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Eleven Rooms. Ten Bodies. One Empty Grave.
When Brandon Fisher joined the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, he knew he’d come up against psychopaths, sociopaths, pathological liars, and more. But when his first case takes him and the team to Salt Lick, Kentucky, to hunt down a ritualistic serial killer, he learns what nightmares are truly made of.
Beneath a residential property, local law enforcement discovered an underground bunker with circular graves that house the remains of ten victims. But that’s not all: there’s an empty eleventh grave, just waiting for a corpse. The killing clearly hasn’t come to an end yet, and with the property owner already behind bars, Brandon is certain there’s an apprentice who roams free.
As the FBI follows the evidence across the United States, Brandon starts to struggle with the deranged nature of his job description. And if the case itself isn’t going to be enough to push Brandon over the edge, he’s working in the shadow of Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper, who expects nothing short of perfection from his team. To make matters even worse, it seems Brandon has become the target of a psychotic serial killer who wants to make him—or his wife—victim number eleven.
This book is Free Today. Get it Here
Also in my Kindle this month is Relax and Let Go.
This Book Will Help You To:
- Experience peace in situations that used to be filled with anxiety and stress
Embrace uncertainty instead of searching for perfect solutions
Focus on new opportunities—not on your fear of failure
Identify productive and unproductive worry
Lose the sense of lack in your life, and live with a sense of a completeness
- Little known secrets to reduce your stress that most experts don’t know
As well as:
- Experience the freedom to act how you feel without worrying about others’ opinions
- Put an end to your feelings of unworthiness and insecurity
- Enjoy less arguments and jealousy in your relationships with others
- Live in the moment or live the power of now
- Experience the fulfillment you have been searching for.
Get the book here.
.Share with us your thoughts on this FBI Thriller or the Self-Help Book.
The Office Wife, April 5, 2017, Issue 4, Olivia Gaines
Roger McLamore – Sales
Greasy, cheesy and bordering on sleazy, those were all the words to describe Roger McLamore, a board member who represented the sales division. A throwback of a dinosaur to the golden age of potbellied salesmen who smoked too much, drank even more and had a deal you couldn’t afford to pass up, epitomized the conundrum who was Roger. All of that pushed to the side, McLamore, as he preferred to be called, was great at this job. So great in fact, he was lead salesman ten years in a row, responsible for the growth in sales and stabilization of the Southwest region and once he became a member of the board, stabilized sales across the Americas. Roger accomplished the stabilization his first nine months in his board chair. A huge feat which had never before been accomplished.
Roger McLamore had a great deal of clout. No one took him seriously until they looked at his pedigree. A graduate of Harvard School of Business, he also held an MBA in International Business from Yale that made Roger look fantastic on paper. In person, he looked more like an out of work used car salesman who would throw in a side of snake oil for those lonely nights of singledom.
Roger loved his leisure suits with the wide collars, open button down shirts which revealed too much chest hair which hid a gold cross in the hairy forest he fondly named his love mat.
“Girl, I know that little Jesus on that cross is probably shuddering while entangled every day in all that thick black nasty hair,” Taneeka said under her breath.
“You need to quit it,” Vicki said with a slight smile as she held the phone.
“No, you need to quit it. Speaking of nasty hair, I saw you come back yesterday from your lunch with Manigault. How does it feel to be someone’s beard?” It was a loaded question that Vicki knew Taneeka was throwing out there to get some type of feedback on her second “lunch date” with Manigault. As she told the very staunch, conservative man last month, she could keep a secret, even if it was from her new office BFF.
“Beard? Taneeka, he is a very classy, aristocratic man. He is not going to come right out and ask me to be his side piece or any piece for that matter,” she said truthfully.
“So what does a man like that do to let a woman know he wants you as something permanent in his life?”
Vicki looked down at their hand. She was still wearing the diamond ring Manigault had given her as a birthday present last month. It was a special ring that he’d instructed her to wear on their special lunch dates. Last month, she pretended to be an air head at their luncheon, since that is what most people expected him to have on his arm. Yesterday at lunch, she opted to be more of herself, have a conversation with him about the art exhibit she’d seen over the weekend at the Getty. This morning she walked in to find a new painting hanging behind her desk.
“A man like that shows his interest and appreciation by giving the woman in his life gifts that only she would find priceless,” she told Taneeka.
“Yeah, with as much money he has, he could easily do priceless,” she said to her. “Speaking of priceless, did you hear that Kelson, is actually making some headway with his family as Chairman of the Board?”
