Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie Lacrosse Novel, Book 2 by Alex Bledsoe, Stefan Rudnicki, Inc. Blackstone Audio

By Alex Bledsoe, Stefan Rudnicki, Inc. Blackstone Audio

Alex Bledsoe’s first novel, The Sword-Edged Blonde, drew rave studies for its creative mixture of fantasy and hard-boiled detective fiction. Now Bledsoe returns with an all-new story of suggest streets and medieval intrigue.Above Angelina’s Tavern in down-and-dirty Neceda you’ll locate the workplace of Eddie LaCrosse, a contract sword jockey who, for twenty-five gold items an afternoon, will tackle any activity in need of homicide for hire. Eddie’s on his long ago from a regimen research while his horse almost runs down a half-naked blonde in deep trouble. opposed to his greater judgment, he delivers to guard the worried younger girl, merely to discover himself waylaid by way of unknown assailants and left for useless beside her mutilated body.Eddie isn’t the type of man to only allow anything like this pass. But who killed Laura Lesperitt? Eddie’s quest for payback leads him to a tangled secret related to a infamous crime lord, a backwoods dragon cult, royal scandals, and a duplicitous femme fatale who has difficulty maintaining her outfits on. As our bodies pile up, attracting the unwelcome recognition of the king’s guards, Eddie needs to use all his wits if he hopes to outlive . . .

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Sample text

These teenage apprentices found all this very mysterious and sexy. Their speculation about me and my occupation (“He’s a sword jockey, you know; you don’t get to be one unless you’re really good with women. ”) made it a challenge to keep the smile off my allegedly sleeping face. I had a hard time picturing tough, matronly Mother Bennings ever being one of these giggly girls. Although my rescuer was a no-show, I learned that someone else had stopped in to check on me. My second conscious morning I overheard Bennings tell Liz about “that man” who had been around to ask about me again.

Again the sad, wan smile. “They had children. ” She shrugged. “I’d prefer not. ” She shook her head. I took a deep breath, feeling like an idiot in advance for what I was about to say. “Look, I’m not some farmer. ” Again her eyes rose to meet mine with slow, dramatic amusement. “A ‘freelance sword jockey,’ ” she repeated. “So what does that entail? ” “Ideally, yeah. ” “And you feel like saving me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “I don’t know about ‘saving’ you, but I am offering to keep people from beating on you any more tonight.

Most of her front teeth, one eye and half an ear were gone. She was naked, and her upper torso was a mass of poker burns, cuts and bruises. I saw what the torturer meant: his points of contact were small and precise, but something else had burned the insides of her arms from wrist to elbow. The scabbing told me she’d been alive when most of it happened, but the milky stare of her remaining eye said she was past the agony now. Insects had already collected around the injuries, and a shadowy canine form slipped through the darkness beyond her: a wolf or coyote, cautiously approaching a free meal.

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