Showing posts with label revenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label revenge. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Honourable Enemies (In Love and War, Book 14) by Cora Buhlert

Release date: November 19, 2019
Subgenre: Space Opera

About Honourable Enemies:

 

Once, Colonel Brian Mayhew was the deputy commander of the Republican Special Commando Forces. But now he's gone AWOL to take out crime lord Rick Santerna, the man who murdered his family.

Mayhew's quest for vengeance brings him to the rim world of Maciste, where he runs into his former protégé Mikhail Grikov, now wanted as a traitor and deserter for eloping with enemy soldier Anjali Patel.

Mayhew knows that it's his duty to bring in Mikhail and Anjali. But with Santerna hot his tail, he finds that he needs their help.

Mikhail and Anjali know that Brian Mayhew is a threat to their freedom and their new life together. But now they are faced with a hard choice. Should they risk their lives to help a man who could condemn them both to death or should they let Mayhew die in the Great Arena of Maciste?

This is a short novel of 57000 words or approximately 200 print pages in the "In Love and War" series, but may be read as a standalone. 

 

Excerpt:

 

On the independent rim world of Maciste, a man was running through the warren of grimy backstreets and dark alleys that made up the less savoury parts of the capital Cabiria.
He was no longer young, his reddish hair and neatly clipped beard liberally threaded with grey. His eyes were a watery blue and his body was stocky, packed with muscles rather than fat. The man was clad in the standard spacer’s garb of synth-leather jacket, shirt and utility pants. A blaster was strapped to his thigh — a high-grade model, Republican military issue — that clashed incongruously with the rest of his appearance.
In his regular life, he was Colonel Brian Mayhew, deputy commander of the Special Commando Forces, the elite military unit of the Republic of United Planets. But here on Maciste, he was just a spacer, captain of a tramp freighter, a man with a fake name and an equally fake identity.
He’d come to Maciste to take out Rick Santerna, one of the local crime lords, only to find that Santerna had sent assassins to take him out first. Lucky for Mayhew, the assassins had no idea whom they were really dealing with, and so he had been able to dispatch them, quickly and efficiently, if not exactly tidily. But there were more where those assassins had come from. And so Mayhew was on the run.
He darted into an alley to shake off his pursuers. It worked, too — well, almost. For one of Santerna’s goons — too clever for his own good — had followed Mayhew into the alley. The man should’ve just shot him in the back and be done with it. Quick, clean, efficient. Not exactly honourable, but who the fuck cared?
But the goon had other ideas. Either he had a sense of honour — unlikely, but stranger things had happened — or a grossly inflated sense of his own fighting skills. At any rate, he drew a knife, a nasty vibro-blade, and launched himself at Mayhew.
Bad idea.
Mayhew side-stepped the goon’s first lunge easily and drew his own blade, a standard Republican combat knife. He didn’t much care for edged weapons — blasters and shocksticks got the job done faster and more efficiently. But unfortunately, the rest of the galaxy did not agree and so Mayhew knew how to handle a knife just fine, even if it was not his preferred method of fighting.
The goon drew blood on his second lunge. Nothing serious, just a gash on Mayhew’s right arm. And Mayhew drew blood, too, a stab to the abdomen of his opponent. Nasty, but it wouldn’t kill the man. And if the thug gave up now, turned tail and ran, he could still have walked away from this. After all, killing a nameless goon wasn’t what Mayhew had come here for.
But of course the goon was stupid. Or maybe loyal or persistent or foolhardy. At any rate, he attacked again, weakened though he was from blood loss and the wound in his abdomen.
This time, Mayhew grabbed the man by his knife hand and slammed him back against the wall of the alley with a strength and speed belied by his appearance.
The goon wasn’t even half bad. At any rate, he managed to hold on to his knife, even though Mayhew repeatedly tried to wrest it from his grasp. Finally, he gave up and just let the goon take a stab or two at him, while Mayhew plunged his combat knife right into the man’s heart. The goon slid down the wall, quite dead, an expression of surprise frozen on his face.
“Idiot.” Mayhew spat out a mouthful of blood and sheathed his knife.

 

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About Cora Buhlert:

Cora Buhlert was born and bred in North Germany, where she still lives today – after time spent in London, Singapore, Rotterdam and Mississippi. Cora holds an MA degree in English from the University of Bremen and is currently working towards her PhD. 