“You have a segue for every topic, don’t you?”
“Yes, and you have avoided two direct questions from me, Vicki,” she said with some attitude.
“Your job is to procure resources for American Conglomerate. I am not a source for you to procure information Ms. James,” she said softly. “To constantly ask me such questions about our co-workers and my boss is crossing the line.”
As much as Vicki enjoyed having a friend at the office, she didn’t want nor did she need a person who was constantly asking personal questions about her co-workers. It wasn’t cool.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Taneeka responded.
“Is there anything else I can assist you with today Ms. James?” Vicki’s voice took on a very formal tone snapping Taneeka back across the unseen line she’d inadvertently crossed.
“No, Vicki, I think we are very clear,” Taneeka responded.
“Have a wonderful day,” she said hanging up the line. Her new office pal asked one too many questions for her comfort. Friendship was one thing, her job was another. I need my job. I have enough friends.
Looking over her shoulder, she stared at the painting above her desk. On the high end, it cost no more than five grand, on the low end, it may have cost a thousand dollars, but in her mind, it was worth a million. As careful as she was being with her words with Taneeka, she needed to learn to do the same with Manigault. She’d only mentioned enjoying the artist’s work, she never thought he would buy her a painting. He was a sweet man. She liked him a great deal and respected him. Whether he was living an alternative lifestyle or not, it wasn’t her business. She only needed to meet him where he stood and accept him for who he was.
This ideology was tested the moment she went to the breakroom. Happy go lucky Roger McLamore was not so happy. As a matter of noticing the staccato movements of his body, she picked up on something being terribly wrong with the best in the biz, as he also liked to call himself.
“Roger, can you come over to Mr. Kelson’s office please?” She asked as soon Marjorie Hellman entered the breakroom.
Roger stood, put on a good face, gave Marjorie the old two index finger double tongue click, gotcha in my crosshairs action, smiling, and walked past her to Kelson’s office. Herman was out of the office for the rest of the afternoon which gave her some privacy with Roger.
“What’s wrong Mr. McLamore?” Vicki asked.
“Nothing, little lady. It’s nice of you to ask, but the Roger is just fine,” he said to Vicki.
“Try that again with someone who can’t see the sadness in your eyes. Mr. McLamore, life is hard. It’s even harder when you have no one to talk to about the heaviest burdens in life,” Vicki said gently.
It happened so fast, Vicki had to blink twice as Roger dropped his head into his hands. His nicotine stained fingers running through the thin sparse hair on the top of his head. The pudgy middle of his body began to waffle as tears seeped from his eyes down his face.
“She has cancer. My Lola has the cancer. She is my everything you know?” He told Vicki.
Vicki didn’t know. As a matter of fact, she didn’t know anything about Roger other than to avoid him. Lola. Who is Lola? Dog? Mother?
“I understand Mr. McLamore. Do you know what kind of cancer?”
“Breast cancer. Her mother had it, and she died. I just can’t lose her. We met in college. She saw past my gruffness and loved me. We went to grad school together and she even packed her suitcase and followed me to Texas when we finished at Yale,” he said to Vicki. “We don’t have no kids, but all we have is each other. I don’t know what I am going to do.”
Vicki took a seat next to him.
“The first thing we are going to do is clear your calendar. Next you are going to go home to be with your Lola. Call me later today to let me know how she is doing, then in the morning, you let me know whether or not you are coming back in the office tomorrow,” she said pulling him to his feet.
“That sounds great but I have work to do and Kelson hasn’t given me the okay to just take some personal time,” Roger said. “I have a division to oversee.”
“Your Lola has cancer. You can take a few days to be home and this place will not fall apart. Now, go. Get out of here,” she told him.
He was reluctant.
“Mr. McLamore, life is too short to spend it behind a desk, especially when someone you love is undergoing a terrible life change. It is a change that is going to impact you both. However, if you feel your time is better spent here than at her side, then stay,” Vicki said.
Roger wiped his reddened eyes, nodded that big ole head of his and headed for the door.
Kelson returned that afternoon unexpected. He stopped at Vicki’s desk to give her receipts, noticed the painting above her desk, and stared at her.
“Anything I need to know?” Kelson asked.
“Yes, Roger McLamore’s, Lola is not well. He went home for the day and will call you in the morning if he is going to make it in,” Vicki said.
“Did he say what was wrong with Lola?”
“No, he didn’t mention it,” she lied.
“Keep me posted if you hear from him, okay Vicki?”
“Yes sir,” she said.
