Scar Tissue(28)

You stand on the ridge of the desert and watch. Another truck engulfed in flame beneath another burning sky, and you still standing, still watching.

And then you turn and start walking alone.





Bonus Materials




Following are excerpts from my four published novels. They're all available as e-books, so if you find yourself hooked, it's a quick click.



I've also included an exclusive peek at my upcoming fifth novel, The Two Deaths of Daniel Hayes, which I hope you enjoy. That one will be out in June, 2011.



Meanwhile, you can always visit MarcusSakey.com for news, contests, appearances, and movie updates.





THE BLADE ITSELF


How far would you go to protect everything you love?




Danny and Evan earned their reputation knocking over pawnshops and liquor stores, living from score to score, never thinking of tomorrow. Then in the roar of a gun blast everything changed.

Years later, Danny doesn't think about his past. He's built a new world for himself: a legitimate career, a long-term girlfriend, and a clean conscience. He's just like anyone else. Normal. Successful. Happy.

Until he spots his old partner staring him down in a smoky barroom mirror.

The prison-hardened Evan believes he's owed major payback, and he's willing to do anything to get it. With all he loves on the line and nowhere to turn, Danny's new life hinges on a terrible choice: How far will he go to protect his future from his past?

Selected as a New York Times Editor's Pick and named one of Esquire Magazine's 5 Best Reads of 2007, The Blade Itself is the story of a man held hostage by circumstance; an exploration of class, identity, and the demons that shape us.





"A hard-charging thriller...delivers a kick and leaves no loose ends."

The New York Times





"The first page turner of 2007...this is how immortality gets started."

CBS Sunday Morning





"An astoundingly good writer...the terrifically engaging,

poetically structured tale of a man both tortured and tempted by his criminal past."

San Jose Mercury News





Excerpt from The Blade Itself, Copyright 2007, St. Martin's Minotaur


Available as an e-book or wherever books are sold





The alley wasn't as dark as Danny would've liked, and Evan was driving him crazy, spinning the snub-nose like a cowboy in some Sunday matinee. "Would you put that away?"

"Keeps me cool." Evan smiled the bar-fight grin that showed his chipped tooth.

"I don't care if it makes you feel like Rick James. You shouldn't have brought it." Danny stared until his partner sighed and tucked the pistol into the back of his belt. Evan had always lived for the thrill of the job, all the way back to when they were stealing forties of Mickey's from the 7-11. But the addition of the gun made Danny uneasy. Made him wonder if Karen was right to suggest he start thinking long term. Reconsider his options.

He shook his head and stared out the window. Earlier, munching greasy chips in a taco bar across the street, they'd watched the owner of the pawnshop lock up. The dashboard clock now read just after eleven, and the alley was stone quiet. Chicago life centered on the neighborhoods; once night fell, the downtown area died. Twenty minutes ago they'd cut the phone lines without a show from the cops, which meant no cellular alarm. Everything looked good.

Until something moved.

Fifteen yards away, in a pocket of black. There, then gone again. Like someone stepping carefully. Like someone hiding. Danny leaned forward, one hand covering the glowing radio to sharpen his night vision. Shadows painted dingy brick walls with a black brush. A breeze sent a newspaper tumbling by the passenger side window. Maybe he'd just seen blowing trash and his mind had filled in the rest of the picture. The tension could get to you.

Then he saw it again. A slight motion. Someone getting closer to the wall, deeper in the shadow. His pulse banged in his throat.

Beat cops didn't sneak around that way. They just rolled up with their lights spinning. Unless the police hoped to catch them actually robbing the place. Danny pictured Terry, that weasel mustache, the moist stink of a habitual farter. He'd told them about the job—had he sold them out?

Out of the darkness stumbled a stooped man with greasy hair. He ran one hand along the wall to steady his cautious shuffle. A pint bottle nosed out of a frayed pocket. Reaching the trash bin, he glanced in either direction and unzipped his fly. Took a piss with one hand in his pocket like he was in the men's room of his country club.

Danny breathed again, then chuckled at his nerves. When the bum finished, he crossed to the other side of the alley and leaned against the wall. He slid down to a squat and closed his eyes. Danny said, "He's camping."

Evan nodded, rubbed one hand across his chin, the stubble making a grating sound. "Now what?"