Cora has been writing, since she was a teenager, and has published stories, articles and poetry in various international magazines. She is the author of the Silencer series of pulp style thrillers, the Shattered Empire space opera series, the In Love and War science fiction romance series, the Helen Shepherd Mysteries and plenty of standalone stories in multiple genres.

When Cora is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher. She also runs the Speculative Fiction Showcase and the Indie Crime Scene and contributes to the Hugo-nominated fanzine Galactic Journey.

 

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Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Choices of Honor (Goddess's Honor, Book 3) by Joyce Reynolds-Ward

Release date: August 22, 2019
Subgenre: Epic fantasy

About Choices of Honor:

 

Sometimes vangeance becomes more complicated than expected.

Avenging the death of co-Leader Inharise of the Two Nations appears straightforward at first for Katerin Leader and Rekaré Kinslayer. The curse that killed her points directly to the Witches Council of Waykemin. Therefore, they’re responsible. But as Katerin and Rekaré lead a small avenging force to Waykemin’s capital city of Formis, they discover that things are not quite as they seem.

At the same time, Waykemin’s overseas ally, Chatain, Emperor of Daran, sends an invading force that Katerin’s daughter Witmara must counter. But is Chatain’s sortie a distraction from the attack on Waykemin, or does it serve a deeper purpose? Katerin must choose between her daughter and the challenge that Waykemin presents—and hope she made the right choice.

 

Excerpt:

 

Something’s wrong. And what was worse, she couldn’t identify whatever it was.
Rekaré Kinslayer scowled into the tiny warming fire of dried grasses, dead sagebrush, and juniper twigs, looking for wisdom in the flickers of flame and finding none. Maybe it was the season that caused her worry as spring and winter fought for supremacy, the weather unsettled and raw, warm one day, bitter cold the next, the abrupt transitions that made the hair on her forearms prickle with uneasiness.
Except that today was a nice day. The fires her two tens of Mer Galad riders had kindled in this bare spot on the snow-covered ridge’s point were for the purpose of drying out gloves and preparing a hot drink for the noon meal more than the need for warmth. While lacy, scattered clouds occasionally diffused the early spring sun’s rays, that soft chill was only momentary. The short interruptions in sunlight weren’t enough to pause the tiny rivulets of snowmelt trickling from under the knee-high snowbanks under the rimrocks. Mud and not ice squished under her heels. The trill of a bluebird swooping overhead testified to the presence of enough bugs for it to feed.
So just another lovely early spring day on the sagebrush plateau. Except that worrisome tingle, which had grown to a cool tightness in her gut. Rekaré raised her head, tired of not finding answers in the flames. She inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrant smoke, working her fingers open and closed to help banish the chill. Nothing revealed itself in the clouds as she watched the sky, either.
There was nothing unusual about this trip, save that it was earlier in the season than she and Katerin usually met. So why did she have this nagging sense of wrongness that had been tugging at her all day? The land would not be talking to her. It wasn’t hers.
Maybe it was something amongst her people.
Except she knew how that discord felt from past experience. That wasn’t the source of her uneasiness. Senth and Deta would have sensed any dissonance as well and moved to deal with it before her fretfulness escalated this far. So not amongst her riders.
No. Whatever this was affected her and her alone. But what could it be?
She looked away from the fire to check the Mer Galad anyway, even though Senth and Deta were moving from fire to fire talking to their tens, joking and chuckling, and would report any issues to her soon. Brown-skinned peoples from the nations of Larij, Medvara, Keratil, the Two Nations of Keldara and Clenda, and Saubral mixed with the gray-skinned Saubral Shadowwalkers without worry. Twenty riders, male and female, just about in equal numbers. All wore the blood-red cap and cowl of the Mer Galad as they warmed themselves by the fires, some squatting like her, others standing.
Nothing out of line, certainly nothing that would fuel her uneasiness, not like it had been in the early days when it took her, Detaluna, and Sesenth to smooth out fights between riders of different nations.