He looked at her again, then at the diamond ring on her finger, back at the painting once more. “I don’t really know anything about you do I?” Kelson asked.
“Yes, Sir you do. You know I show up to work on time, go to lunch, come back on time and I do my job,” she said with a smile.
“I guess that is all I need to know, eh?”
“It works well for me,” she told him. She picked up the receipts and began to tape them to a piece of paper for copying. She didn’t quite like putting them on the copier glass because sometimes they would replicate crooked or half off the page. This way, it was exact.
“You are very exact aren’t you Vicki?”
“No Sir. I do my best each day to get it right and make a difference. The rest is really up to chance,” she told him with a look over the top of her eyeglasses.
“Fair enough,” he said, moving into his office.
The next morning Roger walked in sporting a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and sneakers. He looked so normal she didn’t recognize him.
“Good morning Mr. McLamore,” she said greeting him with a smile. “How is Lola?”
He shook his head.
“Not good,” he told her. “She will have to have a double mastectomy, chemo, and tons of other stuff…,”
His voice trailed off as he looked at the ceiling. She could tell he was trying to find the words to say what he needed to say next. The words wouldn’t come.
“Mr. McLamore, the Family Medical Leave Act applies to men as well. You can take a leave of absence, go and be with your Lola until you two get through this,” she told him.
“Thank you, Vicki,” he said through a loud sniffle. “I know, but somehow, hearing you say it, means a lot to me.”
Kelson walked into the office to see Roger standing next to Vicki. They had shared a moment, and he realized then, she knew what was wrong with Lola. She knew yesterday, but did not break Roger’s confidence.
“McLamore, Vicki here tells me that Lola was feeling well yesterday,” Kelson said to him.
“Did Vicki tell you what was wrong with my Lola?”
“No, she didn’t,” Kelso said.
“It’s the cancer,” Roger said. “My Lola has the cancer.”
His large body crumpled as Vicki went to her knees beside him and held Roger as he cried. Her small hands held his head as he slobbered all over her white blouse. She did not look up at her boss as she held the saddened man.
“Vicki, let’s get Roger into my office,” he said taking Roger’s other arm, helping him to his feet. “Roger, at American Conglomerate, we are a family. You are part of our family and we are here for you and yours. Whatever we can do to get you and Lola through this, we will make it happen.”
Inside of Kelson’s office, he provided Roger with a pillow and moment to lie on his couch. A nod was given to Vicki who went out to order flowers to be sent to Roger’s home, contact HR and start pulling sections into place to cover the absence of the “best in the biz.”
It still was unclear to Vicki who Lola was to Roger but it didn’t matter. Whoever she was equated to the center of his universe, which in turn made her important to Vicki as well. She would be quietly rally the team to be there for Roger and she too would do her part. Even the strongest man in the pile can use the strength of the smallest member of the team.
World Whisperer by Rachel Devenish Ford
But now the four goddesses they serve want another sacrifice, and Isika’s stepfather has chosen the next child to be sent out to sea: the little brother who Isika loves more than anything.
This time Isika will not be powerless.
Together, she and her two remaining siblings leave the walls of the Worker village to save their brother, traveling into unknown lands and magic they never could have imagined.
Here we catch up with Jack and his new bride, Cyndi who ordered their new home, but it is getting cold. This means the ground is frozen and he can’t dig to put in a septic system or water lines, so no running water. Holden suggests he moves in with he and Tallulah since her delivery is so close.
Cyndi and Talullah have become instant friends but she and jack are a bit too randy for her tastes which causes a bit of an issue.
This issue is small in comparison to the unlikability of Molly who has tried to get settled into the town. Carson our confused and tearful Farmer, who thank heavens, has finally gotten a decent haircut, is settling in with his new wife. Sharing a shack with her on a cold night seemed a lot easier than sharing a house with her and two puppies. Winter is coming fast as well as the snow and it is time to hunker down for the long, cold, time of the year.
Tensions on Friday game night are high as everyone gathers at Daniel and Darlene’s and for the first time, Doc comes along.
The extent of the damage to Doc’s mental state is revealed as well as the type of medicine he practiced, what happened to him and his long struggle back to some semblance of normal. His recovery is aided by the most unlikely of female heroine which begins the wind down of the series which ends with book 5, this Summer with Jamar’s story.
I can’t wait to welcome you back to Serenity in June.
