Introducing The Seeker Series by Amy Reece

✢✢✢ THE SEEKER SERIES ✢✢✢

Author: Amy Reece

Publisher: LIMITLESS PUBLISHING

Genre: YA | Paranormal | Romance | Suspense 

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(¸.•´ (¸.•`RELEASED JUNE 9th`*)

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DREAMER

Author: Amy Reece

Series: The Seeker Series, #2

Genre: YA | Paranormal | Romance | Suspense 

~ SYNOPSIS ~

Meet Ally, a 17 year-old who also happens to be psychic. Oh, and she’s getting more psychic with every passing day, so much so that she’s been sent to Ireland to check in with the Seer Council to see what’s up with her freaky new powers.

Jack is her 19 year-old boyfriend, a former trouble-maker who is back on track and trying desperately to graduate. His plans did not include falling in love with psychic trouble-magnet.

Just last month they worked together to save a friend in deep trouble and ended up exposing a steroid ring at their school. Now there’s a new guy at school who seems just a little bit too interested in Ally for Jack’s liking. And why does Ally keep dreaming about a kidnapping? Last month seems like a cakewalk compared to this semester. Ally's trying to solve a mystery, but Jack is just trying to keep her alive.

~ PURCHASE ~

AMAZON US | PAPERBACK

~ TEASERS ~

~ EXCERPT ~

“Ally? Hey, what’s up? You got real quiet all of a sudden. Not a good quiet, either. What are you thinking?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s nothing. I get it. I understand.”

He looked at me for minute and then sighed. He got up and came around to my side of the booth and took me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “You’ve got that look on your face. You know, the one that says you think I’m not going to be able to handle any more weird stuff and this is it for us. Huh? Admit it—it’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?” I nodded, trying to keep the tears in. “Okay, look at me.” He pulled my face up to look directly in my eyes. I could stare into his beautiful, deep brown eyes all day. “First, and most importantly, I love you, Ally. I’m in this for the long haul, no matter how freaky things get. If it means I get you, then count me in. You gotta start believing in us, babe.” He stopped to kiss me briefly and thank the waitress for refilling our coffee cups. “Secondly, you’re giving me, and all guys in general actually, way too much credit for deep thinking. When I say ‘what the hell is an oracle?’ that’s all I mean. No hidden meaning. I just want to know what it is. Guys are actually pretty simple and we tend to say exactly what we mean.” He kissed me again and then returned to his side of the table, placing a napkin in my hand so I could mop my face. Poor guy: it seems like all he ever did was watch me cry. I was such a girl. “Now let’s finish eating while you tell me all about this oracle stuff, okay?”

So I wiped my eyes and told him about how the Seer Council had tricked me into believing they were simply a group of innocent little old lady gardeners, but they actually held my fate in their hands. I told him about the last Oracle being stolen away from her people by the Gaulish clan, never to be heard from again. And I told him how the council was very interested in my abilities to see the future and seemed to think it was possible evidence of my oracle-ness or whatever. I finished with, “And they didn’t want to even let me go. They made me promise to come back over spring break and in the summer.”

“Spring break? Ah, Ally, no. I can’t stand not having our last school vacation together. You gotta tell them no, querida. I’ll probably go nuts if you’re gone.”

“Don’t worry. There is no way I’m going back over spring break. I’ll go in the summer as long as it’s while you’re gone to basic training.” I grabbed his hand across the table and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. I told him what the council had told me about oracles, how they were messengers between worlds or something.

“Ally, what do you think? Do you think you could be this oracle?” He looked at me with concern.

“I don’t know, Jack. I think there’s a lot more to the story than what they’re telling me. I don’t trust those little old garden-seer ladies. I can’t even think about being an Oracle before I know what’s really going on.”

“That was a very Oracle-like thing to say,” he said with a laugh.

“Shut up.” I smiled. “Does this lunch include pie?”

