my neck. And I watched in a daze, as my vision grew dim.

Then, in the void, two red eyes appeared, as red as flame, eyes like fire. And I heard the roaring of the beast, and I fired my guns.

This is what I remember of that night when I stared into the eyes of death. Of these things I can be certain—of these things only.

Maya’s web of illusions is still spinning.

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Author David S. Arthur

David Arthur

David S. Arthur is an American novelist with a taste for international adventure and ancient history. THE KINGDOM OF KEFTIU: A MYSTERY OF THE ANCIENT WORLD was David’s first book to feature English historical sleuth, Richard Quizzenbury and his feisty wife, Emily. It is an archaeological adventure set in the Greek islands. His new novel, SHAYTAN–A JOURNEY INTO EVIL, continues the Quizzenbury Adventure series. Before focusing on fiction writing, David enjoyed a long and rewarding career as a writer, producer, and director of hundreds of film and digital video presentations, theatrical performances, concerts, and large scale audience events. David currently lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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