Tag Archives: Book

Nurse Blood – Free Ebook Promo

Nurse Blood by Rebecca Besser
Click on graphic to visit title on Amazon.

Sonya, better known as Nurse Blood, is part of a team of lethal organ harvesters who seek out the weak to seduce, kill, and part out for profit on the black market. When Sonya meets Daniel McCoy, a young man recovering from a broken engagement, he’s just another kill to line her pockets with quick cash.

Agent David McCoy vows to find out how and why his twin brother Daniel disappeared…

Daniel’s body hasn’t been found, and the leads are slim to none, but it won’t stop David from dedicating his life to solving his brother’s case. When the evidence finally uncovers the shocking truth that Daniel’s disappearance is linked to organ harvesters, David knows his brother is most likely dead. But he’s determined to stop the villains’ killing spree before they strike again.

One last harvest is all Sonya and her team need to put their murderous past behind them…

A family with the rarest blood type in the world is the only thing standing between Sonya and retirement. David McCoy and the FBI are hot on their trail, though, and multiple targets make this the most complicated harvest yet. Will David unravel Sonya’s wicked plans in time to avenge his brother and save an innocent family? Or will Sonya cash in her final kill and escape for good?

Murder for profit stops for no man when you’re Nurse Blood.

©Rebecca Besser, 2017. All rights reserved.

Nurse Blood – Goodreads Giveaway

I’m giving away two signed paperbacks
of Nurse Blood!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Nurse Blood by Rebecca Besser

Nurse Blood

by Rebecca Besser

Giveaway ends October 31, 2016.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Enter for a chance to win one of two signed, paperback Limitless Publishing First Editions of Nurse Blood by Rebecca Besser!

Nurse Blood is a serial killer, organ harvesting thriller.

A team of medical professionals and thugs kidnap people from bars, kill them, and harvest their organs, blood, bones, and tissue to sell on the black market or donate for medical research.

The team kidnaps and harvests the twin brother of an FBI agent. The FBI agent makes it his life’s mission to find out what happened to his brother and to stop the team from harvesting their biggest score yet: a family with the rarest blood type in the world.

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/widget/202553

Author Monique Snyman – Multi Nation

Multi Nation by Monique Snyman

Every country has its secrets. Every culture has its taboos. Every house has its cross.

 When Esmé Snyders – a young occult-crime expert – investigates a grotesque muti-murder in Pretoria West, she doesn’t realise she’s become a player in the killer’s deadly game. Before long, more savagely mutilated corpses join the tally, proving that the evasive murderer is slipperier than what she’s used to when it comes to muti-killers. While searching for a monster capable of such heinous crimes, Esmé is thrust into a dangerous adventure of love, sex, death and the paranormal. Can she win a game she doesn’t know she’s playing?

Excerpt of Multi Nation by Monique Snyman:

Chapter 1

Too often people mistake monsters for gods.

The burnt orange skies illuminate the world in a warm glow as dusk comes to a close. Several stars already shine against the romantic evening backdrop, where orange turns to mauve and then to navy blue. Tonight the moon has a Cheshire cat quality to it, and I feel like Alice in Wonderland – or more accurately, like Esmé in Death Valley. Long yellow grass reaches up to my hips as I push my way through the open veld between WF Nkomo Street and the Magalies Freeway. Blue and red lights flash on top of the police cars at timed intervals where they are parked at the Sasol garage, on top of the hill. An eerie sound—a warped version of Mandoza’s up-beat hit Nkalakatha—drifts through the area as a taxi drives past the veld. Someone else honks in approval. Then there’s just the lull of traffic, the chirping crickets, and the rushing water of the swelled Skinnerspruit to drown out the silence.

Several uniformed police officers are standing ahead. Some look bored, but it’s a façade of bravado. Others wear a tinge of green around the cheeks, a perfectly normal response. A few are talking in hushed tones in languages I can’t understand. And then there are the two teenagers who’d called it in. The blonde girl is huddled up in the boy’s arms; she’s a blubbering mess. Tears and mucus streak her otherwise pretty face, knotted hair sticks to her skin where the day’s heat still clings against her small form. She’s trembling, but nobody can blame her. The boy looks in better shape, though not by much. He’s pale and staring into the distance, maybe wishing he could relive today. Perhaps he wishes he’d taken his girl to another secluded field for some “alone time” instead.

God knows this wouldn’t have been my choice of veld for an outdoor quickie.

