Birth of an Assassin by Rik Stone @stone_rik

Chapter 42

Jez let his mind dwell on the ceiling’s dull paint rather than think about his recent nightmares. But those thoughts wouldn’t stay down: whatever happened, he would achieve justice for Viktor.

Anna came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. “We still have time to travel south,” she said. He sighed. She looked desperate again. “Please think about it. I promise this isn’t a test. No tricks. I’m telling you what’s in my heart, and I think we should run.”

Vertical tracks forged between his eyebrows. “We’ve already been through this, Anna. I do trust you, but I’ve made my decision.”

“But I don’t think you’ve thought it out properly. From what I can see, Mitrokhin has high-ranking contacts everywhere and I don’t think even Petrichova can save you. The captain has the guile of a fox and his cunning outwits us all. Please, Jez,” she implored, “go with me now.”

He got off the bed and embraced her. “I don’t know why you’ve become so worried. I’d never imagined you like this, but whether what you say is true or not, I won’t run. I must win justice for Viktor – and for me, come to that. Viktor has been murdered and I’ve been set up to look like his killer.”

Anna wept against his chest, and he couldn’t figure why. Of what he knew about her, it was totally out of character.

“I want you to remember this,” she sobbed. “And I’m speaking from the heart. No matter what happens, this is what is real and this is the memory I want you to hold onto. I love you, Jez, I love you.”

Baffled, he realized that having a real relationship with a woman was an enigma. Her declaration seemed distressed rather than tender. The only way he could think of handling this was to let it go straight over his head.

“And I love you, Anna, but I must go back.”

*

Outside the hotel the snow lay thick, and despite the best efforts of a heavy blanket of cloud, the cold had worked its way through.

“I’m glad I packed the ski jacket. Cold or not, this suitcase has me overheating. I know you’ve put my stuff in with yours, but what a weight.”

“Just girl things,” she smiled, and stepped out ahead.

“That’s right, don’t wait for me. Oh…” he said, almost stopping, “I forgot to pay for my lodgings at the hotel.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

“You’re right, all the troubles I’ve got and I should worry about paying for a room. I’ll let the state sort it out.”

She laughed.

They trudged through the snow until they came to Railway Station Square – part of Stalin’s rebuild of the city. Anna wore the same azure coat with fur trimmings and fur hat as on the second day of their reunion, and he wondered how such a beautiful woman could really be interested in him.

“You look like a film star dressed like that, but aren’t you worried someone might be following?”

She tutted. “You seem to be worrying enough for both of us.”

She was so avant-garde, maybe she hadn’t carried out as many missions as she’d suggested. “Oh well, nearly there,” he said.

She smiled sadly.

He stopped to cross an avenue near a trolley rank. Six or seven people queued closely together, ankle-deep in snow, exhaling frosted breath as they waited for their ride. At last, a lull in the traffic. Anna went ahead. Jez kept a half metre behind, but something jarred his senses. Above the din of the city an explosion rang out. He turned to the direction of the noise and then looked at Anna. A hole had opened and blossomed in the back of her coat. His heart seemed to stop beating. She’d been shot and he couldn’t move. The force of the bullet had arched her back. She spun to face him, stumbled, eyes widened in shock.

The crowd at the trolley rank scattered in panic and shrill screams pierced his ears. But still, he couldn’t move – Anna.

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Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense

Rating – R

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Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com

Lethal Journey by Kim Cresswell @kimcresswell

Chapter Three

Detective Eric Brennan sat at his usual table and sipped the night’s beverage of choice—a cola. In Chunkers Bar and Grill loud pointless chatter overpowered the ‘80s rock and roll band on stage.

The last week was a blur. Every waking hour he pounded the streets in search of his father’s killer.

Eric knew every detail of the shooters face, but not the kid’s name. He’d heard from one of his informant’s, the kid was a young tough-guy looking to be made—a “cugine” ready to make his mark into New York’s most influential crime network, the Valdina family. As part of his induction into the mob family, the asshole had already killed a low-life rival family member and Eric and his father were working the homicide case when they got a tip.