SEEKER

Author: Amy Reece

Series: The Seeker Series, #1

Genre: YA | Paranormal | Romance | Suspense 

~ SYNOPSIS ~

Ally Moran has always just known about things—things she shouldn’t really be able to know…

Suddenly when she starts having vivid visions about a former friend who is in desperate trouble, the adults in her life think she might hold the key to an ancient mystery.

Jack Ruiz has a troubled past, but is trying to make a fresh start at a new high school…

He just wants to keep his head down and graduate, hopefully before he turns 20. The last thing he needs is to get involved with a feisty redhead and her psychic visions.

While Jack valiantly attempts to keep Ally at arm’s length, she is equally determined to be a part of his life. Who will win this battle of wills?

More importantly…

Can this unlikely couple work together to find answers to Ally’s visions before someone gets killed?

The Seeker is Book One is a Series

~ PURCHASE ~

AMAZON US | PAPERBACK

~ TEASERS ~

~ EXCERPT ~

It was time to pull myself together and slink out of this bathroom to face Jack; if he was even waiting for me. He most likely lost interest and retreated back to class. I splashed water on my face and tried vainly to tame my obnoxious, curly red hair and exited the bathroom. To my surprise, Jack was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. He looked up and smiled slightly at me, one corner of his attractive mouth inching higher than the other. His big, nearly black eyes were full of concern as he asked, “You feeling better? I thought maybe you were gonna puke all over the place back there.”

Perfect. Exactly what I wanted him to think of in connection with me: the girl who looked like she was going to puke. “No, I’m fine. I needed to get away from the Wikipedia re-hash, that’s all. Thanks for the escape.” I tried to scoot by him.

He laughed a bit under his breath and reached out, gently grabbing my arm as I passed. “Hey, don’t run off. You looked really upset. I want to make sure you’re all right. Besides, Ms. Gonzalez thinks we’re at the nurse. No need to rush back for more coma-inducing book reports. I’m Jack, by the way. Jack Ruiz.” He pulled me directly in front of him and again examined my face. An intoxicating aroma wafted to me from his warm skin; a sort of warm, spicy scent that instantly became my new favorite. I might have swayed toward him a bit.

“Yeah, I know, Jack. I’ve been handing your papers back all semester.” I struggled to sound unaffected.

He nodded. “You still look really pale, Ally. And you seem a bit unsteady. Sure you’re not gonna puke?”

Really? Why me, God? I stood up straight and gently shrugged off his hand. “Yes. I had a, uh…a moment. I’m okay. Thanks for getting me out of there.” His dark eyes looked like melted dark chocolate. Life is so not fair. On the bright side, he actually knows my name. I wouldn’t have bet on that. I’m not the kind of girl who stands out—well, except for the crazy red hair—or attracts much attention. I’m short and small, wear really plain clothes, and I don’t say very much at school. I have a few good friends and we pretty much fly below the radar and try to stay out of the limelight. I like it that way. High school seriously sucks and I just want to get through it quietly and without a lot of drama. Please, God, life will be better in college.

“So, this is gonna sound pretty weird,” Jack started hesitantly, “but, uh, when it got really hot in the classroom, it, well it kinda felt like it was, uh, emanating from you.” He laughed once, quietly. “That’s crazy, huh?”

Wow. Did he just use the word “emanating” in a sentence? Who does that? I mean, in high school? I wonder what he got on his ACT? I had always had the sense there was more to him than meets the eye, and this cemented that feeling. 

~ ABOUT THE AUTHOR ~

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       (¸.•´ (¸.•` Amy Reece

Amy Reece lives in Albuquerque, NM, with her husband and family. She loves to read and travel and has an unhealthy addiction to dogs. She loves wine and friends, in that order. Stay tuned for the rest of The Seeker Series, coming Summer and Fall 2015

Social media links:

FACEBOOK |  TWITTER | AMAZON

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Introducing an excerpt from A Life of Inches by Douglas Esper

Synopsis:

Ryan Kelly and Woodie Wodyzewski always fight for every inch.