Le parfum de la mort, the unforgettable fragrance of decay and faecal matter, wafts through the air like cheap perfume. My stomach churns in disagreement, but I keep my lunch down like a professional. The atmosphere is thick with despair, almost palpable, and even the least superstitious police officers can feel it. Something bad happened here. Something most South Africans, regardless of race, religion, intellect and profession don’t acknowledge out of fear.

“You again,” Detective Mosepi, a robust middle-aged man with a brusque temper, asks gruffly when I near him. He glances back to his notepad and scribbles something down. “Not wearing our Gucci heels today, hmm? Good thing, too. I know how women get when they ruin those expensive shoes.”

Detective Mosepi is good at his job. With a single glance, he can recount every detail of a person’s attire. He sees evidence when others deem the find inconsequential. His memory isn’t too bad either.

I’ve known him most of my life.

My father and he worked at the same precinct until Dad’s retirement from the force a few years ago. Back then Detective Mosepi was energetic and ready to change the world for the better, but the job ate away at his soul, like it does to most cops.

I give the scene a fleeting look, curious about what lies beyond the shrubbery and uniforms.

“How’s your pa?”

“Enjoying the new job, sir,” I answer. People always ask and the answer never changes. Dad’s more alive now in an accounting office than when he thought he had a calling at the South African Police Service. My Dad’s not that old, he’s only forty-six, so he’s not reached his golden years yet. The force didn’t agree with him, though.

A shadow of a smile crosses Detective Mosepi’s face, probably as he recalls fond memories of having my father as a partner.

“What’s the story here, Detective?” I ask to get the ball rolling.

“Those two,” he gestures to the teenagers a way away, “were up to no good in the grass when they found the victim about an hour ago. The victim is a black female in her mid-twenties.”

The vague explanation doesn’t help.

I raise an eyebrow in question, which makes him sigh in defeat.

“Possible rape, definite mutilation and murder. The usual stuff you’re called out for.”

Detective Mosepi is uncomfortable. I can see it in his body language and eyes. I don’t blame him or anyone else for feeling odd. These types of cases tend to make police curt and impolite. But then, I need more to go on if I’m going to do my job.

“Is the forensics unit coming?”

“Maybe, but don’t bet on them being any help. You know we don’t have the funding for fancy CSI gadgets.”

I nod because it’s true. The forensics team only comes out for prolific cases and this murder wouldn’t make the local newspaper’s headlines if reporters were informed of the true nature of the case. It’s much too sensitive for the media, the government, and the people.

“Have you found any identification for the victim?”

Detective Mosepi looks over his shoulder and barks out a command in isiZulu. An officer shouts something back, before the detective turns his attention to me again.

“They bagged a purse, which might’ve belonged to the victim. I’ll send you the details later, after processing,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say.

He huffs, pockets his notebook, and heads toward the shrubbery. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

I’m already behind him, stepping where his feet have landed, and readying myself for the inevitable shock. Even though I’d seen dozens of homicide victims in the past few years, each one remains unique. Dad used to drag me along to his crime scenes when I was a kid, much to my grandfather’s dismay—so I know what’s coming once I’m past the shrubbery. I fish my cellphone out of my purse and search for the audio recording app I’ve downloaded to capture initial thoughts and ideas.

Detective Mosepi steps out of the way when we reach the taped-off area. The rest of the hovering officials clear out so I can do my quick investigation, and I’m left with the full, grotesque picture.

It takes me a moment to mentally shake myself into action.

“Esmé Snyders, Occult Crime Expert, Case Number 137. It is approximately 1800 hours on Friday, 4 September 2015,” I say to my phone as I move around the border of the crime scene. “The victim is a black female, aged between twenty-six and thirty years. Height is average, at around 1,70 meters, and weight is about 85 kilograms. Clothing includes a turquoise peplum top and matching pencil skirt—cut off and discarded roughly two metres from the body—as well as black underwear and a pair of black open-toe heels.”

The woman’s nude form looks like it’s been exposed to the elements for a couple of days judging by the insect activity surrounding the body; but I could be wrong. I’m not an entomologist. She’s sprawled on her back; the extent of misery she was forced to endure in those last few minutes—or hours—on display for all to see. And with those empty eye-sockets and her slack jaw, the woman’s expression is frozen in a silent scream. I can’t become too emotionally involved though, not if I want to stay sane. So I push away my emotions, however heartless it may seem, and continue in a monotonous voice.

