Almost anything from this book could be a big spoiler, so I decided that — rather than choose the first X number of pages as an excerpt — I would instead offer bits and pieces from throughout the book in no particular order…without telling you where in the book these bits take place!
This way, you’ll get a taste of the book, but without too much being spoiled.
And now, with no further ado…
He had to rely on himself.
That’s the way it’s s’sposed to be, Jazz heard Billy say in his head.
He hated it when his father told the truth.
On his way out of town, he drove past the Coff-E-Shop. Which naturally made him think of poor Helen Myerson. She’d been their usual waitress and had good-naturedly whipped up any number of outright bizarre concoctions Howie demanded. And then the Impressionist had killed her, and that was the end of Helen, and now that Howie thought about it, he hadn’t been back to the Coff-E-Shop since.
I am way too young, he thought, to have so many dead people in my life.
The sooner done, the better. While he longed to take his time and give each of them the personal touch, he knew a horribly murdered wife and children would only cast suspicion on the missing, surviving father. It was always the way. The world always blamed men, when it was truly the women who were at fault. The women, who held themselves back and above. The women, who tempted and taunted.
So Hershey planned a meticulous tragedy involving the apartment’s gas stove. It was possible that people in the apartment below might meet their end as well — he was unsure exactly how big the explosion would be — but the collateral damage would make the “accident” move believable.
Connie didn’t want to beg for her life. She didn’t want to do that. But she would. She knew it. She could feel it crawling up her throat like something that hadn’t quite been dead when she’d eaten it. She would whimper. And cry. Her nose would run streamers of snot. And it would be useless because that was the sort of thing you did to play on someone’s pity, but Billy Dent had no pity. He was born without it, the way some people were born without detached earlobes or the ability to curl their tongues. Her tears and her pleas would do nothing to him, and she knew it, but she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. She would beg and wheedle and swear and importune, and in the end, he would do horrible, horrible things to her anyway.
Whew! OK, that’s it for now! There’s your taste(s) of Blood of My Blood, available September 9. You can preorder from Barnes & Noble, iBooks, and your local independent bookstore. (Not Amazon, sadly.)
Keep your eyes open: More will come soon!