Night's Favour #Excerpt by Richard Parry - #GoodReads #Action #Fantasy

Val felt like he’d been hit by a car.

Curling over the bowl, he retched again, hands shaking.  He didn’t remember waking up; he didn’t remember getting home, or what might have happened after his tenth beer last night.  He hoped it was only a night — he had a big meeting with the boss this morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost days of time down the bottom of a bottle.

“Get your shit together, Val.”  He spat into the bowl, bracing himself on the edge of the porcelain.  Standing up shakily, he felt the nausea rise and curled back over, retching again.  He failed to get his tie out of the way this time, and it came back out of the bowl covered in —

How in God’s name was he wearing a tie?  He didn’t even have any pants.

He tried standing again, this time managing to get to his feet.  Holding himself up on the walls of the toilet, he controlled the shuddering, awful urge to throw up.  He spat into the bowl again then hit the flush button.

Slowly — and quietly — he made his way out of the toilet and into the bathroom.  He caught a glimpse of stubble in the mirror on the wall and felt confident it was only a night gone.  Maybe if he could just get in to the office before nine — God, what time is it now? — it’d be ok.

He pulled back the mirror, his fleshy reflection pushed aside as he exposed a collection of white bottles set against a backdrop of tired cardboard boxes, tubes of expired ointment, and half-empty boxes of Band-Aids.  The bulk box of store-brand acetaminophen came away disturbingly light — I bought that just last week — and he tossed the empty hundred box to the ground, hand trembling towards the Pentazine.  Expensive gold, he dry-swallowed four of the tabs.  Motion sickness be damned; the drug would take the edge off wanting to throw up his feet.  He chased it with some ibuprofen, a generic brand in a white box of fifty.

He started up a good lather to get rid of the stubble.  It was then he noticed that his left arm’s shirt sleeve was missing, ripped off by the looks of it.  The shirt wasn’t in great shape overall; it had that creaseless arrogance that only came with being rained on.  The sleeve was missing from the elbow down, give or take, the frayed end of a blue thread trailing to wrist level.  He’d been lying in a pool of good Merlot unless he missed his guess, the sleeve and side of the shirt a gentle pink.  The thought of Merlot almost made him heave the pills back up, so he stripped off the shirt and let it drop to the floor alongside the empty box.  If he just left all that crap there Baitan would sort it out later.

His belly wasn’t an admirable sight, the booze and the desk job leaving their toll, the flab hanging out over his underwear.  John kept nagging him like an old woman, saying he needed to get back to the gym, do some exercise.  There was time for that later — it was important to get more drugs, and maybe shave, if he was going to get to work today.

Focus, Val.

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?

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Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy

Rating – R16

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Website http://www.rage.net.nz

#Action #Excerpt from The King of Sunday Morning by J.B. McCauley @MccauleyJay

Dusty

She sat under the shade of a very old tree. Its branches stretched out overhead like a network of broken fingers. She let the strange music wash over her. The tree stood to the left of the dry, dusty square. To the side of her sat trestle tables decked with exotic fruits and pastries. A goat kid was being roasted on a spit, the carcass continually turned by a boy enveloped in a traditional white gown. He had a small white hat atop his head and was obviously concentrating on his task as the smoke stung his eyes.

On the other side of the square, a group of boys, also in traditional dress, were running around after a half deflated football. The square was surrounded on all sides by dilapidated mud brick dwellings. They were crumbling at the edges but were the homes for large extended families. As she looked up on to the surrounding hills, she could see herds of goats being cared for by more small children. She knew if the music hadn’t been there, that she would be able to hear their distant bells as the animals searched for their sporadic feed.

Fatima was with Ali. In traditional bridal wear, face covered to protect the men from her beauty, she danced with joy. The women warbled their joyous cries and the men slapped each other on the back as the great day began to turn into night. She watched her friend. She didn’t really quite understand how she could go from an educated woman to this subservient bride but she was happy for her. Ali was a good man and most of all, they loved each other.

She had always intended to come here, even though she knew that at some point she would become melancholic. This was her friends’ day after all. But things like this were a constant reminder of what she had lost.

Her mind wandered as the dancers moved in faster and faster circles, whirling around at fever pitch. She was hiding here. She knew it. Hiding from the world that had caused her so much pain. There was danger here for sure but that gave her a thrill. She felt alive here.

After the funeral, she had gone home completely devastated. Jimmy had told her that Tray was married. How could he? She had always assumed that Tray would wait for her. But in reality, how could he?

She had been away from him for three years. He wasn’t able to talk to her. It was too dangerous for him, her and her Dad. She had always believed that one day they would be together but Tray had read the situation different.

She knew that Sam had come back a supposed cripple. Word was that he would never walk again. Poor Betty. Her family had been decimated because of Tray’s mistake and he knew it would haunt her until her dying days.

Jo had not got in contact with the family. She couldn’t put Tray in that sort of danger. They couldn’t
have anyone make the connection. That had hurt her but they had their own problems. Apparently it had taken a good couple of years for Sam to come good. In that time he had met a nurse who had cared for him. He worked in the family business so that Jimmy could keep an eye on him.

She never heard anything much about him. He didn’t go out. He didn’t mix in any of the old circles. She had driven past the shop a couple of times and saw him seated next to the washing machines and ovens outside. How she wished she had the guts to rush out of the car and ask him what had happened to Tray.

But she kept her word. She hadn’t seen Jimmy and Sam again until that day at the cemetery. Sam had looked embarrassed when he saw her. There was genuine grief in both the men’s hearts and there was something else. She didn’t see it then but after, in the confines of her little flat, she recognised it as guilt.