 

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About Joyce Reynolds-Ward:

Joyce Reynolds-Ward is a speculative fiction writer who splits her time between Enterprise and Portland, Oregon. Her short stories have appeared in Children of a Different Sky, Steam. And Dragons, Tales from an Alien Campfire, River, How Beer Saved the World 1, Fantasy Scroll Magazine, and Trust and Treachery among others. Her books include Shadow Harvest, Alien Savvy, Netwalking Space, Pledges of Honor, Challenges of Honor, and Klone’s Stronghold. Joyce recently completed editing her first anthology, Pulling Up Stakes. Besides writing, Joyce enjoys reading, quilting, horses, skiing, and outdoor activities.


Website | Blog | Author Central


 

Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Heist Online by Victor Deckard

Release date: June 14, 2019
Subgenre: LitRPG, Science fiction mystery

About Heist Online:

 

Heist Online is an action-packed virtual reality video game about cops and criminals.

If you want to play on the wrong side of the law, you can participate in a variety of heists. You can rob banks, jewelry stores, armored cash vehicles, etc. If you prefer to play as a cop, however, your task is to stop robbers.

Striker plays as a heister. When he and his teammates have been returning from a successful robbery, another team of heisters has attacked them and taken their money away.

Striker then finds out that he and his friends aren’t the only players whom the mysterious gang has robbed. Some of the victims want to get even with them. Still, nobody has achieved any success in tracking them down yet. No one knows who they are, why they rob other heisters, or where to find them.

A few days later, when Striker escapes with stolen money after another successful robbery, he happens to run into the mysterious gang again. They try to rob him, but he manages to repel the attack and ward the players off.

Later on, Striker finds out that the members of the mysterious gang have trashed his home out of revenge. After that, he gets determined to hunt them down. He has a score to settle.

 

Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

          Heist Online had finally come out on October 27, 2093. I had been waiting for this virtual reality video game to be released for six years. So it was no wonder I bought the game the moment it became available for purchase. While the game was downloading, I prepared my gaming pod for use.
          I had watched all the gameplay videos and trailers for Heist Online, so I knew what the game was about. It was set in a fictional American state called Ahyoka. Also, the game took place in a historical setting, namely in 2020. Way back when, people had still lived on Earth, hadn’t colonized Moon or Mars yet, and had been driving automobiles and using cell phones. There had not even been virtual reality video games yet. Well, there had already been some VR games, but they had been way less sophisticated than the contemporary ones.
          Heist Online was about heisters and cops, hence the name of the game. I was very fond of the setting and the main concept of the game, so I was very excited for this game.
Finally, the game finished downloading and installing. I wasted no time getting into my gaming pod and immersing myself in virtual reality. As my physical body went to sleep, my consciousness entered the game.
After the logos of the developer and the game disappeared, a message popped up before my eyes:
> Do you want to play the game as a cop or a heister?
Since I had watched all the trailers over the years, I had long since decided that I would play as a heister first. It seemed like more fun. Still, I wanted to try everything in this game. So after I played all the playable heister classes and reached max level of each of them, I would switch to a cop.
After I picked a side, another message emerged in front of me.
> Pick a nickname.
          Out of habit, I decided to name myself Striker. I had been using this word for my nickname in every VR video game I played since I was a kid. I couldn’t even remember why I had picked this name in the first place. Not that it really mattered. I just liked the sound of the word. Moreover, like they said, old habits died hard. So I chose the name and the page before my eyes refreshed.
> The nickname Striker is available!
> (Do you want to pick this nickname: Yes/No)
The game had just come out, so it was no wonder that nobody had picked this nickname yet. After I confirmed my choice, the text vanished and I finally found myself in the game.
I looked around to get my bearings. I was in some room that looked like a basement. It contained no pieces of furniture except for a computer desk and a chair. Next to the computer monitor on the table lay a set of keys attached to a metal ring and a cell phone.
Before I could do anything, a message appeared before my eyes.
> Do you want to play the training mission? (*)
> (Initiate the training mission: Yes/No)
> (*) Note: If you play Heist Online for the first time, it is recommended that you complete the training mission.
As soon as I agreed, I found myself in the street, standing on the sidewalk. It was broad daylight. Traffic was light. Passers-by walked up and down the sidewalks. Nobody seemed to pay me any attention. Judging from their synchronized movements, all of the passers-by were NPCs, non-player characters.
On the other side of the street, there was a small convenience store. Except for this building, all the others were almost identical.
Another message emerged before my eyes.
> There is a convenience store on the other side of the street. Your mission is to rob the place. More accurately, there is a safe with $50,000 inside it somewhere in the store. You need to locate the safe and steal the money.

