Live. Die. Repeat. That’s what hell’s all about.
Today’s Book in the Spotlight is Hell Bound, by best-selling author Andrew Paul Weston (The IX, The IX: Exordium of Tears, The IX: Prelude to Sorrow, and Hell Hounds.)
Andrew provides us with an intriguing excerpt from Hell Bound, his first novel in the long-running Heroes in Hell™ shared-world series. But first, let him tell you a little about hell.
“In hell, none of the condemned believes they deserve to be there. And that’s fine, so long as they’re not foolish enough to try and do anything about it. For those that do, there’s always Satan’s Reaper–and chief bounty hunter–Daemon Grim.
Feared throughout the many layers of the underverse, no one in their right mind dares to cross him.
However, when Grim discovers that someone has attempted to evade injustice, and seems hell-bent on gaining access to ancient angelic artifacts proscribed since the time of the original rebellion in heaven, circumstances point to the fact they may be doing just that.
The question is...why?
Thus begins an investigation that leads Grim throughout the many contradictory and baffling levels of the underworld, where he unearths a conspiracy that is not only eating its way like a cancer through the highest echelons of Hellion society, but one which threatens the very stability of Satan’s rule.
As you can imagine, Grim’s response is bloody, brutal, and despicably wicked.
In hell, everyone can hear you scream...”
Excerpt from Hell Bound….
Lost in shadow, I surveyed my surroundings and took my time to ensure the area was deserted. The squall outside fell in stinging gusts, creating a tympanic frenzy of contending melodies. I paused for a moment to savor the erratic beat of rain against metal, glass, and corrugated roofing. The discordance was almost hypnotic, and it was only with the greatest effort that I was able to break free from its influence and concentrate on the task at hand.
It didn’t take long, for I’d chosen my location well. It was past midnight, and my position at the top of the stairwell afforded me a commanding view of the parking lot outside. Apart from a solitary discarded coffee cup tumbling its way along a line of stationary vehicles like a demented gymnast, I was completely alone, and invisible to the detritus of humanity sleeping fitfully beneath their makeshift shelters throughout the different levels of the garage.
The scant security lighting that still worked did little to illuminate the area. If anything, each lamp created a swathe of gloom that I would use to my advantage, for my assignment here would end shortly, and it was almost time to go home.
Just the thought of getting back sent a twinge of pleasure tingling along my spine. While my work afforded me a degree of freedom enjoyed by no one else, I always felt fatigued the longer I stayed away. And a week was simply too long.
Still, it’s been a good harvest. Not only was I able to sort out a major problem for the Boss, but the latest candidates should go a long way toward calming his frustrations.
A faint echo portending ravenous hunger intruded at the edge of my astral perceptions. Adjusting my awareness, I sensed my quarry coming closer. Forewarned, I used the opportunity to mentally review his rap-sheet.
Jesus Toledo Perez. Born 1980, in New Mexico, to Alberto Toledo and Christina Perez. A fraternal twin introduced to his true vocation at the tender age of just five years, when he smothered his sibling, Alana, in her sleep following an infantile spat. Authorities weren’t able to pin anything on him at the time, and how would they? An innocent child, rolling over in the night to cuddle his sister as they slept? Little did the Toledo family appreciate the monster born into their midst that day.
But we did, and that act had drawn him to our attention. For as little Jesus grew up, his crimes progressed from random acts of asphyxiation as a child to the more opportunistic, premeditated, hormone-driven angst of a teenager. By the time he graduated, Jesus had strangled, drowned, and pushed seven people to their deaths.
Hmm. Judging from what it says here, he always acted as if he was daring the authorities to catch him. Just what we want. A cold, calculating killer with a God complex.
I watched him from my place of concealment as he edged his way out onto the top tier from the opposite side of the level. Hiding beneath an oversized golf umbrella, and dressed to the nines in an expensive suit and raincoat, he looked every bit the highflyer currently establishing himself as a philanthropist and charity worker among the city’s homeless.
The perfect cover.
Or so he thinks.
I noticed he was carrying a plastic bag. Despite the wind, I could hear the contents clunking as he moved.
Aha! Going with the poisoned hooch option tonight, are we?
I suppressed a snort at the poignancy of the situation.
I’ve got a real-life Jesus of suburbia right in front of me, but the only salvation he’ll be bringing one of the poor and lowly tonight is a release from the suffering of their miserable lives.
It was time to intercede.
Like a wraith, I detached myself from the gloom and stepped out into the night. Within moments, the rain had soaked my hair and beaded my trench coat and sunglasses in a chainmail of translucent pearls. Gliding silently between the parked vehicles, the only sign of my advance came from the momentary dimming of the overhead lights as I passed.
You can find Andrew’s Amazon Author Page HERE
Purchase link for Hell Bound PRINT
Purchase link for Hell Bound KINDLE
Thank you, Andy!
Thank you, Andy!