BLACKLISTED is getting closer every day….
To those of you who don’t know, my second novel release is due out very soon. Right now it’s away with my editor and I’m discovering all the wonderful things involved in self-publishing.
Yes, you heard me right, Blacklisted is going to be self-published. I have reached a point where I believe the most important thing for me to do is make my books available to those who matter: my readers. We have all been waiting for over a year and a half to see what else I can produce and I am more than willing to deliver.
So Blacklisted will hopefully be out this month in eBook, but at the very worst it will definitely be out next month. The last thing I want to do is rush it and make mistakes, so for now I beg your patience. As I have said before, the eBook will initially be released at 99c in an attempt to apologize to those of you who have been waiting for more. The print version will be available soon after, as I fumble my way through this process.
But that’s not the end of it. Beyond Hades will be released as soon as I can get it ready and its sequel, Slaves of Valhalla, will also follow. I have two other novels written after these, but at this stage I’m not sure what I’ll do with them. They’re part of a four-book series which is absolutely colossal in its scale, and so I think I’ll just see where I stand at the end of my publication marathon.
I’m not about to climb into a pulpit and preach about how self-publishing is taking over the world, because we all know it’s not. I’m just trying to get my voice heard in the maelstrom, and at the moment I believe getting my work to my readers as swiftly possible is absolutely vital. To do that I must self-publish, it’s that simple. Things have been on hold for far too long through no fault of my own, and the last thing I want to do it to jump back on the merry-go-round of submissions and rejections once more.
My editor, the same man I worked with on The Dark Path, is of the highest calibre, and we are working together to polish Blacklisted to a fine shine. It is very different from The Dark Path in that it is based purely in reality, but its soul of action and adventure is just as strong, if not stronger.
People will inevitably ask if I like this book better, but I cannot answer that, nor is it for me to answer. It is for you, the readers, to decide for yourselves. These stories are my children, and to like one more than another would be the same as if I turned from one child in favour of another. I pour everything I can into what I write, and all I can do is hope it goes out into the world to be accepted and loved as much as I love it.
Click HERE to read an excerpt from BLACKLISTED.
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HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!
There has been an absolutely phenomenal international response to my debut novel, THE DARK PATH, with fans clamoring for more and more and more. I have been promising another release for a while now but, due to issues beyond my control, things have been delayed… until now.
I would like to announce that I will be bringing my second novel, BLACKLISTED, directly to you, my readers, in an attempt to expedite the whole process. I am going to be working with the same editor as THE DARK PATH and hope to get it out within the next couple of months. Yes, I know it’s still a wait, but we want to bring you the best quality product possible and don’t want to rush the process just for the sake of saving a couple of weeks. BLACKLISTED will be available at all major online retailers in both print and ebook, though the print version may be released later than the ebook, I’m not sure yet.
Once again, I apologize to all of you who have been waiting so long. So in an attempt to make amends with my readers, BLACKLISTED will be initially released in ebook at a discounted price of only .99c!!!
Yes, you heard me right. For the first month after the release date, BLACKLISTED will only be .99c on Kindle, Nook, Sony, iPad, Kobo and wherever else I can release it. I am doing this in an attempt to apologize to all those who have remained my faithful fans despite the amount of time between books. Unfortunately, due to printing costs, I don’t think we’ll be able to discount the print version yet, but that may change as more information comes to me.
In the meantime, check out my awesome concept cover art below. This isn’t the final product, but gives an idea of what it’ll look like.
And as a further teaser, here’s just a snippet of what’s coming:
BLACKLISTED excerpt
Two cops slammed Mike down onto the chair, snapping him back to the present. They hesitantly released his handcuffs and jumped back in case he attacked.
He didn’t. That’s exactly what they wanted, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He just stared coldly at the detective badge on the chest of the man sitting opposite him while the other two backed out of the interrogation room.
Deep within, Mike had known what he’d been doing over the last few years would eventually catch up with him, and he’d vowed to stop a hundred times. But every time he turned on the TV, he saw another scumbag being let off over some sort of technicality.
The law system no longer worked, and something deep inside made Mike keep doing it. Why couldn’t they just stop the bad people from hurting others? He hadn’t wanted to do the things he did, but the compulsion to act when the law failed was just too strong.
Mike scrubbed at the unseen blood on his hands for the hundredth time.
Damn this! He didn’t want to be here! He was a good man, had been trying to do good for so long, but he couldn’t just sit back and let evil go unchallenged. There was a huge, driving need within him to protect people, forged into him during his time as a bouncer, and an instinct to punish those who walked free, thanks to the death of his father at the hands of a man he would never know. These bastards could not be allowed to go unpunished; he had to stop them. And the only way he knew to stop them was to kill them.
He couldn’t be evil, could he?
At least he could afford a good lawyer; that might count for something. And then there was always the chance the police might not have done their job thoroughly enough – just like they hadn’t done their job all those times before, leaving him to clean up the mess.
Bastards.
Anger rose up inside Mike, warming him from within and pushing away his depression. Cops cared more about eating donuts than they did about doing their damn job. If they’d covered everything the way they were supposed to, Mike wouldn’t be in this situation. It was all their fault.
“Michael T. Swanson,” said the detective. Mike looked at him blandly, trying to appear bored. “Seems like you’ve been a very busy man. How do you find the time to go around murdering people when you’ve got that fancy club of yours to run? I guess everyone needs a hobby, right?”
Mike gazed at him blankly.
“I suppose you’ll be able to use your phase in jail to your benefit; all that extra time inside to pump up those big muscles.” He pointed at Mike’s bulging bicep. “You can make yourself all pretty for when they finally give you the lethal injection. At least they won’t have trouble finding a vein to stick the needle in.”
