Excerpt 3

I'm still talking about my second novel, in the series Failure's Legacy,  Fruit of the Toxic Tree. Earlier I talked about Hannah the youngest of three siblings. Katyra the oldest was a bit boring she failed at being a matriarchal force to pull the family together. Her off again, on again relationship with her husband and her extramarital affairs, while interesting did not move the story. I did use her to anchor one of the body guards to the area for him to return in future books, that's as far as she went.

Jack, the middle child... he had a character arc. The book opens with Jack a city council member in Charlotte havjng been selected by his party to run for a safe seat in the North Carolina Congress. As the story unfolds Jack is forced to leave politics due to a scandalous video of him having an affair with an employee. He blames himself for the attacks on his family that nearly took Katrya's life. When Hannah is assaulted by a police offer and Jack has no political clout to see to it the officer is punished he snaps. His sociopathic urges then become to much to control and The Queen City Killer is born. Jack doesn't become an anti hero, well not at first... but there are several books in the series.

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He bite the bullet and drove all the way down to Indian Land South Carolina to the Wal-Mart out there. Where nobody would know him.

He bought a pair of work boots two sizes too large, some thick leather work gloves and a spool of twine. He got some snack stuff in case this took longer than expected as well, Slim Jims, Gatorade and Doritos.

He drove the long way around the city on 485 and pulled into a little dirt spot others had parked before him, quite a bit judging by the tire ruts, he then waited.

He was there for four hours until he spotted what he wanted. A light blue Jeep Renegade came up the road. Jack waited until the little SUV rounded the curve before pulling out to follow. He managed to stay close enough to keep an eye on him, yet back far enough to avoid suspicion. The jeep pulled into Tavern on the Tracks and Jack did not turn in, Jack instead went back the way he came. He did not stop at the pull off this time. He pulled into the quiet wooded neighborhood. He found the vacant house with the for sale sign he had seen advertised online and pulled all the way down the drive. The car was not visible from the road. Jack waited for the sun to set. He put the oversized boots on and removed the tags from the gloves, he pulled an arm’s length of twine out and cut it off.

  When the sun went down Jack with gloves in his back pocket and twine balled up in his front gingerly walked back to an empty house and walked down the driveway and crouched behind some bushes.

He lost track of time, he nearly changed his mind twice, he managed to hold on to his stomach contents when finally headlights came down the drive. He heard the engine shut down and the car door shut and readied himself.

  Jack heard the storm door open and a man mumble “Shit” Jack crept around the corner then to see a clearly inebriated man trying to pick his house key up from the ground. He was bent over with his back to him. He pounced like a tiger. The twine was around the man’s throat and Jack pulled harder and harder whispering in the man’s ear, “My father would have beat you to death with his fists.” There was very little struggle and the drunken man fell unconscious then died while he pulled the string as hard as he could. Jack then put the twine back in his pocket, removed the gloves and walked back to his car. He changed shoes back in to his loafers and drive off casually.