“Breasts and genitals have been removed, presumably pre-mortem. Defensive lacerations on her palms may confirm theory. DNA evidence of assailant or assailants might be present underneath fingernails. Eyes, tongue and lips are also missing.”

I walk around the body again, studying the evidence as much as possible underneath the single spotlight, erected nearby.

“Further investigative information is required to determine whether the victim is, beyond a reasonable doubt, another muti-murder fatality. The preliminary evidence, however, is overwhelming.”

I stop my recording, take a few pictures of the scene as well as the victim for my records, and make my way back to where Detective Mosepi is waiting with the kids.

He gives me a worried look, but doesn’t ask the question I know he’s dying to ask: Are you okay?

Am I okay?

I don’t know. I’ve seen worse, but it doesn’t get easier. Every victim suffers in ways I can’t possibly comprehend. It is part of the ritual: the more they suffer, the more potent the ingredient will be for the witchdoctor’s magic. Of course, murder isn’t always the intended outcome, but the victims’ wounds are usually of such a nature that death is, more often than not, imminent.

“This is Mina van der Schyff and Adhir Ibrahim.” He introduces the teenagers who found the body when I reach their location.

They still look like their worlds have ended, but at least the girl has stopped crying.

“I’ve notified their parents of their whereabouts and we’ll take them in for questioning, but I don’t think we’ll get anything useful out of them tonight,” Detective Mosepi whispers to me.

I nod in agreement.

“Do you want to sit in on the interview?”

“It’s not necessary; just send me their details with the rest of the files,” I whisper back. “But I would like to read the victim’s family and friends’ statements. If you can arrange it for me, I’ll owe you one.”

The detective glances over my shoulder, looks back at me, and nods. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

I begin to protest, but the look he gives me says not to bother. I swallow my words and make my way back to the Sasol garage where I’d parked alongside the police vehicles. We walk in silence until we’ve distanced ourselves from the activity.

He steals a look again. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“The ritual murder rate has risen, regardless of the official statements the government releases. Yes.”

“How bad?” Detective Mosepi asks.

I grit my teeth. The statistics aren’t pretty, not by a longshot. As I am one of the few occult experts on the continent, I get to see the majority of the violent crimes committed. It’s become a pandemic of sorts, and everyone is at risk, but nobody talks about it. My silence answers his question.

He seems to understand. “Do you have any leads as to whether this is an organised crime ring?”

“No, but I won’t be surprised if it is. Muti-murder cases are popping up more frequently in every corner of the world, so it’s plausible. Who knows, maybe the sex-trade rings have branched out.”

“That is not a comforting thought, Esmé.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

We make our way up the steep hill, past the blue devil’s fork fence surrounding the back of the Sasol garage.

Detective Mosepi—huffing and puffing from the exercise—leans against the side of my car to catch his breath. After a minute, he recomposes himself and looks around the busy petrol station, before his lips thin into a tight line and he shakes his head.

“Tell me why these things happen,” he says.

I’m surprised. He’s twenty years older than I am. Surely I’m supposed to ask him those types of questions, not the other way around.

“Murder?” I ask, unsure.

“Muti-murders,” he clarifies. “Why are those bastards almost never prosecuted when we catch them?”

I inhale deeply and configure my thoughts. Before I can answer, Detective Mosepi shakes his head again and puts up a hand to silence me. If he hadn’t, I would have told him how socio-economic circumstances play a huge role in the cultivation of superstitions. I would have gone on to say the feeling of hopelessness breeds fear, which often leads to violence or idleness, depending on the person. I could also have explained how humans, in general, want to believe in something greater than themselves; something to fix everything in a blink of an eye. I don’t say any of these things, though, because I suspect he has already contemplated and considered these points.

He fumbles in his breast pocket for a packet of Marlboros, takes a cigarette and holds the packet out towards me.

I decline.

“Aren’t you scared of these things?” Detective Mosepi grimaces and lights his cigarette. A cloud of smoke exits his lungs. “Don’t you believe in witchdoctors’ powers?”

I shrug. “I believe if a person believes hard enough in those sort of things, their beliefs might come back to bite them in the ass.”