Whether on the baseball diamond, the basketball court, or even the dance floor, these two friends are true competitors.

When Ryan beats Woodie in a bike race because Woodie has the misfortune to be hit by a car, he seems to have won. But the beautiful girl who crashes into their lives is worth far more than any trophy.

Molly De Leon knows all about winning, and nothing will keep her from her goals.

Ryan and Woodie have been vying for Molly since the day they met. How can she possibly choose between them?

Woodie has a complicated family situation and she desperately wants to help him through his misery and confusion. A little on edge with a temper, he’s the bad boy in her life who reminds Molly a lot of her mother, a powerful politician she’s grown up watching bend men and women to her will with a simple smile.

Ryan, on the other hand, is very close to his parents, grounded, and has a good sense of humor. He’s not your typical jock; he’s a safe, reliable pick, and a constant in Molly’s life—that is, until his injuries lead him down a destructive path.

Molly realizes it’s time to make a decision…

But how can she risk losing either one of them when they both own a piece of her heart?

An Excerpt 

1. I turn in time to witness Woodie’s arms lash out in an exaggerated sign of frustration. Fury and adrenaline fuel his fist outward, connecting with Molly’s jaw just as she reaches to wrap him in a caring embrace.

She’s falling before I can comprehend what happened. Whatever breath her lungs still hold escapes as a grunt as she hits the ground. Woodie pivots, eyes too full of anger to carry concern.

Overcoming my shock, I unfreeze my feet, and call out, “Molly.”

Woodie tilts his head skyward and screams louder than his last outburst. It carries throughout the whole park, an echoing challenge to anything within earshot.

I cradle Molly’s head up from the dirt, rocks, and anything else that might cause her further damage. I place my other hand on her stomach to hold her still.

All of a sudden I have to act as a shield between her and Woodie, and that’s something I never ever dreamt I’d be. Woodie has always had a temper, but this feels different. My best friend just hurt Molly, yet his only concern revolves around a bouncing orange ball and a rusting hoop.

I call, “Get over here, Woodie.”

Adrenaline must be pumping through his veins by the bucket, but I know he’ll come to his senses. Hell, let him yell and scream all he wants. I’m fine right here with this angel in my arms.

I look down and realize I’m caressing Molly’s cheek. She reaches up and matches my action. Overwhelmed by the moment, I lean forward, making my advance and ambitions as obvious as possible. I follow her raised jaw and peck a darkened area, already bruising.

 “My hero,” she sighs, smiling despite the ugliness of the situation. “If you’re going to sweep me off…well, back onto my feet, you had better kiss me with more passion than that.” Her mischievous grin widens as she grabs my shirt and pulls me toward her. Our hands seek placement and purchase. Following her lead, my lips part. I run my fingertips down her arm as the taste of orange pop touches my tongue.

I flash back to the thousands of times I’ve pictured this moment, our first kiss. I don’t recall ever daydreaming of it happening to the soundtrack of screams. Though, as I pull back to peck down her left cheek toward her neck, I can’t imagine a more perfect moment.

2. From across the entire frat house, Molly’s emerald eyes sparkle with an intensity that would make anyone living in Oz jealous as she enters the party. Back in high school, Molly was self-conscious of her curly hair, but now she appears to be embracing it.

Mesmerized, I speak with a pause between each word. “She. Looks. Gorgeous.”

Ever the trendsetter, Molly wears a silky purple blouse that betrays her athletic figure. Not that she looks like a bodybuilder or some East German swimmer. It isn’t as much about big muscles as the way she carries herself.

A football player from my college, Jimmy-John escorts Molly, arm in arm, into my home. Goodbye confidence, hello jealousy. “Where does he get off, walking in here with her?”

In his free hand, the dumb jock clutches a shot glass full of my whiskey.

