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
This re-evaluation does not necessitate a rejection of the canonical Gospels, but rather a richer, more contextualized reading of them, informed by the wider spectrum of early Christian literature. It means understanding that the “orthodox” narrative that eventually prevailed was not the only narrative at play in the 1st and 2nd centuries. #religion #Christianity #history #WendellSweet religion, Christianity, history, Wendell Sweet
Theological implications of Mary Magdalene’s role in the Gospel of Mary are profound and have been a source of considerable debate. The Gospel of Mary places a woman at the forefront of spiritual revelation and transmission. #religion #Christianity #history #WendellSweet religion, Christianity, history, Wendell Sweet
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 whispers began in dimly lit clubs and backstage dressing rooms, morphing into campfire tales and eventually, into a widely recognized cultural archetype: the “27 Club.” It is a fraternity no one wishes to join, a morbid roll call of musicians whose incandescent careers were extinguished at the zenith of their creative powers, all at the age of twenty-seven.#Club27 #Music #Deadat27 #GeorgeDell #JanisJoplin #JimMorrison
J is a rock legend! She’s a singer, songwriter, and guitarist. J’s music style blends punk, rock, and glam, with a rebellious spirit that’s inspired many. She’s also a pioneering female musician who’s been a huge influence on women in rock. With a career spanning decades, J’s still rocking! But she started out like any of us. She was exposed to music early on. She convinced her parents to let her take guitar lessons at a young age. She formed her first band, in the 1970s with fellow teenage girls and the rest is history… #Music #Rock #Legend #Amazon
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
The end of life no longer means the end. Now it means the beginning of death. A new type of life. A hunger machine searching… #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
Wastelands One
Her body shook, but her chest did not rise. She had tried to rise several times before one of the cousins had bound her with rope, hand and foot. #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
Wastelands Two
– he could tell from the way her skin stretched too tightly across her face, the way her bones protruded through that skin in places… #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