Multi Nation is now available here:

Amazon Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Muti-Nation-Monique-Snyman-ebook/dp/B01H63QO1W/

Amazon Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/Muti-Nation-Monique-Snyman/dp/0692741674/

Book Depository: http://www.bookdepository.com/Muti-Nation-Monique-Snyman/9780692741672/a_aid=moniquesnyman

Author Monique Snyman

Monique Snyman lives in Pretoria, South Africa, with an adorable Chihuahua that keeps her company and a bloodthirsty lawyer who keeps her sane. She is a full-time author, part-time editor and in-between reviewer of all things entertaining. Her short fiction has been published in a number of small press anthologies, the Charming Incantations Series is published by Rainstorm Press, and she’s working hard on a couple of other novels in her spare time.

Where you can find Monique Snyman online:

Twitter: @MoniqueSnyman 

Facebook: Facebook.com/MoniqueSnyman.author

Tumblr: killeraphrodite.tumblr.com

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/5780347.Monique_Snyman

Pinterest: pinterest.com/killeraphrodite

©Monique Snyman, 2016. All rights reserved.

May the 4th Be With You Giveaway

**GIVEAWAY OVER**

WINNERS:

Grand Prize Winner: Dale Elster
5 Signed Bookmark Winners:
Karrie Millheim, William Walls, Missy Ellis,
Melissa Cunningham, and ThroughTheHaze.

 

Thank you to all who participated!

 

IMG_20160504_100139
Grand Prize: a signed paperback of Zombies Inside by Rebecca Besser, a Blueray+DVD pack of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, a signed bookmark, and a Shattered Glass Jamberry manicure.

a Rafflecopter giveaway <—Click here for direct link to enter!

Enter Rebecca Besser’s Rafflecopter #MayThe4thBeWithYou giveaway for chances to win the grand prize or one of 5 addition prizes (signed bookmarks)!

Contest open until May 31st, 2016.

Book Nerd Parties – Why Not?

Last night I was drinking rum and reading “The Red Empire,” by Joe McKinney, and every now and again giving my eyes a “wake up” break over on Facebook. I chatted with one of my friends on the thread of my status about “cracking open the rum and reading [said book above].”

I, at some point, responded: “It’s how book nerds party.” And that gave me a lovely idea for a new “book nerd” type party.

Why don’t us limited-social people (don’t want to say anti-social, because book people really aren’t, we’re just super selective) who love books, invite over their other “book nerd” friends, and read together while drinking?

I envision a group of people sitting quietly in a room, all super comfortable and drinking, reading books. Wouldn’t that be just divine?

You don’t even have to be reading the same books.

Yes, you could say this has been done with libraries and coffee shops, but they don’t allow alcohol. Besides, an invite only thing with your friends is way more appealing than tolerating random, rude strangers.

Hell, you could even schedule breaks, where you each talk about the book you’re reading and have intelligent discussions, if you wanted. It would ultimately depend on the group and their desires for interaction, or no interaction that interrupts their reading. At the very least, everyone could share about their books before they headed home. Imagine how many new books and genres you could awaken your friends to? Or be awakened to yourself? You could swap out books when you’ve both finished! This could even be a great new spin on book club groups! Who knows! It’s like a “nerd book mixer!” For fun, you could throw a box of random books in the middle of the room and everyone has to pick one out and read it until it’s over!

Anyway, I thought it would be fun and wanted to share the idea with you.

Who knows, I might have a reading/drinking party sometime in the future…if I can find enough locals who actually read. UGH!

rebecca-besser-bloody-horror-banner

©Rebecca Besser, 2014. All rights reserved.

 

Feast or Famine Zombie Prepping Contest

Enter to win a 1 person/24 hour Bug Out Bag [BOB], and many other great Zombie Survival prizes!

Entry Rules:

1. Buy, borrow, or steal the paperback or Kindle version of the recently released Feast or Famine: A Banquet of Tales for the Zombie Prepper

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Feast-Famine-banquet-zombie-prepper/dp/1499524560

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Feast-Famine-Banquet-Zombie-Prepper-ebook/dp/B00KXCRH2E/

FF book cover

2. Post a review either at Amazon or Goodreads

3. Join ZombieFiend.com

4. Like ZombieFiend on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OriginalZombieFiendIt’s that simple.

Do all the above and your name will be placed in the drawing for a chance to win one of many Zombie Survival prizes!

Entries will be accepted until August 1st and names will be drawn on August 2nd.

FF Grand Prize

Grand Prize: 1 person/24 hour custom Bug Out Bag [1 possible winner]

Second Place: Autographed copy of One Last Sunset DVD and screenplay [1 possible winner]

Third Place: Custom fitted survival bracelet [3 possible winners]