The Office Wife, Issue 3
The Office Wife, March 11, 2017, Issue 3, Olivia Gaines
Manigault Hurley, R & D
A quiet Tuesday morning ensued as Vicki made coffee in the breakroom for whichever members of the board who were in the office that day. Although the suggestion box requested, almost daily, the purchase of one of those machines with the little pods, it was not economical to purchase so many expensive packages, to make one cup of coffee at a time. Besides, the pods left a medicinal taste on her tongue. It wasn’t as if she were a coffee purist, but there was no reason to ruin a good cup of Joe, with a plastic cup of ground nonsense.
Speaking of nonsense, Vicki checked her inbox to find five invitations for lunch from Konnie with a K who had an unnatural fascination with personal organizers and Washi tape. Twice in the last two days, Vicki found stickers with Washi tape in her office mail box. Konnie was like a naughty little cat who liked to leave dead treats on your pillow. There was something odd about the young temp in a not so good way. The Washi tape felt like little dead bodies in coils of bright colors left for her to see every other day. To make matters worse, somehow, Konnie found out today was her birthday.
A roll of Washi tape with little balloons and cakes sat on her desk with a card, when opened spit out a puff of multi-colored confetti. It was all over her desk. By the time lunch rolled around, Vicki’s futile attempts to rid herself of the meddlesome colorful dots only resulted in confetti in her hair and stuck to her neck and face. Taneeka, her office best friend of only a month, sent her a text message with an image of her face, frozen in laughter.
Vicki’s phone binged. It was another text with an image from Taneeka.
This image was of her nose, taped upwards, Miss Piggy style with a bright strip of Washi tape. It was comical. However, it wasn’t as comical as the image of Manigault Hurley, standing in front of her desk dressed like a character from Monty Python.
“Allow me, Ms. Lawrence, to take you to lunch on this special day of your birth,” he said with his lips pressed together as if her were holding in a wad a slobber and a chunk of peanut butter in his cheeks like a deranged chipmunk.
“Thank you Mr. Hurley, but I can’t today,” she tried backing away from the offer.
“Nonsense,” he said, leaning back rubbing his little flat stomach. “It is your birthday. If you don’t have plans, and based on that lunch bag, I can only assume you don’t, then allow me to treat you to a lovely lunch at my club.”
He was right. Her lunch bag held left over take out from the Chinese restaurant around the corner from her house, which always had too many onions, which gave her horrific gas. She didn’t want to eat what was in her bag any more than she wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon finding discrete places to poot.
“Come, it will be grand. My driver will take us over to the club, you can order whatever you want, and I will have a lovely cake ordered just for your special day,” Manigault told her.
He seemed like a nice man who reminded her of Grandpa Lawrence. She hoped he didn’t have the same sense of humor though. Her Grandpa Lawrence, for fun, enjoyed taking his teeth out in church to make lewd gestures with his tongue to the ladies in the choir, but he never followed up on any of his suggestive behaviors. She prayed Manigault was the same way.
“Sure, it would be nice to join you for lunch on my birthday. I am certain you are going to make this a day to remember,” she responded.
“No, I am going to treat you to a good meal,” he told her with an expressionless face.
Vicki was just crossing into the three-month mark at American Conglomerate. Thus far, based on what she’d seen, clicks and grouplings were formed, but Manigault stood out from the crowd. He was a man of what appeared to be impeccable breeding, ridiculously good taste paired with a reputation without flaw. From what she could gather, his private life, was indeed very private. His desk held no personal photos, momentous, only documentation of his life at American Conglomerate.
“Perfect, I will meet you downstairs at my car at 11:45, please don’t be late,” he cautioned.
Vicki looked down at her watch. It was 11:15. She had thirty minutes to prepare herself for what she knew was going to be a drawn-out conversation on his bug collection from New Guinea or worse, a long-winded montage on the down fall of the black man. This was usually followed by an invitation to make her life easier by offering her a key to his love pad downtown, or worse, a tiny ranch house in the Valley right below Rancho Cucamonga. Suddenly her appetite waned the same moment her desk phone rang. It was Taneeka.
“Hey!” She said to Vicki.
“Hey back,” she said slowly.
“Happy Birthday,” Taneeka said quickly. “Drinks on me after work if you can make it.”
“If it is close by at a local watering hole and on my way home, I could sip on something to cut the edges off my glitter infused morning,” she replied.
“Just don’t sip or suck on anything during lunch. I heard old men give you bugs,” Taneeka joked.
“I think he is just being nice, considering he knows no one else on this floor or team is going to do anything for my special day,” Vicki mumbled.
“You never know,” Taneeka said. “No seriously, you never know, he could be taking you out to set you up for the old rope a dope.”
