Here’s the opening of my new novel In The Can, coming soon to a book or book reading device near you.
Helms opened his eyes.
It was dark.
So he sat up.
The loud metallic thud and crunching pain in his forehead provided a timely reminder as to his whereabouts.
He was in the boot of a car. Helms supposed that this being Los Angeles, it should be the trunk of an automobile. But he was determined to cling on to his Britishness, even in the midst of a kidnapping.
The pain in the front of his head gave way to the more persistent pain in the back of it. There was a blurred memory of being koshed, then stuffed in here like a child’s resented violin.
Helms could smell his knees.
One arm was pinned down by his whole body, and his legs were bent double into his chest. A slight ethereal scarlet glow was leaking in from the taillights, and the dull monotonous rumble of tires on tarmac provided a white noise that fought hard to silence his mind.
Helms blinked.
His free hand snapped to the left side of his face so hard it hurt.
His eye was missing.
