By Dean Koontz
Literary critic Shearman Waxx can kill an outstanding ebook with quite a few acidly worded bon mots. And as one unfortunate writer is ready to find, that’s now not all he’s ready to kill. . . .
From number 1 ny instances bestselling grasp of suspense Dean Koontz comes a captivating mystery concerning the conflict of wills that ensues while a winning writer and likable relatives guy confronts a reclusive sociopath who wields an all-too-deadly poison pen. appreciate Shearman Waxx’s opinion and also you may perhaps get away along with your occupation intact. go him and he’ll spoil you, your loved ones, and every little thing you carry pricey. For the name “America’s so much feared critic” isn’t one Waxx takes flippantly. he's taking it actually. And now Cubby Greenwich, his spouse, Penny, their remarkable six-year-old Milo, and their uniquely gifted non-collie, Lassie, are all approximately to benefit the real which means of “culture war.”
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John! ” The thing gave chase, its shaved-ham feet slapping the floor behind me. My candle went out. I tossed it aside. I saw a closed door to my right, so I skidded to a stop, threw it open, and flung myself in. Linen shelves smacked me in the face and I fell back out of the closet, dazed. The meat man wrapped its cold links around my neck and lifted me up. It pinned me against the wall. “You disappoint me. All those times we have dueled. In the desert. In the city. ” I was so impressed by this thing’s ability to articulate words using that flapping deer tongue and a frozen turkey that I almost lost track of what it was saying.
My adopted family moved away, I won’t tell you where they are. But get out your pen because you’ll want to write this down. My biological mom? ” “That must have been hard. What was the—” “She was a strung-out, crank-addicted cannibal, dabbled in vampirism and shamanism. My mom, she worshipped some major devil when I was a toddler. Blew her welfare check every month on black candles. Sure, Satan would do her favors now and then, but there’s always a catch with the Devil. ” “No. This, this silliness, it’s what I do when I’m nervous.
I spun around, moved toward the commotion. The dog seemed to eye me carefully, then ran off in the other direction. I looked around— Ah. Giggling now. There was a bundle of girls, away from the stage, huddled with their backs to the band. They were surrounding a black guy with dreadlocks, an overcoat. He had one of those Rastafarian berets on his head, definitely going for a look, wanting the attention. Two of the girls had their hands over their mouths, eyes bulging, screaming for the guy to do it again, do it again.
Relentless by Dean Koontz