 

Amazon 

 

About Victor Deckard: 

 

Victor Deckard has become an avid reader in his childhood and since then has a craving for writing fiction. He enjoys reading keeping-you-on-the-edge-of-your-chair thrillers filled with action and spiced up with sci-fi or fantasy themes. His all-time favorite authors are Raymond Chandler, Philip K. Dick, and H.P. Lovecraft.

Victor Deckard’s first fiction story is called Outbreak. It is an action-packed urban-fantasy novella with some horror themes.  Now he's working on his survival post-apocalyptic LitRPG series called Glitch.

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Saturday, June 24, 2017

Retribution by Guy Riessen

Release date: June 20, 2017
Subgenre: Horror

About Retribution: 

 

Brian Lockewood grew up knowing the pain of abuse and loss, but his own turn toward hatred and violence will teach him that retribution is a dish best served cold...and wet...and filled with rats.

A Dark Psychological Supernatural Horror Novelette

Excerpt:

 

His flashlight beam caught hints of rats scurrying into the shadows as he stepped into the room.
Goddamn rats! Fucking creepy-ass shit.
He shuddered as he shined the light back and forth to make sure none were waiting to leap on him. Using the head of the flashlight, he pulled one of the hanging cabinet doors open. Inside were moldering piles of soggy cereal. Rats had chewed holes in the boxes and their contents had leaked and turned to viscous sludge in the humidity. Cockroaches scuttled back into the cracks as the light fell across them.
Only thing worse than disease ridden rats are nasty, swarming cockroaches.
The sink had a slow drip. Plink. Brian was sure the porcelain basin had been white at one time, but now a green slime had grown up from the drain and around the faucet. The rest of the bottom of the basin was brown with minerals from the water slowly dripping into it. He stared into the sink, watching a drip grow slowly larger, hanging to the lip of the faucet like a transparent bulbous sack. Plink.
***
Just a month after Brian’s ninth birthday, which his mom celebrated by baking him his absolute favorite, chocolate cake, Brian stood next to their kitchen sink. There was a slow drip from the faucet. Plink. Mom had cleaned all the dishes and neatly stacked them on the drying rack.
Dad said the kitchen must always be clean enough to eat off the floor.
Or he’d goddamn make them eat off the floor.
Plink. Another drip landed in the clean, white porcelain-enameled basin.
On the table where Brian ate breakfast every morning before school, there was an empty bourbon bottle. It was tipped on its side. A glass was next to it, a slick of bourbon on the bottom.
It was warm that day, but since it was Fall, there was a stiff breeze blowing outside. The windows of the kitchen were open and the cool air moved across the room. A shadow moved slowly across the table, cast from the sun coming in through the screen door.
Twisting slowly, his mom’s feet dangled above the clean linoleum floor. There was a belt looped through the metal light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. It was one of his dad’s belts.
Her face was black and purple, lumpy, and her left eye bulged out like a grotesque caricature of someone surprised. But her right eye just peeked out through a slit where her swollen eyelids didn’t quite meet. She had her makeup up on, like dad always wanted, but her lipstick was smeared on the right side and made it look like her mouth was stretched out. Her lips were puffy under the red lipstick and her tongue was a dark purple and lolled from between her teeth. There was a pool of fluid under her feet, one of the kitchen chairs was tipped over, and the room smelled of bourbon and urine.
The police found his dad down at the bar two blocks over. He said he didn’t know anything about what happened. He’d been at the unemployment office all morning, sat in the park that was on the way home for maybe a few hours, then went to the bar. He said he hadn’t been home since 9am.
They ruled it a suicide. Said his mom took her own life.
Brian knew there was no lipstick on the glass slicked with bourbon. But he couldn’t tell anyone. His dad would know.


Currently free at

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About Guy Riessen:


Guy Riessen is an American author of contemporary dark fiction spanning the science fiction, horror, fantasy and crime genres. Born in 1967 in South Dakota, he grew up in the Southern California beach town of Huntington Beach. He moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in 1985, graduated with a degree in English from UC Berkeley, and has been living in the wild lands north of San Francisco ever since. After nearly two decades of creating artwork in the visual effects industry for feature films, he returned to his first passion: writing speculative fiction.

