Victim
Souls
By Andrew
Terech
Genre: Supernatural Horror
ISBN-13: 978-0692330234
ISBN-10: 0692330232
ASIN: B00PEASG6Q
Number of pages: 386
Word Count: 91,000
Cover Artist: Brianna Strawn
Book Description:
Sometimes, only bad guys can beat
the Devil…
The plan is simple: get the money
and deliver the car. What could possibly go wrong?
What can’t?
Things start to go south when Sam
Drake realizes that his brother Johnny is hiding something, a secret about
Sam’s troubled childhood that goes beyond his most feverish nightmares…
Then Johnny’s girlfriend, Ash,
starts sending Sam the kind of mixed signals that can only lead to big trouble…
As the trio of small time crooks
falls deeper into an abyss of betrayal and violence, they will discover that
the greatest danger they face is not of this world.
With everything he believes about
himself and the world around him shattered, Sam will become the unlikely
champion in a battle with true evil, a fight to save a soul that has already
been forfeited to darkness.
His own.
Available at: Amazon
Excerpt:
The silver barrel of the Colt .45
glimmered in Johnny’s hand. The obese clerk behind the counter held his arms
up, eyes darting to each of our faces. His brown-stained, white t-shirt clung
to his sweaty man tits. Moisture dripped off his scraggly goatee onto his
protruding gut. The ceiling fan above him worked hard, trying to cool down the
un-air-conditioned, Arizona shit-hole that smelled like armpits and rotting
cheese. A large bullet hole from Johnny’s warning shot sat two feet from the
clerk’s head, along with the standard wall of cigarettes and liquor bottles
acting as a reminder of the poor bastard’s purpose in life.
Johnny’s smirking mouth twitched
with excitement. He had a scary look in his eyes—a man possessed with rage.
Ash clung to him, her blond hair
draped over his shoulder. Her hand gently palmed his shaved head as she leaned
toward the side of his face.
She
whispered something in his ear.
Butterflies
sliced the inside of my stomach with razor wings. This wasn’t the way we did
things. We were escalating. Normally, I kept everyone cool, levelheaded. All
control had gone out the window.
Simple
Bob behind the counter sobbed, looking terrified. Part of me felt pity for the
guy, but it was too late to turn back. “I don’t wanna be a part of no trouble,
now,” he said. “Why don’t y’all take what ya need and go? Please, I got a
family.” He glared at Ash. Four kids.”
Johnny
cackled. “Family? You hear this guy, Sammy? He’s got a fuckin’ family.” Johnny
gestured toward me. “That’s my family over there. My little brother. I
practically raised the pecker. Parents were killed… come to think of it—by a
fat, drunk piece of shit like you. So don’t talk to me about family.”
I
glanced at the clock above the entrance—eight minutes had passed. “Johnny, come
on man.”
Ash
sneered at me. “Not now. This is grown up time. Go grab us some food or
something.” Her dismissive tone dug into my nerves.
“Go
fuck yourself!” I spat. The last thing I needed was that crazy bitch feeding
Johnny’s frenzy.
“Quit
it, bro. I got this,” Johnny said.
As usual he sided with the short
jean shorts and tight, red tank top—a little cleavage and ass were all it took
for him to forget about his own brother. “Get the cash and let’s go,” I said.
“Stop messing around.”
Johnny glanced at me. “You think
you could do better?”
I froze, unable to come up with a
response, probably because I knew I couldn’t. Johnny took care of the hold-up.
I collected the goods and kept us on point. That was our system, and it worked.
Ash, on the other hand, was new to the mix. All she managed to do was waste
time and get Johnny more amped than a rabid pit bull on cocaine. How he decided
that was helpful, I have no idea. Things ran smooth before she stuck her pretty
ass in the mix. Now instead of in-and-out with hands full of cash, we were
wasting time scaring some poor, fat slob half to death. And for what, I
wondered, shits and giggles?
I glanced back at the clock. Ten
minutes in, and we were still dicking around. I started to tell Johnny our time
was running out. From the corner of my eye, the clerk reached beneath the
counter.
“Hey!” Ash shouted before I could
react.
Johnny swung his arm, smacking the
butt of the gun across the fat bastard’s face. “What did I tell you? Huh!”
The clerk stumbled back. The weight
of his body slammed into the wall of cigarettes and cigars. He slid to the
floor as dozens of boxes rained down around him.
My heart pounded. I took several
deep breaths. We’d never had a close call like that before.
Ash pulled out her butterfly knife
and flipped it open. “We need to deal with him.”
Johnny clenched his jaw as he
leaned over the counter, pointing the gun. “Get up! Now!”
The blubbering man slowly rose up,
his hands in the air, snot dripping from the pubes on his chin.
“What’s your name, buddy?” Johnny
asked, switching to a calmer tone.
“T-T-Tony.”
With
a big smile on his face, Johnny slammed his fist on the counter. “Tony! That’s
a strong name. Like Tony fucking Soprano.”
Tony
jumped and backed into the wall behind him again. His flabby arm knocked down a
couple liquor bottles. He flinched as the glass shattered on the tile floor. I
reminded myself to at least swipe some good booze when we were done.
Johnny
grabbed the knife from Ash’s hand and gave her the gun. “Hold this for me,
baby.”
I
glanced at the clock—twelve minutes. “Bro, we’re coming up on fifteen. Forget
him. You don’t have to do this.”
“We’re
in the middle of nowhere. We’re fine! And for the record,” he twirled the blade
in his hand, “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”
I’d had it with Johnny’s unchecked
arrogance. He always screwed with people, but he didn’t hurt anyone unless he
had to. Tony may have been a liability, but if we’d stuck to the plan it
wouldn’t have come to this.
Thirteen
minutes.
Ash
put her arm around Johnny, resting the gun on his shoulder, conveniently
pointing it at my face.
I
took a step toward the counter, out of the line of fire. No way I trusted that
bitch with a gun in her hand.
She flashed a smile in my
direction.
“Put
your hand out on the table.” Johnny said.
Tony
extended his shaking arm. Johnny grabbed his wrist, pulled him forward, and
slammed his hand onto the counter.
Tony yelped. “Please.”
My heart raced as my brother
hovered the knife over Tony’s hand. “Come on bro…”
Johnny’s
finger shot up, motioning me to be quiet. “Tony. I’m going to teach you a
little lesson in trust.”
About
the Author:
Andrew’s a horror fiction writer
who is also a massive fan of the genre. He’s been writing short stories and
working on his novel for over 5 years. He has several short stories published,
as well as some editing credits. He moderates a writing workshop in Phoenix, AZ
where he’s been exposed to many different forms of fiction, which have
broadened his influences. He aims to write stories that creep out his readers,
while offering well-developed, rich characters they can sink their teeth into.
He’s also a fan of experimenting with form and structure to create something
uniquely my own.
Andrew grew up on Long Island in
New York, and has lived in Arizona for the past 7 years. His professional
background is in psychology where he’s carved out a nice career for himself.
However, writing has always been his passion.
Currently, he’s hard at work,
developing additional content to publish. He hopes to find an audience that
loves the genre, and is up for a good scare.
Tour
giveaway:
5 Special Editions only available
in print that contains the short story- open to US Shipping
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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