As the body count rapidly rises—each slaying more savage than the last—it soon becomes clear the butchered and mutilated victims have one thing in common—they are all male to female transsexuals.
With time against them, Dylan is forced to go undercover in the only place that provides a link to the victims—Dorothy’s, a well-known drag and cabaret bar in the heart of Liverpool.
Avaline Saddlebags is a gripping, often amusing, psychological thriller with an astonishing twist that will take your breath away… change can be DEADLY!
Amazon Link UK
Amazon Link US
Netta’s Bio; Netta Newbound, originally from Manchester, England, has lived in New Zealand with her husband Paul for the past 22 years, but they are on the move again. By August, they will be back in Cumbria, UK, and she vows this is the very last move!
As a child, Netta was plagued by a wild imagination, often getting in trouble for making up weird and wonderful stories. Yet she didn’t turn her attention to writing until after her children had grown and left home.
Most of her inspiration comes from the horror greats–Stephen King, Dean Koontz and Richard Layman.Netta mostly writes psychological thriller novels, all of which consistently rank highly in the best seller categories. She is currently writing a series of crime thrillers with Marcus Brown, her son-in-law and business partner.
Netta Newbound (@nettanewbound) on Twitter
Marcus’ Bio; My name is Marcus Brown and I was born and raised in the North West of England in 1974.
I live with my partner and our three dogs, Susie, Sally and Sammy, plus our cat, Tobias.
What started as a hobby has now turned into a full-time obsession that often keeps me awake late into the night or through to the early hours of the morning.
I can be relaxing in bed watching a good movie and an idea will suddenly pop into my mind. That’s as much as it takes… I have to get up and write it down because I worry I’ll forget it. This quickly turns into a marathon writing session, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve always had the wildest of imaginations, but I surprise and scare myself at times and have actually had to step away from my desk because what I have written has affected me so much.
People often ask me where the ideas come from and if I’m honest, I think it is from watching others around me. I can be out doing something as mundane as shopping and see something that inspires me and it usually winds its way into what I’m writing at the time. But if it’s especially good and doesn’t fit at the time, it’s stored on my hard drive for a future book.
I hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoy writing them.
Prologue of Avaline Saddlebags;
Gina stumbled down the dark alleyway. “Fucking heels,” she moaned, almost losing her footing on the cobblestones.
She regretted taking the shortcut home from the club. Her mum would go ballistic if she found out, especially after that poor woman was murdered the other week, but she was exhausted and more than ready for her bed. And besides, what were the chances of it happening twice in the same area?
A loud scraping noise from behind caused her pulse to quicken. Spinning around, she squinted, scanning the alleyway. She couldn’t see a thing, but goosebumps covered her entire body. “Hello?” she called. “Is anybody there?”
A cat jumped down from the wall beside her and ran screeching past and back into the shadows.
With a guttural roar, Gina staggered backwards in fright—hyperventilating. She knew she was freaking herself out but was unable to calm her raging heartbeat.
As she took several more tentative steps, another loud bang echoed along the alleyway.
“Hey! This isn’t funny now.” Her anxiety levels soared, and she quickened her pace in the stupidly high heels she vowed never to wear again.
“Gina,” a mocking male voice came out of the darkness.
She stopped running, rooted to the spot.
“Who’s there?” Her voice was almost a shriek. “Whoever it is, it’s not funny now. You’re scaring me.”
“Gina,” the voice called again.
Run, you stupid bitch, her inner voice yelled, and she did. Kicking off her shoes, she wasted no time and, seconds later, found herself at the bottom of the alleyway gasping for breath. Glancing back, she still couldn’t see anybody, but she knew he was there.
Still five minutes from home, she chose not to take her usual route in case he followed her.
Darting across the road, she ran toward Chapel Lane, her big feet slapping on the concrete.
“Gina.” The voice seemed closer this time and she turned around as a tall dark shadow approached her.
“Leave me alone.” she yelled. “Or I’ll call the police.”