I admit, “I’d rather fill that glass with a rabies shot.”

“All right, Ryan,” Woodie whispers. “It looks like our lady has just upped the stakes. If this slab of beef thinks he can waltz in and swipe her away, he has another thing coming.”

I ask, “Ok champ, what’s the plan?”

Instead of a reply, Woodie advances toward Molly and her date.

Warning bells ringing as I follow. “Wanna drench him in beer? We have plenty.”

In the end, it’s nothing personal against the guy, but Molly’s out of his league, hell, she’s out of his universe.

Woodie enters the kitchen a few paces ahead of me. Shock stuns me for a moment as Woodie reaches out his hand to Molly’s beau, and says, “Hey pal, what’s up? It appears you’ve made a mistake. You see, this is my girlfriend you just waltzed in here with, and I don’t appreciate it.” His voice remains calm, yet his pace ramps up as he crosses the room toward the mass of human clay standing with Molly.

Jimmy-John reaches out his hand toward Woodie to shake it, and I know this will ruin the party. Woodie grabs the extended hand, pulling as hard as he can. Lowering his left shoulder, Woodie lunges forward.

Before Jimmy-John realizes what’s happening, momentum carries both men off their feet. Airborne, they crash backward into a door that doesn’t stand a chance. The splintering of old wood startles everyone. With little room to maneuver, I know this fight will get real ugly, real fast.

Woodie grabs onto the man’s shirt and shoves. “How’s that feel?”

3. Pushing with all of my strength, I extend my arms another an inch as I think of Molly, of Woodie, and about pitching a baseball. Another surge of effort, another inch, but the thoughts fueling my workout remain the same. I think of her. I think of him. I think about baseball.

Ho Ban, my team’s trainer, says, “A little faster, now.”

Separating myself from the stench of the padded floor, I push as I kiss Molly. Another push and I strike out Woodie.

I push.

I grunt, attempting to ignore the dull ache in my arm growing sharper with each rep, but I don’t allow any sign of self-doubt to show on my face. I’m not going to let anything stand between myself and the Triple-A Championship tonight.

“Ryan, keep your back straight. I don’t want to see you favoring your right side anymore.”
Ho, a former baseball star from South Korea, is one of only three people in the organization aware of my shoulder issue from college.

“Embrace the pain, Ryan,” he says. “Embrace the pain and rise above it.”

I push.

I push.

I think about Molly, and I push faster.

The sweat feels good, the warmth of motion feels good, and, to be honest, even the pain feels good. Woodie, here I come.

Ho says, “Good. Good. That’s better.”

It’s still early in the day, yet I’ve been training for over an hour to prepare for tonight’s big game. Quickening my pace, my arms grow weak and a little shaky.

Ho says, “Ok, that’s enough.”

I ignore him and keep pushing.

“Ryan, enough.”

Ho claps his hands, the sound echoing around the empty gym. “We get it. You’re capable of a massive amount of very fast push-ups, but you’re not going to win us the game at 7 in the morning.” 

Making baseball a career requires a knack for swinging a stick of wood and hitting the ball screaming toward you at high speed, but keeping a routine can prove just as important a skill. The ability to grind it out day after day, night after night, small-town city after small-town city is what separates the successful players from the ones you’ve never heard about.

Tonight, I’ll be facing off against my best friend and oldest rival, Hank “Woodie” Wodyzewski.

I push.

I push.

I push, and I ache.

4. Woodie wraps his arm around Molly and pulls her close. “We’ve been arranging trips to see each other over the last year, and I just want to follow the natural progression of things. If I get traded, I’ll be leaving as early as tonight, so I had to ask now.”

Molly seems to have just noticed something of immense importance on her shoes.

I ask, “Will Mitch be going with you guys?”

Her footwear forgotten, Molly regards me with confusion, anger, and betrayal.

My friend’s brow furrows. “Mitch who? The gym guy?