That steamy June evening had started like any typical bust. Within minutes after Eric and his father arrived at the warehouse, dozens of DEA agents secured the perimeter. Eric entered the warehouse first, his father followed. Amid the stench of mildew and dust, the first pop of an automatic echoed within the barren walls.

They were ambushed.

His father, a veteran with twenty-three years on the force never saw the shots coming. Eric threw his body against his father in hopes of shielding him. It was too late. Instead Eric witnessed his father’s face, the sickening whitish blue tint that came with death...

While Pete checked in with the precinct, Eric shifted in the chair. His left knee still burned where the bullet had grazed his leg. He rubbed the scar, a permanent reminder of a drug bust gone bad. Very bad.

“Hey, Brennan.” Pete threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and downed the last swallow of his beer. “Come on. I think we got a lead.”

Outside on West 35th Street, a full moon peeked through the clouds. Jagged streaks of lightning ignited the sky as rain sprinkled against Eric’s leather jacket. He lit a cigarette and leaned against his white pick-up truck parked in front of Chunkers.

Pete smirked. “Man, I thought you quit.”

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Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-18

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Website http://kimberleycresswell.wordpress.com/

Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

#Author Alex Mueck on Online Networking @AlexMueck #Humor #Historical

Why Social Networks are the Keys to Good Networking

Social media is the future, and it is a cheap easy way to reach a wide audience.

How to Network Online to Promote Your Book

Twitter, Facebook and book blog tours will help with getting an author rxposure to a wider audience.

How to Make Your Characters Believable

You have to believe in your characters, flesh them out, and allow these personalities to bloom consistently throughout the story through revelations.  Try to get into the minds of each party, and see through their eyes.  What would they say, think, see…? 

What Inspired Me to Write My Book

This is my third book.  The first two were thrillers and although I am proud of them, I also knew that there are countless thrillers out there.  And while I will return to this genre, I wanted to write something fun and silly, but also with a purpose and touch on topics many would avoid such as racism.

Finding Your Voice: Writing in First Person (or Third)

I have written in both formats, and both have their advantages and disadvantages.  Some stories just work better with a narrator, but sometimes not, especially when the story benefits from multiple points of view.  You need to establish this before you start, and once you do, you need to keep a consistent voice that is believable and yet in in its own way, unique.

"“A historical fiction comedy that packs
as much heart as humor.”
—Michael Dadich, award-winning author of The Silver Sphere

When a Harvard history professor receives a thesis paper titled Jesse James and the Secret Legend of Captain Coytus, from Ulysses Hercules Baxter—an underwhelming student—he assumes the paper must be a prank. He has never read such maniacal balderdash in his life. But after he calls a meeting with the student, Professor Gladstone is dismayed when Baxter declares the work is his own. As he takes a very unwilling Professor Gladstone back in time via his thesis, Baxter’s grade hangs in the balance as he attempts to prove his theory.

It is 1864 as philanderer and crusader Captain Coytus embarks on a mission to avenge his father’s death and infiltrates the Confederate Bushwacker posse looking for the man responsible, Jesse Woodson James. Accompanied by the woman of his dreams, Coytus soon finds himself temporarily appointed to be the sheriff of Booneville and commissions his less-than-loyal deputy to help him carry out his plan.

But when tragedy strikes, the Captain is forced to change his immature ways and redefine his lofty mission—more or less."

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Genre - Humor, Historical Fiction

Rating – R

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#Author Fenella J. Miller Shares A Publishing Horror Story @fenellawriter #AmWriting #AmReading

Publishing Horror Story

This is not my story, but is a true account of what happened to another writer I know. This writer had been, like many others, trying unsuccessfully to find an agent or publisher for a book she had devoted many years to writing. This manuscript had been sent to a professional editing service and was more than ready, but still found no home. The writer had tried every publisher and agent she'd been told about and then, at a writers' meeting, heard about a relatively new publisher who it seemed was open to submissions from debut authors.

