– ‘The Magic Of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘One Last Prayer for the Rays’ blogtour, organised by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote Wes Markin his book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Wes Markin is a hyperactive English teacher, who loves writing crime fiction with a twist of the macabre.
Having released One Last Prayer for the Rays he is now working on the second instalment of DCI Michael Yorke’s wild ride, The Repenting Serpent. He is also the author of Defined, a prequel to his DCI Yorke novels, which takes the reader back to his blood-soaked university days.
Born in 1978, Wes grew up in Manchester, UK. After graduating from Leeds University, he spent fifteen years as a teacher of English, and has taught in Thailand, Malaysia and China. Now as a teacher, writer, husband and father, he is currently living in Harrogate, UK.
DCI Michael Yorke faces his most harrowing case yet.
When 12-year-old Paul disappears from school, Yorke’s only clue is a pool of animal blood. Fearing the worst, he turns toward the most obvious suspect, recently released local murderer, Thomas Ray.
But as the snow in Salisbury worsens, Ray’s mutilated body is discovered, and Yorke is left with no choice but to journey into the sinister heart of a demented family that has plagued the community for generations. Can he save the boy? Or will the evil he discovers changes him forever?
One Last Prayer for the Rays introducing DCI Michael Yorke.
Context: This is the opening from the DCI Michael Yorke quick read, ‘defined.’ This exciting and terrifying story takes us back to Michael’s university days and will define the tough and relentless police officer who stars in One Last Prayer for the Rays.
FRANK WATCHED HER from the edge of the room.
In the far corner, Brad, tonight’s makeshift DJ hunched over his decks, fiddling and scratching as if panning for gold. And when the gold came, he lifted his head and then his arms as the room pulsated and throbbed.
No one noticed Frank watching.
She, along with the rest of them, was too busy gyrating and weaving shapes in the air, seeking out gentler moments in a harsh stream of dance music. He smirked. All of these eighteen-year-olds believing that they could find hidden meaning in sounds, tanked on drugs and alcohol.
So fucking pretentious.
And there’s Joanna again, bumping against one boy, then another, flirting and teasing. Offering herself?
He checked his watch– the drug usually kicked in around now.
He smirked again. Second time in two weeks. These parties provided such fantastic opportunities.
Like a dying star, the music was away in the distance now. These university students were all like dying stars too, he thought. They’d been gorging on life for so long, ignoring the fact that soon, merely years from now, it would be over. He longed for these stars to explode, for reality and responsibility to burn into their hedonistic lives.
But now was for now, Frank thought, running his hands down the bedroom door which, only minutes before, Joanna had entered – or rather slumped through – in order to collapse onto the bed. He imagined her weighted down on the sheets by the Rohypnol. Just like Michelle last week. And just like Phillip the month before.
He eased open the door and immediately noticed, with some delight, that it was dim. How romantic, he thought, sneering and closing the door behind him.
Now the harsh music was a distant patter, like inconsequential rain on a bedroom window or the toothless wind rattling the slats on a roof. He was completely alone as he hovered over his chosen one. His angel. Joanna.
She peered up at him with glazed eyes. Minutes, if not seconds, remained before she slipped away. He’d have to be quick – he preferred his chosen ones awake.
Her feet were exposed so his touch began there. He stroked around her toes, moved into a rhythmic brushing up and down her legs, before gently touching the inside of her thigh. He’d noticed before how short her skirt was, but after her sudden collapse onto the bed, it had lifted itself even higher and he felt increasingly enthused.
She moaned. It surprised him. He grinned.
Yes, her eyes were rolling as the drug took her further towards oblivion, but could she be accepting him? Maybe there was more to this one? Maybe for once, in a genuinely long time, he was being welcomed? Her eyes began to close.
‘No,’ he said, ‘No, no …’
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcefully turned her to look at him. ‘No.’
Her eyelids slowly lifted, drool emerged from the corner of her mouth, and she moaned again.
His hand fumbled around his belt; with his other hand, he tore her blouse open. He paused, gently brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, and said, ‘Nothing to worry about.’ Then, he began to mount the bed―
He reeled back, gagging and retching on the sudden metallic taste in his mouth.
My back. Something in my back.
He searched around between his shoulder blades with one hand but he could find nothing. He attempted to breathe but his entire body suddenly felt constricted and no air seemed to be going in.
He staggered backwards and managed to turn. ‘You?’ He said, ‘What …?’
His eyes fell to the knife in the outstretched hand. Its bloody tip pointed at his stomach. His eyes darted back up to his attacker’s face.
But the knife was already five or six inches into his stomach before he’d finished his plea. He tried to wriggle free but the blade was slammed in again and again. Then, he was on his back, on the bed, writhing and gasping for the air his body would no longer accept. He turned to look at Joanna and said, ‘Help me.’
But Joanna was already fast asleep.
For the complete FREE and EXCLUSIVE DCI Michael Yorke quick read visit facebook.com/wesmarkinauthor and sign up!
‘One Last Prayer for the Rays’ is NOW available from Amazon for the discount price of 99p/99c.
The Magic Of Wor(l)ds