Mike just stared. He’d ask for gas anyway, he hated needles.
The cop slammed his palm down on the desk. “Why are you looking so smug, you asshole? They’re going to kill you. If you confess now, they’re likely to go easy and just give you life. With parole, you might even be out in fifteen years. You’ll barely be forty years old, plenty of time left to live out the rest of your life. But death is final, Mike, make no mistake about it. There ain’t no coming back from that.”
Mike yawned. This guy was so full of shit; they’d never let him go for the things he’d done.
The cop swore, pacing away before returning and leaning heavily on the desk. “Now I know you’ve got that fancy lawyer and all, Mike, but he isn’t gonna save you from this.” He grinned maliciously. “We found your DNA at three crime scenes and we’re building up a case that’s gonna be rock solid.”
That got Mike’s attention. It was possible they might have found something at one of the scenes but how -?
“How did you get my DNA?” asked Mike, unable to help himself. He hadn’t done anything since arriving at the station – and he certainly hadn’t agreed to a DNA swab.
The cop grinned. “It’s amazing what technology can get for you these days, Mike. We got your DNA from your old drug tests back when you were boxing. Did you know they recorded your DNA when they screened you for drugs? They label it as something completely different to keep the whining ninnies ignorant, but when we found a hair on the body of that pedophile you killed – um, what’s his name?”
Mike gazed at him, his expression like stone. “It’s your story, you tell me.” He wouldn’t admit defeat yet.
“Anyway, once we got that hair and ran it through the system, your name popped up. Along with similar evidence at two more scenes, it was enough to get us a warrant, and with all the crap we found at your house we’re gonna bury you. We’ll substitute the DNA from your toothbrush for the blood test results and say we got it out of your trash. It’s completely underhanded, but if it helps us keep a psycho like you off the street it’s worth it.”
Mike shook his head. Bastards.
Suddenly the door to the interrogation room slammed open and four black-clad soldiers, their features hidden behind black combat masks, strode in followed by a man wearing a crisp Armani suit. Mike glanced at the cop, but he seemed just as stunned as Mike.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man in the suit ignored the detective, looking Mike up and down before nodding slightly and indicating to the soldiers. All four moved to where Mike sat and lifted him to his feet. A set of manacles was produced by one and they secured Mike’s hands and ankles.
The cop made to grab the man in the suit, but in a move of amazing alacrity the suit spun away from him, sweeping the detective’s hands aside in the process. His right hand then shot forward, grabbing the detective by the throat, whilst his left arm wrapped around and trapped the cop’s right arm under his armpit. He clamped his index finger and thumb around the cop’s windpipe, pushing up and closing the carotid arteries. The cop made a weak cough before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the floor.
The man in the suit gently laid the cop on the floor before standing once more, completely at ease. A few inches shorter than Mike and a good deal lighter, the suit returned his stare evenly and Mike felt a chill deep within. This was not a man to be trifled with.
Around thirty-five years of age, the strange man had a fair complexion with sandy-colored hair parted evenly to the left and lightly oiled. It gave the impression of someone more scholarly, but even without the display Mike had just seen, he would never have taken this man lightly. Behind those brown eyes flecked with black laid a deep intelligence bordering on what seemed like insanity… or fanaticism.
“Who are you?” asked Mike, trepidation creeping into his voice. He’d been so sure of what was going on with the police, had run it through his mind a thousand times before getting caught so that nothing was a surprise. But this, getting busted out of jail by a bunch of guys who beat up cops and dressed up like they were with the army, this was something he was totally unprepared for and he felt dread rising within him. It was a strange sensation to arrive so soon after he had so recently been prepared to die. He stared at the man in charge, waiting for some kind of explanation.
None came. The man in the suit pointedly ignored Mike and motioned for the soldiers to take him out of the room.
As they marched through the police station, other soldiers came in behind them at various points from other areas. Mike saw cops lying all over the place, some with what looked to be tranquilizer darts sticking out of them.
What the hell was going on?
His heart began to race, his palms for once feeling free of blood as sweat poured from them.
The soldiers wore no markings of rank or country, were dressed completely in black from head to toe, but moved through the place with a coordinated efficiency that impressed the former bouncer. It impressed him as well as unnerved him; something on this scale was almost beyond belief. They slid through rooms with a precision that spoke of years of training, their black boots barely making a sound as they glided swiftly from place to place, completely securing the station. No emotion emanated from the eyes within the black combat masks, and Mike felt his trepidation mount once more.
These guys were definitely not amateurs.
They finally exited out the rear of the station and into a car park where Mike saw several unmarked military-looking Humvees parked – all painted uniformly black with dark-tinted windows. He was bustled into the back seat of one of these while two soldiers climbed in and sat either side of him, pinning him in. Both had their Beretta M9 handguns drawn before sitting and held them ready on their laps. Mike saw the safety mechanisms on both guns were clicked off, the little red dot staring up at him like a promise of blood if he decided to resist.
The front passenger door opened and the man in the suit entered the vehicle. Flipping open his phone Mike heard him say, “Implement clean and sweep of entire station. Use G-67 formula on all subjects and create a cover story of a gas leak resulting in temporary amnesia accompanied by loss of consciousness. That is all.”
As the vehicle moved away from the police station, Mike couldn’t help but wonder yet again who these men were and what agenda they had.
And why did they want him?
Mike’s bladder was uncomfortably full, and yet his mouth seemed completely dry. He shouldn’t feel like this; he was the killer, the one to be feared, but he sensed only terror. Not at the thought of death, merely panic at the unknown. Why the hell was this happening? What could they possibly want?
Copyright(C) 2009 Luke Romyn
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