This writer immediately sent off a query letter and they asked to see the entire manuscript. Almost by return she had a contract which she signed eagerly, believing she had found a dream deal. The contract was signed without her having fully understood what she was signing up to. I could have warned her that no reputable publisher makes an offer so quickly, the book has to be read thoroughly by several members of that company before a decision can be made.

The publishers proved to be an aggressive and difficult people to work with and this particular author was in shreds long before the book was ready for publication. The cover she was offered was not what she wanted, she believed it to be amateurish and unprofessional looking, but again she was harangued for daring to criticise.

Worse was to come as it became clear that the only way she could acquire copies to sell at the book tour venues she had set up was by paying the full price. This meant that when she sold a book she would actually be making a loss because nobody buys a book at a book signing expecting to pay the price on the back cover. The publisher did nothing to promote the book; they made a small fortune from this writer's ability to sell her own books at her own promotional venues.

This writer is not going to make any money from her book although she has hand sold hundreds of copies. She will not be sending a second novel to this publisher and I hope she has better luck next time; she didn't deserve what happened to her. I have since heard of another debut author has been trying to get published for many years and has just signed an identical contract with the same publisher. She got a contract two days after sending her manuscript – somebody did try and explain this was not a publisher to go with –but like many new writers she is just desperate to become a published author and is prepared to ignore all the horror stories she has heard.

There are far too many small publishers set up by individuals in order to exploit those desperate to

become published. My advice to any new writer would be to listen to what is said by others about a small, independent publisher before signing the contract. Far better to be indie published, and have control of the whole process, than go with a publisher like the one I have described above.

World War II brings divided loyalties and tough decisions in this page turning drama from Fenella Miller.

Hannah Austen-Bagshaw’s privileged background can’t stop her falling in love with working-class pilot, Jack, but Hannah has a secret. Torn between her duty and her humanity, she is sheltering a young German pilot knowing she risks being arrested as a traitor. Hannah’s worst fears are realised when Jack finds out what she has done and their love begins to unravel.
Will her betrayal be too much for Jack to forgive?

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Genre – Historical fiction

Rating – PG

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Excerpts From The House By Sebastiana Randone @sebasti29567440

EXCERPT  FROM THE HOUSE – SEBASTIANA RANDONE
Page 50
He was passionately in love with Sebastienne de Pellier, an actor that
Percy had introduced to Lord Fairchilde, the year before. Percy had originally
fallen in love with Sebastienne, during one of his lengthy visits to Paris. At
the time of their meeting, Sebastienne was living a life of indigence, as was
the experience of most artists, born to impoverished homes. Unfortunately
or (as those of an egalitarian bend would say) fortunately, nature does not
discriminate to whom the gift of artistry falls. More often than not however,
the gods dish out creativity, and talent to those trampled souls, who find
it impossible to combine earning a living with creative discipline. Art, that
great thief, is a robber of time and cunning.
Working as an actor, Sebastienne was celebrated for his interpretation
of Moliere, Racine and Shakespeare. His dark and feline beauty also
made him suitable for Greek tragedy, where he was mostly cast in the
female roles. These transfigured interpretations were accomplished with
great aplomb; the actor’s lithe and graceful gait delighting audiences,
whom were often ignorant of the handsome performer’s real sex.
Notwithstanding Sebastienne’s celebrated artistry, he was in a constant
state of want. He had the fiscal discipline of a hedonist, whose soul
regaled in the mysteries and excesses of the night, enjoying therein all
the pleasures that he could procure. Paris, of course, was filled with
all manner of meandering nocturnal pleasure seekers. The day was
non—existent to Sebastienne, who loathed to be seen in the revealing
and cruel light of day. When he was not performing the serious works
of respected playwrights, he would unleash his female alter ego “La
Marise” at the local underground theatre house ‘La fleur noir’. A popular
night spot, frequented by an array of disparate denizens, allured there,
by the eccentric performances of macabre black humourists, satirists
and performers, who aimed solely to parody the establishment, in
blasphemous and immoral ways. It was a type of freak show where only
strange and ostracised beasts of society were given flight to perform all
manner of monologues, songs and dance. The material was often lewd
and lascivious, which made the venue very popular amongst all manner
of non—conformists, relieving for many, the ennui that a bourgeois
existence inevitably propagated. At the fleur noir, one encountered a
cross section of humanity; politicians, writers, the clergy and upper
classes mingling with indefinable creatures of the night, whose existences
were based on whimsical excesses. Sebastienne’s “La Marise”, portrayed
an incongruous and voluptuously turned out character, combining
vulnerability and ribaldry through song, dance, and the recital of famous
stanzas, which had been tampered with to hilarious effect.

