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I am delighted to welcome you along to my stop on the blog tour for Hunting Angels by Conrad Jones and share an extract from this haunting crime thriller.

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Description:

When an author is asked to help the police with the investigation into a double murder by identifying occult symbols, which had been carved into the victims, he is plunged into nightmare and forced to go on the run. Hunted by law and a powerful cult, he has to stay one step ahead to survive.

 

 

You can buy a copy via Amazon


Extract:

“What were you about to publish about us?”

“About who exactly?” he asked angrily. “Let me out of this fucking chair before I piss myself.”

“About the Order of Nine Angels.” She stared into his eyes and he sensed the contempt she felt for him. The name Nine Angels sent a shiver of fear through his brain. He’d been investigating their order for months. At first, he thought they were just another cult with delusions of grandeur, but the deeper he looked, the more his initial impressions melted away. The evidence proved that this order was far more powerful than any other he had investigated. It was also far more dangerous.

“This is bullshit, lady.” He laughed, although there was a touch of panic in his voice. “Let me out of this chair and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’m busting for a pee and gasping for a drink and you’re beginning to wind me up now.”

“You’ve been snooping around us and we don’t like that.”

“It’s my job to snoop around people, that’s what I do for a living.” Malcolm tried to keep his voice strong but his words were thick and slurred. “Let me out of this thing and I’ll talk to you.”

“You’re not moving from the culling chair until you’ve told us what we want to know. How long you spend in it before you talk is up to you.” She leant close to his face, her nose inches from his. He could feel her putrid breath on his cheek. He realised that he couldn’t move his head at all. It wasn’t the drink that stopped him from moving, it was a clamp of some description. As he regained the feeling in his body, he felt cold metal encircling his skull. “This is no game, Malcolm Baines, Young Reporter of the Year, and be assured that you will die here. The manner of your death is determined by you. Tell us now and it will be quick, lie and you will know suffering as you could never imagine suffering to be.”

 

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