“Molly, do you want to tell him or should I?”

Her shoulders slump and she slinks out of Woodie’s embrace.

Woodie asks, “What is it you want to tell me, Molls?”

To her credit, she doesn’t hesitate or try to deny anything. “For the past few months, I’ve also been seeing Mitch.”

Woodie’s nostrils flare, his eyes dart back and forth, and his upper body shifts back and forth as if containing his anger causes discomfort.

Molly slows down her speech, an attempt to calm the situation down. “I did it to appease my mother.”

“You’ve been dating him for months?”

Molly nods.

Woodie snaps, “Call him right now and say it’s over.”

“It’s not that simple, Woodie. He contributes to several campaigns that mean a lot to me.”

Woodie jabs a finger into Molly’s collar as he speaks each word. “Don’t you dare.”

As usual, Molly isn’t willing to back down to anyone. “Woodie, listen, I don’t owe you anything. I won’t sit here and get treated to like a three-year-old by some aggressive, selfish jerk who can’t control himself when things don’t go his way. I like Mitch and you don’t own me.”

Without warning, he lunges toward her. His arms are out, but his palms are open, as if he’s trying to hold her, not hurt her. Molly uses her quickness to evade his advance. Woodie regains his balance, takes another step toward her, but again she retreats toward her car.

Breathing now, a good sign, Woodie slumps his shoulders and searches the trees for the right words. “Molly, don’t go. I’m sorry. I just want, I mean, today is supposed to be—”

Molly still has her guard up as she turns. “Woodie, I know what today means for you, and I’m so proud of you, but I can’t be here right now. Not like this.”

Buy it now - Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Go2HBL

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Winners of have a character named after you in Don't Come for Me (Crime Files Book 3)

A while ago to thank everybody for supporting my books, I held a competition for readers. The prize, a starring role in the 3rd book in the Crime Files series, Don't Come For Me.

There was only supposed to be 3 winners, but thanks to an amazing response (and because I'm so garbage at naming characters) I decided to have 5 winners.

And the winners are...

Thomas Dettingen

Kirsty Lothian

Per Lundberg

Connie Lundy

Bonnie Smith

Congratulations to all the winners. Thanks to everyone who entered:) 

Each winner has had a character named after them in the 3rd Crime Files book, Don't Come for Me. 

Here's a wee taster -

Nancy Kerr's in trouble. Boyfriend Tommy McIntyre's missing, presumed dead, and the police think she's killed him. But, how can she prove her innocence when she's got no idea where he is, or whether he's alive or dead?

Sales links to follow:) 

Can you hear the Thunderclap?

I’ve started a Thunderclap campaign for Hell to Pay, the first book in my Crime Files series. I’d love your support and if you would like some author love in return (or have a humane cause of your own to support) please let me know.

The book's set in Glasgow and features feisty Nancy Kerr and as well as being described as a "thrilling read" the book looks at violence against women. 

What’s Thunderclap? Well, until I started one of my own, I thought it was a sign a storm was coming. What it actually is, is a way of spreading the word about something on social media. Sign up and on a specific time and day a Tweet or Facebook post will go out.

Being an author can be such a lonely business, as we all know, but if we support each other, it doesn’t seem so lonely. 

Here's the link 

Why I wrote Throwaways (Crime Files Book 2) about murdered sex workers in Glasgow

I've written stories, ever since I was little and always used to keep a diary. One of my first ever sales was a short story to Jackie magazine when I was 15. A friend of the family cashed the cheque and posted the money through the letterbox. It was such an exciting moment finding £60 in three crisp twenty pound notes waiting for me when I came downstairs in the morning.

I got fed up with the lack of strong female women in fiction, so I decided that I wanted to write entertaining books with tough women (and male characters) and that's how I came up with the Crime Files books featuring Nancy Kerr and Tommy McIntyre. 