The House is an adult fairy tale rich in mystery and intrigue.

Here is a tale of a woman so absorbed with historical novels that her own reality ceases to offer any hope of romance and beauty.

Until one day this dreamy idealist finds herself in a mysterious forest. How she arrived there is unknown. Soon she encounters a dilapidated house, within whose ancient walls magical rooms that transport to parallel worlds lie in wait.  There she is transmigrated to 18th century England, where our heroine interacts with an odd mix of characters whose dysfunctional lives become immediately apparent.

Her first tribulation involves a nefarious lord, an archetype of the monstrous characters one encounters in fairy tales. The ramification from this confrontation sets the tone for the narrative.

A magic portal finally enables escape from the austere Georgian dwelling. She is then spirited back to the enigmatic house, and a journey to Regency London follows, where a large cast of eccentric identities present themselves.

Late one night, following a long stay in Florence, a young, heart-broken poet arrives. His introduction to the beautiful time traveller offers promise of restoration and love. But there are several more obstacles ahead before her destiny in this curious adventure is made apparent.

In the end an unexpected twist is revealed. But like all good fairy tales, this surprising conclusion is pleasing, even though the means of getting there are dark, and at times sinister.

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Genre - Historical, Fantasy, Romance

Rating - PG-16

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The Christmas Cowboy by Shanna Hatfield @ShannaHatfield #thechristmascowboy

Tate surprises Kenzie by showing up on her doorstep late one afternoon… Standing on her front step, he rang the bell and listened to her footsteps hurrying toward the door. The smile on her face forced him to catch his breath.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Kenzie asked, kissing his cheek then stepping aside so he could come in out of the cold.

Curiosity got the best of her when he stood staring at her, his good hand still behind his back. Trying to look around him, he turned so she couldn’t.

“What are you hiding?” she asked, her eyes warm and inviting when he stepped inside and nudged the door shut behind him with his boot.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re missing a very important component of proper Christmas décor,” Tate said, sounding all knowing and official.

“What could I possibly be missing?” Kenzie asked, looking behind her and sweeping her arm toward the living room that did look particularly festive, thanks in part to Tate. “I’ve got a poinsettia, a beautiful Christmas tree, garlands, pine boughs, sugary treats, and a blazing fire. Did you bring me some chestnuts to roast? If you did, I’ve got no clue what to do with them, so you’re out of luck.”

Laughing, Tate raised his arm and held a bunch of mistletoe over their heads. “It seems to me this is the most important decoration of all.”

“Possibly,” Kenzie said, reaching out and looping her arms around Tate’s neck, pulling his head down to hers. Teasing and gentle at first, their kiss soon gained momentum until he dropped the mistletoe on the table near the door and she pressed as close against him as his thick coat would allow.

Taking a breath, she quickly unfastened the snaps on his coat and slid it off his shoulders, carefully over his injured arm, until it dropped to the floor. He tossed his hat on the little chair Kenzie kept by the door while a groan escaped his throat. He took in every feature of her face, the mouth-watering summery fragrance surrounding her, and the softness of the hot pink sweater she wore. Her favorite color currently matched the shade of her flushed cheeks.