“As in…a surprise on my desk when I get back?”
“No, he is going to show you that an old stove still has a hot pipe,” she told Vicki.
“Just when I started to like you a little,” Vicki chided.
“Well, hurry up. Manigault hates it when people are late plus, I am dying to find out what this lunch thing is about,” she said.
“Okay…whatever, have fun at my painful expense,” she said before saying goodbye and ending the call.
At least I get a decent meal out of it. Hurrying to the ladies to room to take care of her necessities, she washed her face, fluffed her hair and applied a little lipstick before heading to the first floor. Manigault had said driver. She failed to ask what his driver would be driving. Once she stepped out of the door, she quickly saw.
The classic Bentley was manned by a very large Asian gentleman who remined her of the James Bond villain with the bowler hat that could decapitate a man. I wish I could remember the villian’s name. Her fingers involuntarily went to her neck, caressing the soft skin. The door was opened for her as she tugged a little on the red dress she chose to wear this morning, even considering it was bordering on too little for her curvy body. The dress made her feel pretty even if on the inside, she felt like sludge. The three-inch heels added a bit of height to her frame, as she slid her bottom into the car seat first, swinging well-toned legs around to face the front. Manigault appeared to be pleased. It was more of a move to protect her modesty from the eyes of the driver. He didn’t need to see the hot red lacy undies.
“Thank you for joining me,” Manigault told her.
“It is I who should be thanking you,” she said sweetly.
He only nodded, pulled out his phone, and began to make notes in a pocket note book as they drove to the Lakeside Country Club in Burbank. The drive was short, his body was tense as the car came to a stop in front of what looked like the main entrance. His glasses came down from his face.
“Wait for me to come escort you,” he said.
The driver opened his door first. Manigault inhaled sharply, exhaling what sounded like frustration as he stood, leisurely walking around the car to open Vicki’s door. A well-manicured hand reached inside the car asking for her to join him. Luckily, she’d just gotten a mani and pedi herself as her hand slid into his, coming out of the car, to stand at his side. He wrapped her arm into his as they made their way into the main building.
Vicki learned something new about Manigault that day. She found out that he was Hollywood royalty. Everywhere he turned, people were bending over to almost kiss his ass. He held his head high, walking as if he didn’t see any of the little people as they passed making their way to a private dining area. This pushed Vicki to do the only thing she knew to do, play along. Whatever was happening here was in the now. She was being audition for a role she wasn’t certain she wanted to play.
Over lunch of rock crab claws, something drenched in champagne, and a dollop of mashed potatoes, she said nothing as they ate in silence. On occasion, she would look up at him in well placed intervals and smile. His face did not move the first time she did it. The second time she smiled at him, she added a wink.
It got a reaction out of him.
Brief, but small, Manigault’ s eyes smiled back at her.
Three young men, all waist staff, were gawking at them all throughout lunch. Someone snapped a photo which infuriated Manigault to no end, who raised his hand, and three managers materialized like ghostly apparitions awaiting his bidding.
“My lady friend and I value our privacy. Whoever it was who snapped the photo, I know you will assure me it will not be seen anywhere?” He asked the manager as he got to his feet. He held out his hand for Vicki to come to his side in a show of outrage by the staff’s actions.
“Of course, Mr. Hurley, we will take care of it,” the manager lied.
Vicki held his arm, lips pouting out like an upset child, looking at the manager. In a childlike voice, she asked him, “Manigault, they are not going to sell our pictures to the papa-pazzi are they?”
“Paparazzi dear,” he said to her.
“Oh yeah. Pappa-prazzi,” he said trying to mimic him.
Manigault looked at the manager, “See that they don’t.”
Vicki, to add fuel to the fire, pushed up on her right breast with her hand, as if to shift its attention toward the door as she took Manigault’ s arm squeezing it for support, she held her head high and walked out the door. She added a bit more swish to her hips, stomping her feet like a runway model until they reached the car.
Bottom in first, she swung her legs around as the driver closed her door. She waited patiently for Manigault to entered the other side of the car, turning to face her with a gigantic grin on his face. Vicki shuddered. In three months’ time, she’d never seen him so happy.
“Mr. Hurley, you do know that photo is going to be everywhere by 6 am. It will be all over social media and every one will be trying to figure out who I am,” she said to him. “It never dawned on me that you were the Manigault Hurley.”
“One and the same. I love my job at American Conglomerate and I am very good at it. I allow my family to handle the Hollywood stuff and I make public appearances with unknown pretty girls on my arm to keep the family’s name in the papers,” he said.