The first book was Hell To Pay and focused on Nancy Kerr who gets revenge on the men who killed her parents and left her bleeding to death on the kitchen floor.

The inspiration for Throwaways came from the unsolved murders of a spate of sex workers in Glasgow in the 1990s. They were treated like throwaways and even when one lady was murdered in her own home that had paper thin walls, her neighbours claimed they hadn't heard a thing.

I wanted to write a book about people who did care about the disappearance and murder of women like them and who decided to carry out their own investigation. Although Throwaways is set in Glasgow, it's completely fictional.

My best time to write is in the wee small hours. That's when inspiration hits. I do have a tendency to spend too much time on Twitter. 

I tweet as @jenthom72 and also have two blogs - about my writing and also one about zombies (my not so secret passion).

I'm a huge fan of the George Romero movies and The Walking Dead and I had a zombie novel set in Scotland published called The Restless Dead. 

My main writing influence has been Stephen King. For me, he's the best living writer and his books are always entertaining. I also love Sue Townsend, Shaun Hutson, Mark Billingham, Craig Russell, Stuart MacBride, Margaret Atwood and Marian Keyes.

If I'd to offer any advice to budding writers it would be to never give up. It's so hard to get published, but the more you write and hone your craft, the more chance you have of being successful. You also have to be able to take criticism on the chin, from publishers and reviewers, which for me is the toughest thing.

✢ ✢ ✢ Oneclick ✢ ✢ ✢

Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1)

Throwaways (Crime Files Book 2)

Don't Come For Me (Crime Files Book 3)

In the third book in the Crime Files series, Don’t Come For Me, Nancy finds herself in a nightmare situation – he boyfriend Tommy has gone and in his place is a puddle of blood and a knife. Then the police arrive and think she’s killed him…

Read an extract from Don't Come For Me here 

They think you killed your boyfriend - you know he's not dead. 

Reviewers & Bloggers wanted for new Crime Files series Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1)

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET YOUR REVENGE?

Jenny Thomson and Limitless Publishing would like to invite you to participate

in the release of Hell To Pay.

Book 2 and 3 in the Crime Files series will be out on May 12th and May 26th. 

BLURB:

Nancy Kerr refuses to be a victim—even when she walks in on her parents’ killers and is raped and left for dead…

Fourteen months later, Nancy wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with no knowledge of how she got there.

Slowly, her memory starts to return.

Released from the institution, she has just one thing on her mind—two men brought

hell to her family home.

Now they’re in for some hell of their own…

ARC's are available for review for those who would like one, and all guest posts/packages will be sent prior to the events.

To participate, click HERE

WHAT WOULD YOU DO TO GET REVENGE? Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) is out NOW

An extract from Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) 

She took a few more steps into the living room and walked straight into hell…

Chapter 1

I’m cold, colder than I’ve ever been in my entire life and I don’t know why. Slowly, I open my eyes, tentatively at first because even opening them a fraction feels like someone's shoving red-hot pins into them. The light is so bright.

What’s with the light anyway?

Has Michael wandered in, blootered on some poncy new beer and left the light on, after collapsing in a heap onto the bed?  I’ll brain him if he has. I’m no good to anyone when I don’t get my eight hours.

Pulling myself up in bed, I reach out my arm to nudge him awake so I can give him a right mouthful. My hand finds empty space.

Where is he?

My eyes sting as I prise them open – it’s as though there's been an accident with false lashes and I've glued my eyelashes together - and that’s when I realise I’m not in our flat. The reason I’m freezing is because I’m wearing a tracing paper thin hospital gown: the kind that shows off your backside when you’re being whisked off to x-ray.

A tidal wave of panic hits me and I jerk into full consciousness.

What’s happened to me?

I try to remember, but my brain’s all bunged up as if the top of my head's been removed and the cavity filled with cotton wool.

My arms are bandaged up. Have I been in an accident?  If I have, I don’t remember. Maybe I hit my head.

