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| Whose hand is that, anyway!/ |
Some news:
Wednesday,
August 7th—Cover Reveal for COMPANY OF THE DAMNED
Friday,
August 16th—Release Day
for COMPANY OF THE DAMNED
Yep, we have a release day!
So, let’s do another teaser for the COMPANY OF THE DAMNED cover reveal and some
more teaser text:
“Del,”
Joshua said, “allow me to introduce you to my father, Jaccob Smalls, and our
associates, Vince Anastagi and Mariya Samusenko.”
“Anastagi?”
Del nodded to the man. “As in The? I thought you were dead?”
“The The is dead.” Vince’s smile was
infectious. “I’m not.”
Del
smiled back. “Clever of you.”
Vince
nodded.
“I
thought so.”
Both
Mariya and Vince were armed, both were capable. For some reason, Mariya glared
at Del. She searched her mind, but was reasonably certain they had never met,
or run into each other. Maybe Mariya had one of those faces—angry without
meaning to be? Vince shucked a bidi from a crumpled pack and tucked it into the
corner of his mouth but didn’t light it. He looked like he could use a drink or
three. They definitely weren’t immortals. There was no scent in the air of the
ancient around them. Even Joshua, who Del knew was at least fifty-plus years
older than his mid-thirties looks suggested, didn’t give off the degree of
experience and knowledge that an immortal or near-immortal had.
Jaccob,
on the other hand, had all the trappings. Everything about him was subtle,
subdued, and composed. He wore gray slacks and a simple white, button-down
shirt, with a matching gray jacket that fit him so perfectly, they could only
be Dormeuil or Alexander Amosu. His brown, alligator shoes looked like Testoni,
or knockoffs so perfect they might as well be originals. Del doubted Jaccob
bought fakes, even if they could pass muster. The Chopard watch on his wrist
glittered silver, gold and diamonds from the brown calfskin strap. Altogether,
Jaccob’s clothes alone were worth nearly a quarter of a million.
The two
moved forward, and in front of Jaccob.
“Vince,
Mariya,” Del nodded to each. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake hands.”
“I don’t
like it, Mr. Smalls,” Mariya said. “She’s dangerous.”
So, it’s
not just her face that doesn’t like me. Del snorted a laugh.
“Is that
true?” Jaccob asked her, an amused smile played across his lips. “Are you
dangerous?”
“For
some,” Del admitted.
What has Del gotten herself into this
time?
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