“You’ll be long dead before they can get to you.”
Whimpering uncontrollably, she turned to run, stubbing her toe on the uneven cobbles. She stumbled forwards, crashing to the ground.
White hot pain exploded in her knee. She cried out in agony trying to get back up. Seconds later, a kick to her side sent her crashing back to the ground. Winded, she couldn’t move. “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me,” she begged.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Gina. I’m going to kill you.” He dealt her another boot to the ribs then grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her back up the dark alley.
She could taste the sickly sweet stench of the industrial bins and began to retch.
The man shoved her to the ground once again.
As she fell, her head splashed into a muddy puddle and her long blonde hair, her pride and joy, was caked in dirt and dog-piss.
He straddled her, leaning in and pinning her arms above her head.
“Take my bag,” she begged. “I have cash in there.”
He picked up the bag with his gloved hand and threw it across the alley. “You’re nothing but a freak, a clown,” he spat. “Walking the streets, tricking decent hard-working men into believing you’re a real woman.” He spoke with the hint of an accent Gina couldn’t place.
“I am a real woman,” she protested.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “But you weren’t born a woman, were you, Gina? Or should I call you George?”
She flinched. It had been nearly seven years since anybody had used that name.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cried.
His hand gripped her throat and squeezed hard.
“Please, you’re hurting me,” she choked. “If you let me go, I won’t say a word to anyone.”
He was strong and used one hand to pin both of hers behind her head before punching her in the face.
Gina cried out in agony as blood poured from her left nostril. He leaned in closely and she tried to get a good look at him, but it was still too dark.
“You’re a screwed up, perverted faggot just like the last one,” he growled into her face.
“And you’re a twisted fucker who probably can’t get it up,” she replied, defiantly.
“Freak.” He kneed her between the legs.
She screamed and her body was once more racked with white-hot pain.
He punched her face again.
Gina’s head bounced off the cobblestones and she cried out once more. “I’m sorry, please, just let me go. I told my daughter I wouldn’t be late. Just do what you want and let me go.”
“Daughter? Who are you trying to kid? Do you tell people you carried her to term? Men can’t give birth, Georgie. Surely, even you’re not that deluded?”
The moon suddenly made an appearance giving Gina her first proper look at him. Dressed entirely in black, a cap’s visor shielded his eyes and a black pollution mask covered his nose and the lower portion of his face. Something was amiss, but she couldn’t place what it was, however, judging by how he was dressed, she knew this wasn’t a random act—he meant business. If she had any chance of escaping, she would have to fight. A staunch pacifist, she abhorred violence of any kind, but her life was at stake and she hadn’t spent the best part of ten years transitioning to meet her maker at the hands of this lunatic.
“You wanna fuck me, don’t you,” she said bravely, trying a change of tactic. “Isn’t that what this is all about? You like cock, but you’re too scared to try it. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but my cock was tucked away a long time ago.”
He loosened his grip for a moment, obviously stunned by Gina’s words. She was able to release one of her hands and, moving swiftly, she clawed at his forearm with her long nails, drawing blood.
“You bitch,” he growled.
Gina tried to scramble to her feet, but her busted knee wouldn’t co-operate, and he kicked her up the backside. With a yelp, she landed flat on her face.
Her attacker towered over her and stamped down hard on the small of her back.
A sickening crack echoed around the dark alleyway.
Gina lay motionless on the ground, resigned to the fact she was going to die. She closed her eyes.
“Not long now, Georgie.”
He rolled her over and straddled her again, but she couldn’t feel anything.
She looked into his eyes and gasped. “I know you, don’t I?” she said through snot and tears. She definitely recognised his eyes, but where from eluded her.
“You think?” he sneered.
“Yes. Yes, I do. Who the fuck are you?”
“Such a shame you won’t be around to work it out.”
“But why are you doing this?” Gina asked, as her attacker climbed off her, jumping to his feet.
“You’re all sick.” Raising his foot, he stamped down on her face.
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