Just a quick post. I just submitted a new release date to Amazon for Fire Striker. Assuming it doesn’t do anything stupid like cancel the pre-orders–or the book itself–the new release date is Jan. 18th. I could have gone ahead and released it on the 4th as planned, but it would be rushed. The last three weeks have been punctuated with one “fire” after another and the final edits have been delayed. I’d rather push the book back than put out something that wasn’t quite ready.
So here’s the thing. All I can do is ask Amazon for the delay. Oh, I got the scary warning that I won’t be able to do another pre-order or anything for a year by doing so, blah-blah-blah. Since I already have four other pre-orders set up, I’m not too worried (gulp). I’ve already listed much of what I have planned for this year.
Here’s what I need from you. If you pre-ordered the book, let me know if you get anything more than a notice of the release date change. If they cancel the pre-order, let me know. For now, here’s a quick snippet from the book. This is from the rough draft, so there very well may be some spelling, grammar, etc., errors.
Groans reached me from the front of the vehicle. I turned my head in that direction, realizing for the first time we were once again upright. Then I caught the very faint scent of gasoline. Fear spiked and I struggled against the belts holding me in place. Dying in a car fire, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey was not on my list of things I wanted to do. Not today and not ever.
“W-what are you doing?” one of the guards asked
The only response was the sound of two gunshots. Flinching, I renewed my efforts to break free of the seatbelt and shoulder harness. Then a hand touched my arm. Inhaling sharply, I stilled, afraid of what might happen next.
Fuck it. I knew this mission would be the death of me. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.
“Easy. Let’s get you out of here.”
I waited, breaths coming in rapid succession. I’d feel a lot better if he removed the blindfold or freed my hands. Instead, he released the belts holding me in place and pulled me to my feet. Before I could gain my balance, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me out. Relief to be away from what could turn into a fiery inferno at any moment filled me. Not that it answered my questions or eased my concerns.
“This her?” another voice, another man, asked when the man from the van finally set me back on my feet.
“Are you sure?”
The man whom I first saw with Rebecca Hansen didn’t say anything, but I sensed his nod. “They had her hooded when they brought her to the van. I removed the hood to be sure.”
“And her guards?”
“Get her in the car while we finish up here.”
I didn’t like this, not one bit. If these men meant to rescue me, why hadn’t they freed me from my cuffs and removed the blindfold and gag? From the moment I saw that bitch who gave birth to me, I knew it was trouble. I simply hadn’t figured out how much. Hell, I still didn’t know but the feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I needed to get away sooner, rather than later.
“I’m sorry about this,” the man from the van said softly as he led me across what felt like the shoulder of the road. “I promise we’re trying to help.”
If I could have glared at him, I would have. Instead, I did the only thing I could. I struggled against his grip. Finally, tired of my protests, ineffective as they were, he simply picked me up. A moment later, he bent and deposited me beside what felt like a truck or SUV.
“Get her in the fucking car or kill her. We can’t stay here and risk them coming up on us. Not after all we’ve gone through to get here,” the other man rasped.
Have a Happy New Year, everyone. I’ll be back next year, bwahahaha.