He’d told her enough, she understood.
“How many country clubs do you belong to?”
“Unfortunately, four. I visit one each week,” he said. “I love the months with five weeks because then I get a break.”
Vicki started to smile.
“Why are you grinning?”
“Because, if I get three nice wigs, I get a free lunch at an exclusive country club for the rest of the month,” she said with a wink.
“You’re good,” he told her with a larger smile.
“I thought you’d get a kick out of my Papa-pazzi comment,” she grinned.
“That was a nice touch,” he said patting her hand.
The drive back to the office passed in silence until they reached the front door of American Conglomerate. Manigault touched her hand.
“Ms. Vicki, you are a very astute young woman. I trust the details of our day will be kept in confidence?”
“Mr. Hurley, in my current position, everything I see, touch, feel or understand goes to my grave.”
“So, this is safe with you?”
“It will be as safe as the three wigs you hide under the driver’s seat for the next few Tuesdays,” she said, as she opened her door and stepped out into the Burbank sun.
Vicki did not see Hurley for the remainder of the day, but at 4:45, she’d trained her body to hold on, to make that last stop to the ladies’ room before she headed out at 5:10 each day to sit in traffic trying to get home. She returned to her desk to find a cupcake along with small black box on her desk with a diamond ring, nothing flashy, but classy in all the right ways. It had a simple note in bold script.
Keep it in your drawer for our once monthly first Tuesday outings. Enjoy your birthday. – Hurley
She’s passed the test. Whatever the test was, in Manigault’ s eyes, she’d passed it with flying colors. Once monthly outings. So once a month, on the first Tuesday, she was having lunch or making the rounds with him. Uncertain, yet sure as the corn on her left toe aching when it rained, she had just become something special and significant for Manigault.
Oddjob. That was the Bond character’s name with the bowler hat!
She’d been given an odd job herself. Once a month she would wear a pretty dress, don the ring and escort him on his rounds to ensure he got his name and the family brand on a social network site. Eyeing the ring a final time before securing it, she stood up and stuck it into the office safe for the next first Tuesday of next month. However, right now, she was ready to have a drink, celebrate her day of birth first with Taneeka, then her friends at home.
Vicki shrugged. Technically, Taneeka would be the third person she celebrated with since Konnie had been the first. Either way, it sure beat spending her birthday alone. In her heart, she knew much of his private life, he’d spent that way. If lunch or an outing once a month took some of the pressure off him to be a certain something for his family, she could do that for him.
Everybody needs some body.
She had just become a somebody for Manigault Hurley.
Oddly, I am okay with that.
Death’s Door By David Reichart
“Late at night, when you’re all alone behind the wheel of a big Freightliner, with the deep hypnotic drone of 500 horses trying to hum you a lullaby, all the dark thoughts you manage to keep locked up during the light of day get a chance to make their move. That’s when images you’ve tried to banish and thoughts you’re still not prepared to deal with creep out of a reptilian brain stem and slither toward your unguarded conscious mind.
I should have known that trucking wasn’t a good career choice for a guy whose whole adult life had been spent as a professional warrior. One thing I didn’t need was more time alone with my thoughts. But I did need a job, so when I heard that trucking companies were begging for guys like me—and nobody else was—I took the bait. Big mistake.”
David Reichart’s story is about a former Special Ops military man trying his best to fit back into society. Now, Jessie Yates is an undercover operator. His first assignment centers around the hijacking of transport vehicles in an area of Alabama and Georgia. A trucker thriller is a first for me.
Currently Free on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Deaths-Door-David-Reichart-ebook/dp/B016SBJLAE
Addict of the Wasteland Wasteland, Volume 0.5 Jon Cronshaw
“He passes dead trees and crawling vines, rusted road signs, and the foundations of long-gone houses poking through the lifeless soil. Blast craters pepper the land to the south. Everything is coated in a brownish-grey dust, probably swept across the wastes during the last storm. He heads towards the greenery.
After two miles or so, the road gets steeper. He keeps watch, alert for movement. He grips the handle of his pistol and listens. A dog howls in the distance, too far away to be a threat. The pull of the plez is there; it’s always there, nagging him, prodding him. He shudders, removes his cap, runs his hands over his lank hair and beard, and shakes away the withdrawal.”
Addict of the Wasteland is a post-apocalyptic tale about finding hope and redemption against all odds.
Download Addict of the Wasteland to survive a twisted future today!
Download at Instafreebie: https://instafreebie.com/discover/author/5871/jon_cronshaw
What are you reading?