an exclusive free sample chapter!)
Coming March 29, 2011
About the Author
Sonya Bateman lives in upstate New York, where there are two seasons: winter, and construction. Currently, the household includes her husband and son, her sister and two nephews, five cats (four of them are insane) and one dog who wishes to be a cat.
In addition to spending a lot of time writing, she is attempting to learn how to speak Japanese. So far, she can say hello, thank you, and why don’t we go to your place for a drink? She does not plan to speak to any native Japanese speakers with her limited vocabulary at this time, as the conversation may lead in the wrong direction.
Website: http://sonyabateman.wordpress.com/
E-mail: [email protected]
* * *
Books by Sonya Bateman, writing as S.W. Vaughn
The House Phoenix series: Street fighting, violence, hostages, revenge... and tattoos.
Available titles:
Broken Angel * Devil’s Honor * Mask of the Serpent * Shades of Black
All four novels are on sale now—just 99 cents for your Kindle!
Visit http://housephoenix.wordpress.com/ to learn more
* * *
Keep reading for free sample chapters from Master of None and Master and Apprentice
MASTER OF NONE
Chapter 1
J ust once, I would have liked to get my shit together. Even accidentally. But I could already see that wasn’t going to happen tonight. After all, I am the world’s unluckiest thief. Ask anybody.
Especially my ex-partners.
The long-abandoned warehouse I’d stumbled across had seemed like a blessing, and the worn canvas bag wedged under my spare tire had been downright serendipitous. That was until I started stuffing my worldly possessions into it and the damned thing split down the seams. Out came everything, all over the concrete floor covered with dust and oil and Christ knew what else. The gunk would wreak havoc with my instruments.
As if that weren’t enough, one of the banded stacks of bills popped loose. The draft in the place snatched a handful of hundreds and whisked them off into the gloom in a flurry of papery whispers. Like the building was laughing at me.
“Crud!” My voice echoed in the empty space. I froze, dropped to a crouch behind my car, and listened. Nothing yet. I’d ditched the tail half an hour ago, but they’d find me again soon. I figured Trevor must have had my ride bugged while he briefed me—which meant they’d been tracking me for a week. They knew I’d hit the place four days ago and hadn’t shown up with the score yet. I might have found the bug if I hadn’t misplaced my scanner on my last run.
Since I hadn’t, my only chance now was to keep going on foot. I couldn’t talk my way out of this one.
I kept my mouth shut this time and started stowing fistfuls of bills in pockets. The lost cash would have to stay lost. Next came the essentials: cell phone, Mag-lite, lock jock, cutter, scrambler, electric pick, Bowie, SAK, wire, Magnum—unloaded, of course. I was a thief, not a murderer. Couldn’t say the same for Trevor. He was a vicious bastard, for a fence. Hell, I’d met dealers who were calmer than Trevor. I did jobs for him because he paid decent, but I suspected I’d be looking for a new place to sell my scores to soon. One with a little less psycho in his veins.
I’d have to scratch the clothes too. Not that they were much to look at. Bland, serviceable, meant for blending in. I’d buy more. Though I didn’t need it for warmth, I shrugged into my windbreaker for the extra pockets and headed for the only point of entry and exit I’d seen in the rundown structure. It bothered me, being in a place with just one escape route. Made it hard to formulate a backup plan other than get busted or die . . . two alternatives I’d managed to avoid so far. I hoped this time wouldn’t break my record—but I had my doubts.
Outside, a starless night in Middle of Nowhere, New York, waited for me. I tried to remember how far I’d
Coming March 29, 2011
About the Author
Sonya Bateman lives in upstate New York, where there are two seasons: winter, and construction. Currently, the household includes her husband and son, her sister and two nephews, five cats (four of them are insane) and one dog who wishes to be a cat.
In addition to spending a lot of time writing, she is attempting to learn how to speak Japanese. So far, she can say hello, thank you, and why don’t we go to your place for a drink? She does not plan to speak to any native Japanese speakers with her limited vocabulary at this time, as the conversation may lead in the wrong direction.
Website: http://sonyabateman.wordpress.com/
E-mail: [email protected]
* * *
Books by Sonya Bateman, writing as S.W. Vaughn
The House Phoenix series: Street fighting, violence, hostages, revenge... and tattoos.
Available titles:
Broken Angel * Devil’s Honor * Mask of the Serpent * Shades of Black
All four novels are on sale now—just 99 cents for your Kindle!
Visit http://housephoenix.wordpress.com/ to learn more
* * *
Keep reading for free sample chapters from Master of None and Master and Apprentice
MASTER OF NONE
Chapter 1
J ust once, I would have liked to get my shit together. Even accidentally. But I could already see that wasn’t going to happen tonight. After all, I am the world’s unluckiest thief. Ask anybody.
Especially my ex-partners.
The long-abandoned warehouse I’d stumbled across had seemed like a blessing, and the worn canvas bag wedged under my spare tire had been downright serendipitous. That was until I started stuffing my worldly possessions into it and the damned thing split down the seams. Out came everything, all over the concrete floor covered with dust and oil and Christ knew what else. The gunk would wreak havoc with my instruments.
As if that weren’t enough, one of the banded stacks of bills popped loose. The draft in the place snatched a handful of hundreds and whisked them off into the gloom in a flurry of papery whispers. Like the building was laughing at me.
“Crud!” My voice echoed in the empty space. I froze, dropped to a crouch behind my car, and listened. Nothing yet. I’d ditched the tail half an hour ago, but they’d find me again soon. I figured Trevor must have had my ride bugged while he briefed me—which meant they’d been tracking me for a week. They knew I’d hit the place four days ago and hadn’t shown up with the score yet. I might have found the bug if I hadn’t misplaced my scanner on my last run.
Since I hadn’t, my only chance now was to keep going on foot. I couldn’t talk my way out of this one.
I kept my mouth shut this time and started stowing fistfuls of bills in pockets. The lost cash would have to stay lost. Next came the essentials: cell phone, Mag-lite, lock jock, cutter, scrambler, electric pick, Bowie, SAK, wire, Magnum—unloaded, of course. I was a thief, not a murderer. Couldn’t say the same for Trevor. He was a vicious bastard, for a fence. Hell, I’d met dealers who were calmer than Trevor. I did jobs for him because he paid decent, but I suspected I’d be looking for a new place to sell my scores to soon. One with a little less psycho in his veins.
I’d have to scratch the clothes too. Not that they were much to look at. Bland, serviceable, meant for blending in. I’d buy more. Though I didn’t need it for warmth, I shrugged into my windbreaker for the extra pockets and headed for the only point of entry and exit I’d seen in the rundown structure. It bothered me, being in a place with just one escape route. Made it hard to formulate a backup plan other than get busted or die . . . two alternatives I’d managed to avoid so far. I hoped this time wouldn’t break my record—but I had my doubts.
Outside, a starless night in Middle of Nowhere, New York, waited for me. I tried to remember how far I’d
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