Website

 

 

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Of A Dark Heart (Legends of Nowhere, Book 1) by Chris Foster


Release date: May 31, 2016
Subgenre: Urban fantasy

About Of A Dark Heart: 

 

A supernatural killer. A prophetic gargoyle. A tale of revenge.
Excalem wants vengeance.
His daughter lay cold upon the coroner’s slab. Someone had taken her from this world. Yet there was no trace of harm. There were no answers to the questions he asked. She was simply gone. Pale. Cold. Dead.
Excalem hands in what little morals he had in exchange for the sword.
Walking through the desert, cracked terracotta under his feet and endless blue above he thinks he has gone mad. Or died. He is out of water, out of place and feels out of time. This is a world he didn’t believe in not long ago. Nowhere both its name and description. He cannot stop, he is the cat after the rat but the dog is coming.
Both pursued and pursuing, he knows only one thing.
There will be vengeance.
The Gargoyle said so, and rocks don't lie.


Excerpt:

 

His boots had worn away their soles, becoming little more than leather ankle warmers. His feet were left to walk directly on the simmering ground. His eyes struggled to look up, instead seeking refuge in the deep cracks of the earth. Each jagged cut through the dust covered land was like a guiding track for his eyes to follow.
Then it stopped.
He stopped.
It took a few moments for his mind to realise he could continue walking without the guiding tracks of broken soil. Raising his head he registered the sight before him.
There was a girl no older than five staring at him. She looked very pretty in her pink polka dot white dress. He looked at her. She burst into tears and ran away. Shaking his head he raised a hand against the sun and looked more closely. A knee high picket fence stood before him. On the other side of it appeared to be a town.
Nothing more than a couple of sandstone buildings. Judging by the smell there was a pub and maybe some sort of enforcement agency. Enforcing what would be an interesting question.
Stepping over the knee high gates he shuffled down the main street, blisters on his feet bursting and scarring. There were locals going about their business, discussing other locals. In the centre of the road was a sign post, its worn wood scratched with the word LAST.
Leaning against the post was a portly man with mutton chops. He stood in boots made from snake's skin. A bowler's hat couldn't quite contain his curly ginger hair. A large sunburnt nose was supported either side by wobbly cheeks of economic size. Wearing an old Victorian suit, the man was chewing on a greasy leg of lamb roast. Fat was dribbling down across his face, his cheeks wet with the greasy film. An enthusiastic bite caused a large squirt of liquid lard to cover his monocle. Removing it with his free hand, the man was about to rub it against his shirt when he saw the Swordsworn.
"Well, I do say, if I was a bettin' man, I'd say ya'll be a new face in town. Yessir that would be them there words I would say. I'd bet the last of my here lamb roast on it. But a bettin' man needs a bettin' man, so are you a bettin' man, John?"
The Swordsworn stared at the man. His feet were burnt and his stomach empty. At least his mind showed intelligence in its hallucinations. It knew what he needed.
"Where is this place?"
Whistling the man jerked his thumb at the sign above his head.
"Can't ya read, Johnny boy? Sign says FIRST, so I'd wager this here town be called FIRST!"
Reading the sign again the Swordsworn clearly saw the word LAST. Grunting he stared at the food.
"What's your name and how did you get a roast here?"
Wagging a fat, grease covered finger at him, the man then smacked his forehead. The sound was far louder than expected, echoing down the street.
"Why, my manners have gone a runnin' it seems. My name's Willy Wilson. And you'd be Johnny, am I right, or am I right, or am I so wrong I've actually made it all the way back to right again?"
Shaking his head the Swordsworn grunted.
"My name's Excalem."
Willy Wilson went quiet at that. His jovial face sunk.
"I wish you hadn't said that."

Amazon

About Chris Foster:

Chris Foster is the Australian author of The Cassé Lands Series, a number of award winning poetry collections and numerous manuscripts that are 'currently under construction, please wear your hardhat'.
Besides writing bestsellers he enjoys fishing, playing games (board, tabletop, video, in fact anything with dice or numbers) and will occasionally be seen helping little old ladies across the street or carrying their shopping.
Generally he can be found glued to his desk wallowing loudly while surrounded by towering skyscrapers (ceiling scrapers?) of manuscripts and post-it notes. Currently he has over twenty manuscripts in progress.
He does try to keep his imagination under control but occasionally it overpowers him and a new book appears.