LITERARY AGENT -- BEWARE

LITERARY AGENT -- BEWARE

 

 

Just asking, but after sleeping with a literary agent, shouldn't
you receive more than a form rejection letter?


It might also have helped to know that this want-to-be writer
is bi-polar.


However, she is not the one to be feared most by this agent.
For her anger and zest in destroying his career has created a copycat, a serial
killer with a new target--literary agents.



When a serial killer stalks literary agents, and brutally
kills them, the world of publishing panics with fear as the FBI hunts for the
cold blooded killer, wondering what could cause a person to become such a monster? 

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

He envisioned his own tombstone:

Michael Lloyd

Literary Agent Extraordinaire

Killed in the Line of Duty

Damn, he knew he could die any minute. A blurred object moving mere inches in front of his eyes materialized, as a flash of light reflected from the cold steel. Focusing on the razored edge of the curved knife ascending into a sharp tip designed to kill, he stopped breathing. His body stiffened, and froze solid where he sat with his back against a hard cold wall. He felt scared that any movement might further agitate his attacker. The pain radiating from the back of his battered head dulled his vision and his thoughts, as a wire tying his hands together cut into his skin, increasing the unbearable terror ravaging his body.

He inhaled the smell of blood and sweat as he gazed into the darkness, hoping to gain his bearings. Again, a fist smashed into his forehead, slamming the back of his head into the wall behind him as the world faded. He fought his way back to reality, only to stare into the slicing blade carving the side of his face.

“DAMNNNNN!” His voice erupted and echoed off the nearby walls and in his head. The pain shattered the remaining will to remain still. He struck out with his head, his arms, and his legs. In return, the hand slammed his head back against the wall again.

He forced his mind to stay conscious, as the warm blood flowed from his face. “What do you want from me?”

“Satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction for what?”

“Ruining my life, that’s what!”

Another slice sheared off an ear.

“OHHH SHIT, stop, please stop. I’ll give you anything you want—anything.”

“That’s impossible.”

The knife retreated as a face leaned forward, one he recognized only so slightly.

“You? Why you crazy—.”

A vicious kick to his crotch blasted his tortured soul to new levels. “Oh God, why me? Stop, please stop.”

“I know you think you have the balls to do what you want. Being a literary agent doesn’t make you God—you stupid bastard.”

The next kick to his crotch made his stomach deliver its contents to his throat. The bitter taste forced a gagging convulsion. He knew then that he was going to die soon. “I’m sorry. I’m—.”

“You should’ve thought about your actions earlier.”

Another punch to the face bounced his head off the concrete wall. Thoughts of his life rushed forward to fill in the fading minutes. Would his life end like this? His family, his agency, his friends, his clients—what would happen to them? His world collapsed as the remaining blood drained from his body.