Lowering his head to hers again, Tate wrapped his good arm around her waist and slowly backed her toward the living room without breaking the connection of their lips.

“I missed you,” he whispered against her mouth as he carefully guided her to the couch. When her knees connected with the edge, she sank down on the soft cushions, still holding onto Tate. He went down with her, ravishing her neck with sizzling kisses that made her whisper his name in a throaty tone, sending blood surging through his veins.

"10% of the net proceeds from all my book sales December 1-24 will be donated to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund®"

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Genre – Romance (contemporary western)

Rating – PG

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Website http://shannahatfield.com

Author Interview – Robert Davies @ahundredstories

What made you want to be a writer?
The joy of creating worlds and people and whole lives, and letting them write themselves once I’ve started them off. Maybe I have some sort of God complex. I prefer to think I have a restless imagination that needs an outlet. It’s also one of the most accessible and affordable means of expression – I don’t need to keep buying supplies or spending money on production. As long as there are words, there will always be stories.
What do you consider the most challenging about writing a novel, or about writing in general?
What I found very difficult with both novels was consistency – I am unfortunately not the most consistent person, so after having planned out my storyline and chapters, I’d find myself having a brilliant idea halfway through and having to change everything else to fit around it. Tracking down every part that would need changing was so laborious, it almost made me want to keep everything the way I’d originally planned, but ultimately I can’t write anything if my heart isn’t in it. Also I’d find that quite often my mood changed significantly enough to have an impact on writing style, sometimes partway through the same chapter. Again, keeping the balance between consistency and being heartfelt was difficult. I suppose it all comes down to the age-old heart vs. head tug-of-war that needs to be balanced for anything to work.
Did writing this book teach you anything and what was it?
Research! And that on a budget too. Since I was out of work, in debt, and mostly penniless, I had to do as much research on places as I could without being able to visit them. Tourist sites, travel blogs, and YouTube videos all provided necessary input into what a place looked and felt like. Thankfully I found work and was able to actually do some travelling around Britain afterward, visiting a few of the places I’d written about, and I was relieved to see I’d built up a fairly accurate picture. Then there is the difficulty in writing for events that have never taken place before – what is likely to happen, how are people and the governments likely to react? Maybe I got it all wrong, but by looking into how things are handled now, and what contingencies are in place, I felt ok with a bit of poetic license if it was at least based on a few grains of reality.
Do you intend to make writing a career?
Nothing would make me happier. If I can be talented, prolific and determined enough to do this for a living, then I’d be over the moon. Especially if it buys me a nice house in the countryside.
How did you come up with the title?
It’s actually the title of a short story I wrote years ago – the subject matter is completely different, but I liked the title so much I always wanted to do something bigger with it. In truth, I originally stole the idea from an album I’d bought, called The Light at the End of the World. I was captured by the word-picture and the whole play on “end”, and naturally decided to steal the idea… or is that “be inspired by”?

September, 2013: When the summer ended, so did the world.

Staggering under a volley of meteorite hits, cities the world over are evacuated by the military as violent earthquakes, floods, storms and fires rage across the planet.

The journey unfolds through the jaded yet childlike eyes of Silas Stanley, a recently escaped psychiatric patient who must travel hundreds of miles across a devastated Britain to find his dying daughter before the world ends. Through ruined and deserted cities, flooded countryside and burning fields, Silas makes his way from an evacuated London all the way to his old home town in the Lake District, all the while startled and amazed by the world around him. En route he must avoid the strict martial law that is in force, and steer clear of the huge nuclear explosions being set off by the military in a last-ditch attempt to correct the earth’s faltering orbit.

On a world knocked off course and brought to its knees, love for his family finally forces Silas to face the enormity of his own past with just as much bravery as his uncertain future.

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Genre - Apocalyptic fiction

Rating – PG

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Website http://robertdavies.co