“Hey,” he said. A young guy. Unshaven. Wild hair. I could smell the street on him. His teeth were yellowed and chipped. Looked to be blackening in places I saw. His tongue continuously licked at his cracked lips. I couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t have known what to say if I had been able to, and I was having a very hard time keeping my eyes open. The lights were too bright.
“Hey,” he said again. “I didn’t know you would be naked… In a bath tub… He didn’t say that… I’m sorry…. I really am sorry.” His hand swam into view as I watched. Normal except a black lump seemed to be fused to it. A black lump with a blacker hole in the end of it. Fire spat from the blacker hole. The lights went out…#Audio #Book #SamWolfe #DreamTravel #Readers #Listeners
The gritty concrete pressed against my cheek, cold and unforgiving. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes, radiating outwards to claim every muscle, every fiber of my being. My body felt heavy, leaden, as if anchored to the ground by unseen chains. The air hung thick and cloying, a miasma of decay and something else… something feral, something primal. I coughed, the taste of blood metallic on my tongue, a coppery tang that clung to the back of my throat.
My eyes flickered open, focusing slowly on the blurry shapes around me. The first thing I registered was the stench – the overwhelming stench of rot and garbage, a symphony of decay that assaulted my nostrils. #Horror #SciFi #Epic #Thriller #Drama #Kindle #Audible
In the epoch before epochs, before the first star ignited or the first whisper of thought coalesced, there existed a state of being so profound, so utterly complete, that it defied definition. The very essence of all that could possibly manifest was present, not as individual threads, but as a unified, unshaped whole, a perfect stillness that contained within it the potential for every conceivable hue, every conceivable sound, every conceivable form, and every conceivable emotion. It was a state of pure, unadulterated being, a state of absolute potential, where the concept of ‘is’ was synonymous with ‘could be.’ #Mystical #Mythology #Epic #Fantasy Audible #Kindle
The nightmare would begin insidiously, with the faintest whisper of a sound, a familiar vibration that would build, slowly at first, then with terrifying speed. It was the hum of the engine, the low thrum of the car carrying them towards an unseen precipice. He would feel the familiar press of the seat beneath him, the faint scent of Ann’s perfume, a scent that would soon be overwhelmed by the acrid stench of burnt rubber and fear. Then, the unmistakable sound, the prelude to chaos: the high-pitched shriek of tires desperately seeking purchase on asphalt, a sound that ripped through the fabric of the night and into the very marrow of his bones. #Horror #SciFi #Epic #Thriller #Drama #Kindle #Audible
Gus Dyer is a hardcore detective in the big city. He knows what crime is, and he has seen the worst of the worst walk her streets and taken those same people down. Some to jail, some to the gates of hell where they belonged in the first place.This time he is on the trail of a hired killer, Jimmy West. West works out of the city. It is his base and fortress, the place where he can roam free among millions of other people unseen, unchallenged and free to continue his crimes.#Detective #Crime #Mystery #Thriller #Suspense #Readers #KU
Gus Dyer The road to Redemption
Gus Dyer is a detective no more. Staring into the deep wells of corruption for too many years sent him into a spiral. He tried to use the bottle to find his way out, but that only dragged him in deeper. The road to Redemption is a look at that fall and how hard that fall was. But Gus is determined to stand on his own two feet again. It remains to be seen whether he will ever become a detective again, but he is finding out that being a detective is not about a badge. It isn’t something you take on with the position either. It is in your blood, and if you have it, you cannot help but follow those impulses that flood through your body with that blood when you know something is wrong. Dead wrong…#Detective #Crime #Mystery #Thriller #Suspense #Readers #KU
John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book one:
The chipped paint on my beat-up Ford Falcon was flaking like old skin. The smell of stale coffee clung to the interior like a cheap perfume, a constant, bitter reminder of the long hours ahead. Across the street, Paul Fields’ two-story colonial loomed, a picture of suburban perfection, a stark contrast to the cramped discomfort of my temporary office. The relentless hum of traffic on Hemlock Drive was a dull, throbbing ache in my skull, a soundtrack to this tedious ballet of surveillance. My gut churned, not from the coffee, but from the gnawing feeling that I was hemorrhaging money, bleeding my retainer dry on this seemingly pointless stakeout…
Book 2 of 3: Private Investigations: John Rourke Private Detective Stories John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book two: My apartment, usually a sanctuary of quiet solitude, became a temporary forensic lab. The dining table transformed into a command center, littered with maps, photographs, financial records, and transcripts of intercepted phone calls. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the lingering aroma of cheap takeout containers. Days bled into nights as I painstakingly organized the evidence, meticulously documenting every detail, creating a comprehensive narrative that would stand up to the scrutiny of the legal system… #BookWorm #Readers #KindleUnlimited #WWWatson #Crime #Noir #Mystery #PrivateEye
John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book three:
The silence was broken by the distant screech of a hawk, its cry sharp and piercing against the vast silence of the desert. It was a lonely sound, a perfect metaphor for the state of my own soul. I was tired, bone-deep tired. Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford, nightmares a constant companion. The faces of the victims, the ones I’d found along Rieser’s trail, haunted my dreams. Each one a testament to the brutal efficiency of a man who knew how to erase his tracks… #BookWorm #Readers #KindleUnlimited #WWWatson #Crime #Noir #Mystery #PrivateEye
s #BookWorm #Readers #KindleUnlimited #WWWatson #Crime #Noir #Mystery #PrivateEye
The dust swirled around my worn boots, a miniature desert storm kicked up by the frantic thump of my own heart. The air hung thick and heavy, the scent of dry earth and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet, clinging to the back of my throat. It was the smell of blood. Old blood. New blood. The kind that stains the soul as deeply as it stains the earth. I’d been clean for six months, six agonizing months of sweat-soaked nights and gnawing cravings, a testament to a willpower I never knew I possessed. Six months of staring at the cracked pavement, avoiding the shadowed corners where my past lurked like a hungry ghost. But tonight, the ghost had found me.