I take in my surroundings. If I’m in hospital, it’s no ordinary one. For one thing, my room’s more like a cell. There’s a bed and a table bolted to the floor, but no personal stuff: photos, or cards, or stuffed animals from people wishing me well. Does anyone even know I’m here?

I grope for a call button to get a nurse, but there isn’t one. What the hell? This place is a prison.

Staggering out of bed, I fight the wave of nausea and dizziness that make me want to yell at the world to stop moving because I want to get off the carousel. The tile floor is stone cold and there are no slippers by the bed. My feet are ice blocks. Why don’t I have any socks or tights on? 

Before I reach the door, there's a jingle of keys, then a key scrapes in the lock. Holding my breath, I brace myself for what’s coming.

A woman I don’t recognize with brown hair tied back in a ponytail appears. She’s dressed in a nurse’s uniform and there’s a small smile playing on the edge of her lips.

"Good, you’re awake, Nancy."

She sounds pleased, as if we’re bosom buddies, when I’ve never seen her before in my life.

"Where am I?"

My voice comes out as a rasp as though my throat’s been sandpapered down.

The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let’s get you back into bed, Nancy."

I do as she says. I’m worried if I don’t lie back, I’ll faint.

"You’re in Parkview Hospital," she says, as she fixes the pillows so I can sit upright.

I know all the hospitals in Glasgow, but I haven’t heard of that one. I ask her what kind of hospital it is and she tells me it’s a psychiatric facility. The reason I haven’t heard of it, is because they don’t publicize it. Perhaps because it’s full of nutters they want to keep away from society. The prospect terrifies me because that would mean they must think I’m cuckoo. Why else would I be here? 

I suck in my breath. When I ask her if this is a nut house, she presses her lips tightly together as she tells me no one refers to psychiatric hospitals in that way any more. Suitably chastised, I mumble an apology not because I think one’s needed, but because she’s the one with the keys.

"Why am I here?"

I’m dreading the answer, but I need to know. I don’t feel any different. Surely if I’d lost my mind, I'd know.

"You had a breakdown."

The way she says it, she could be talking about the weather.

She asks me if I want anything and I tell her a pair of proper pajamas, a dressing gown and slippers would be nice because I’m an ice block. If she gets in touch with Mum, she’ll bring me in some stuff.

Her smile’s still there, but breaks down around the corners of her mouth. There’s something she’s not telling me, because she’s worried how I’ll react. There’s fear in her eyes. I notice she’s wearing a lucky heather brooch, the same one I got for Mum. I’m staring at it as she tells me she’s going to fetch a doctor, when a memory stirs inside me and no matter how hard I try to push it away, someone’s taken their finger out the dyke and the water’s rushing in.

Blood, blood everywhere. Dad’s slumped in his favorite armchair, head bent forward as if in prayer (he never prayed a day in his life); a single bullet hole in his head. 

I know it’s him, even although his face has been beaten to a pulp: his blood staining the fireside rug my mum was so fond of. 

Even in death, my dad has a presence. He fills a room with the sheer weight of his personality. 

Discarded nearby is the baseball bat they used on him. It’s covered in blood and something sticky and dark brown, resembling raw mince.

All material is copyright of the author Jenny Thomson (C) 2022

Get it now - Hell to Pay (Crime Files Book 1) on Kindle

Click here to be taken to your country's Amazon store. 

***Books 2 and 3 are also available ***

Throwaways 

Don't Come for me 

CAPTION CONTEST – WIN A $10 or £10 Amazon voucher and a free eBook

It was my rescue dog Benjy’s birthday yesterday. Here’s a picture of him at 17 months old when he first came to live with us. 

As you can see from the pic, we greatly overestimated his size. Hence the huge bone. 
Once you come up with a caption, head over to my book launch party at 

https://www.facebook.com/events/1417899068518517/ and write your entry underneath the same picture on that page. 

I can’t wait to read your entries:) You can enter more than once.