Title: Red Right Hand
Author: Andrew P. Weston
Genre: Action Thriller
Publisher: Dusty Saddle Productions
Book Blurb:
They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That’s what friends and family were quick to tell Connor MacGregor following the death of his wife and only child at the hands of a terrorist bomber in the heart of London.
Yet they were in the very place they wanted to be, celebrating Connor’s retirement from the Royal Marines after more than twenty years of distinguished service. A time that should have seen them starting a new chapter in life together, searching for a forever home and settling down in one place, at last, with their eyes fixed firmly on the future.
A future that now lies in ruins, forcing Connor MacGregor down a path that can only end in bloodshed and death. For while the police and security services are quick to respond and launch a huge, nationwide investigation in the hunt for those responsible for the bombing, MacGregor has his own way of doing things. A way that isn’t hampered by lawful procedures and judicial protocols.
Yes, the race is on to see who will reach the bomber first. And if it’s Connor MacGregor, God help them, for the red right hand of vengeance is poised to strike, and he won’t allow anything to stand in its way.
Excerpt:
A steady drizzle persists in testing the integrity of my trench coat and scarf, the accompanying wind driving the chill in deep, and forcing me to shiver. My own fault entirely, seeing as how I’d refused the scant shelter afforded by an umbrella. Yet it didn’t seem right, somehow, or fitting, on this, the day of my wife and only child’s funeral. Better that I should suffer, for my discomfort served to emphasize that I still retained something that they didn’t.
Life.
Further gusts run sorties against my neck and cheeks. A heavy sigh and a tightening of the lips follows, my only concession to displaying any form of emotion in public. That will come later, when I am alone in the echoing cavern that used to be our home. For now, I’ll remain stoic. A rock, fighting against the lump in my throat as two caskets, bedecked in glistening droplets, disappear into a single large hole in the ground.
My chest heaves as the earth claims them. But at least this time I’m here to witness the curtain call of their passing. A finale that leaves me as empty as it does full of rage. And therein lays the ultimate rub, for loss is a bitter pill to swallow when you need someone to blame.
Justice. Vengeance. An eye for an eye. All would serve, though none will suffice in bringing them back. The same way that nothing could prevent the knife of anguish from twisting so viciously in my gut, or plug the hole where my heart used to be.
That’s why I feel so lost at this moment, surrounded, as I am, by black-clad sentinels. All of them standing solemnly, braving the downpour, heads bowed, faces grim, somber and silent, while the priest drones on about life eternal in heaven in the background; all of them determined to show their support at this, my time of greatest need.
Not that their efforts will change anything now.
My isolation is as complete as it is profound, adding to my melancholy mood. It’s frightening, how swiftly time slips through your fingers. Threescore years and ten? That’s all we get before night’s long slumber condemns us to atrophy and decay. Longer if you’re lucky. Or, as in Laura and Maddy’s case, much, much less.
Thinking of their fate reminds me of my own fragile mortality—despite the things I’ve survived—and how, for all the people who have met karma at my hands, I’m only temporary, and no more enduring than a guttering candle. Oh, some of us might burn more brightly than others, but in the end, all we are is reduced to ash, or nothing more animated than a brief epitaph, etched into cold hard stone.
The wind stiffens, driving the rain even harder and creating a staccato beat along the top of both coffins. A part of me smiles, appreciating the efforts of the storm to awaken those lying within. And then the smile drops, for they’re gone now, lost to the long dark sleep of oblivion, leaving me to contend with an ice-cold fury that burns ever hotter with each and every passing day. Consuming me. Feeding me. Dominating me. Motivating me.
Another saying comes to mind. You reap what you sow.
Well, I’ve sown bloody violence in arenas across the globe on behalf of freedom and democracy. And this? This travesty, this grave injustice demands an answer.
So, I’ll bide my time. Swallow my ire. Remain focused and patient. Never letting on how much I’m hurting inside. How much I’m spoiling for retribution. For I know beyond doubt that I have one last battle to fight. And when I do, then the red right hand of vengeance will run riot, no matter the consequences. . .
I owe Laura and Maddy that much.
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Author Biography:
Andrew P. Weston is a bestselling author from the UK who now lives on the beautiful Greek island of Kos with his family and a growing gaggle of rescue cats.
As creator of a number of critically acclaimed works, Andrew has the privilege of being a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association, The International Association of Media Tie-in Writers, and the Western Writers of America. He also enjoys writing regular review articles for Amazing Stories and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.
In his spare time, Andrew supports various animal charities, and more recently, has branched out into the creation of the ultimate action thriller. A project combining the very best aspects of Tom Clancy & Robert Ludlum, which he hopes will grow into something special in the future.
Social Media Links:
Website/blog: https://andrewpweston.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @WestonAndrew