The Jail Job: The intended guy is in Rikers Island doing a year. George uses Juanita’s computer skills to access the inmate Database and have him released early. Vinnie tells him he is a snitch and a suspected child molester, but the truth is he is an undercover ATF officer investigating Vinnie’s interests in Rikers Island, where he controls the drug and sex trade in the huge jail. When he is taken to the prison ferry and released, he has no idea what has happened. He finds himself on the street with no funds, phone, walking after he is dropped off by the prison transport bus. He resolves himself to the thirty block walk to the ATF offices. George catches him on the way and kills him.
The crooked Judge: This is a job George takes on for the bookie. The bookie has a friend who is a pimp for high dollar call girls. The judge has killed one of his girls and hushed it up through his buddies in the NYPD. This angers George and he takes the job. It turns out this story is the truth, but killing a judge has its consequences. Every law agency in the area is investigating. One of the cops who helped hide the truth remembers threats from the pimp and tells a cop buddy while drinking. That cop is an ear for Ben Larkin and relays the information to him.
The stench of stale urine and rotting garbage clung to the air, a familiar perfume in George Topsfield’s nocturnal endeavors. Rain, a relentless drizzle that had plastered itself to the city for days, slicked the cobblestones of the alley, turning the already dismal space into a treacherous, reflective mirror of the neon-drenched city above.
The air in the back room of the dimly lit Italian restaurant was thick with the scent of stale garlic and unspoken threats. Vinnie “The Hammer” Moretti, a man whose reputation preceded him like a bad omen, leaned back in his chair, a half-empty glass of wine swirling in his hand. His eyes, dark and shrewd, scanned the faces of the men seated before him. George Topsfield, his usual veneer of polite composure strained, fidgeted with the cuff of his expensive shirt. Across from him sat Marco, Vinnie’s enforcer, a hulking brute with a face carved from granite and eyes that held the unsettling calm of a predator.#Crime #HitMan #OrganizedCrime #Mystery #Thriller #Drama
The collapse had been a swift, brutal amputation. The surge, a cataclysmic event that had not only silenced our digital world but had also plunged vast swathes of the planet into darkness and disarray. The immediate aftermath had been a blur of panic, of desperate attempts to comprehend the incomprehensible. The abstract threats of cyber warfare or economic collapse had been replaced by the terrifyingly concrete realities of starvation, disease, and the primal struggle for survival. In the early days, the focus had been singular: survive. Find food, find water, find shelter. My technical skills, so vital in the old world, were largely useless. I learned to scavenge, to ration, to move with a stealth born of necessity. I learned the silence of the wilderness, the language of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. But survival, I was discovering, was not an end in itself. It was a means to an end, a precarious foundation upon which something more must be built. It was a recognition that to truly survive, I needed to do more than just exist; I needed to be.
Before Candace could speculate, a low, guttural growl echoed from the far end of the depot, followed by the distinct sound of heavy boots crunching on gravel. It was a sound of human origin, but there was an aggression to it, a territoriality that sent a prickle of alarm through Candace. “Someone else,” Elara whispered, her hand tightening on her pipe. Candace nodded, her gaze fixed on the source of the sound. “And they don’t sound friendly.” She could see them now – a group of figures emerging from the gloom, their silhouettes indistinct against the muted light. They were armed, their weapons glinting dully. Their movements were coordinated, purposeful, suggesting a trained unit rather than a disorganized band of scavengers. #Dystopian #Apocalyptic #Epic #Survival #Amazon #Kindle #KU #Horror
Lee Crow: Year 2196. Captain Lee Crow leaned back in his pilot’s chair as Eagle One slid into Moon Base 14’s docking bay with that familiar metallic groan. His fingers flew over the controls, years of muscle memory making the landing look easier than it was. This rustbucket of a cruiser had cost him most of his savings fresh out of college – worth every credit, even if the maintenance fees kept him awake at night sometimes. #SpaceTravel #Sciencefiction #SpaceColonization #DellSweet #SciFi #Amazon #KU #Kindle
The air, once a crisp promise of life, now hung heavy, a suffocating shroud of ochre dust and acrid fumes. Earth, their ancestral cradle, was gasping its last, ragged breaths. Decades of unchecked industrial sprawl, of rivers choked with effluent, of forests razed for short-term gain, had finally brought the planet to its knees. The sky, a bruised canvas of perpetual twilight, offered no solace, only a grim testament to humanity’s heedless ambition. From the viewport of the Eagle Two, Earth was a dying ember, its once vibrant blues and greens leached away, replaced by the sickly hues of decay.#SpaceTravel #Sciencefiction #SpaceColonization #DellSweet #SciFi #Amazon #KU #Kindle