That evening, as she had sat all alone with just a bottle of merlot for company, she went through the old job offers she had received. She poured over them, concentrating on the ones that were furthest away. The next day she would see if they had anything for her. It was time that Jo Flint took control of her life.

But she hadn’t really. Everywhere she went, every man she met, reminded her of him. She just hadn’t found anyone who matched his heart. It was causing her some concern. She hoped she wasn’t going to end up an old maid. She wondered what he was doing now. If he had kids. What kind of man he had become? Was he still the best man she had ever known?

She sipped the grape juice in her hand and closed her eyes. A stiff evening breeze coming down from the mountains was replacing the dwindling sun. She shivered a little and began to doze off.
She woke with a start as a hand grabbed her shoulder. It was Fatima. Her eyes the only visible part of her face that Jo could see.

“So Jo Flint! You like Afghanistan now?”

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Genre – Thriller, Action, Suspense, Gangster, Crime, Music

Rating – PG-18

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Peter Simmons and the Vessel of Time by Ramz Artso @RamzArtso #SciFi #YA #AmReading

Peter Simmons thinks he is an ordinary boy, before he is abducted by a man with certain special abilities, learns of his inescapable destiny, befriends immortals and becomes famous wordlwide. Why? Because Peter Simmons is mankind’s last hope for survival.

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Genre – Young-adult, Action and Adventure, Coming of Age, Sci-fi

Rating – PG-13

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Website http://ramzartso.blogspot.com/

The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo by Holy Ghost Writer @SultanofSalem #Excerpt #Action

The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo: Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Holy Ghost Writer

The next morning, Raymee awakens to her husband’s pain-filled groans.

“OHHHH! What has happened to me?!” he yells as he pulls the bedsheets off of his body. Every movement is agony to him. Staring down, he sees where he is bandaged, blood oozing through the gauze. His heart begins to race, and his eyes are wild with fear.

“My dear husband,” Raymee purrs. “What is wrong?”

He lifts the bandage, almost swooning with the pain, and says in a weak voice, “I have been castrated! Who would do this to me?” He is in shock, the pain and the confusion numbing his emotions.

“Perhaps it was Dr. Omar, taking revenge on you. I had too much wine and fell asleep so quickly after we made love,” Raymee offers, playing dumb. She blushes at that, trying to appear maidenly. “I feel though, with a woman’s intuition, our night of love has left me with a baby. Of that we can be thankful. There will indeed be an heir to the throne of Mecca!”

Her husband, now a fallen man, has no reason to doubt his virginal bride. She confines him to the harem with her cousin, and while the Caliph makes very few public appearances, he spends much time plotting his revenge against Dr. Omar. The people are at first confused over his sudden seclusion, but after a few weeks, the truth is spread over the oasis. Most feel that Raymee has something to do with it because of her past performances, yet no one dares confront her, as they suspect her to be capable of any amount of violence.

The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo is a continuation of The Count of Monte Cristo (Book I), related through the voice of Sherlock Holmes and The Sultan of Monte Cristo (Book II). It includes exhilarating new adventures, characters, and ideas, carrying the reader past book I and II and into book III of an ever-expanding new series based on the classic.

Those who have already had the pleasure of reading The Sultan of Monte Cristo will certainly appreciate the unique way in which the Holy Ghost Writer has expanded the original story without the help of anyone (except perhaps from the ghosts of Dumas and Doyle).

In addition to comprising a 3rd sequel to The Count of Monte Cristo, The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo serves as a prequel to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

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Genre – Action, Adventure

Rating – PG-15

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Website http://holyghostwriterbooks.blogspot.ca/

Lazar’s Mission by Kevin Sterling @ksterlingwriter #Excerpt #Mystery #Suspense

Excerpt from Chapter Four

It was eleven fifteen, and there was no sign of Melati. She could have been late for a number of reasons, or a complete no-show for that matter, and Jack hoped it was the former. No doubt, fraternizing with the passengers was forbidden, or at least frowned upon. So the question was whether she had been sufficiently lured by Jack’s charm to break the rules. His stomach was in knots from the anticipation of seeing her, and he paced the floor of his suite like a caged animal.

Part of him was over-the-top excited to see her, play with her. But a voice of reason in the depths of his consciousness couldn’t help but speculate whether he was getting himself into trouble again. He just couldn’t see how.

Perhaps Jack was just channeling his Eastern mentor, Tasagi, who had not only been his private jujitsu and karate instructor for several years now, but over time had become a valuable spiritual guide as well. According to Tasagi, Jack was bringing dangerous situations to himself through a process called the Law of Attraction, and it was tied to his internal belief system. That meant Jack consciously believed he had chosen to involve himself with certain people or situations because of their reasonable appearance on the surface, whereas in reality his energy had attracted an underlying issue or conflict, and he didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

The problem was that Tasagi had him questioning everything now, including sweet Balinese girls, and he knew he had finally taken it too far. He knew there was nothing at all wrong with Melati, and he prayed he would soon hear her knock on the door.

In the meantime, he forced himself to stop pacing, and he reclined on the couch with a bottle of water to hydrate himself for what he hoped to be a spirited night.

To get more comfortable, he had changed into a loose-fitting pair of white drawstring linen pants with an aquamarine linen shirt and brown woven leather loafers sans the socks. After all, the ship was traversing the Mediterranean Sea toward the north coast of Africa, so an outfit leaning toward the tropical seemed most fitting.

Also, despite his earlier wine-opening announcement of eleven o’clock, he chose to uncork the bottle of Caymus Special Selection Napa Cab at ten and empty it into a decanter to let it breathe. The wine steward had thoughtfully included a pair of Spiegelau vinovino Cabernet wineglasses, and Jack knew the large, appellation-designed bowls would let the wine open up to its full potential.

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Genre – Action, Mystery, Suspense

Rating – R

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