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Welcome to my page. This is an excerpt from my latest novel, The Death Knights. Please take a moment to read it. If you like this excerpt please considering purchasing a copy of this awesome novel!

The Death Knights - Brandon Alexander

Brandon arrived at the apartment building ready to complete his mission. Over the past year and a half, he completed more missions than any Death Knight. This one would be no different.

The apartment building overlooked the Potomac River and stood approximately 200 yards away from where the target would give his speech.

He liked this location because he could take the shot and make his egress with anyone noticing. He waited in his position as the event started. The rain fell but it would not stop this event. The target arrived and security covered the location. He focused on the podium because it provided the best avenue to take the shot.

Brandon waited with the podium locked into his sight. His finger sat on the trigger ready to make the slow squeeze to death. He focused his concentration on the target and making the kill.

Without warning the explosion sent him flying in the air and down to the ground. His long gun landed several feet away from him while other parts of the building and people fell around him. Some were dead on impact; others suffered injuries like him. The impact caused him to drift into unconsciousness.

The rain patted him on his face waking him from his unconscious state. He tried to rise, but the pain belted his head like nothing he felt before. “Ugh, I hope I don’t have a concussion; I can’t have a concussion.”

He could hear sirens in the distance. He felt the need to escape the area and regroup to figure out what happened.

Brandon climbed to his feet and looked around. Struggling to remember what he was doing there. A rifle with a scope laid on the ground ten feet from him. He saw a crowd of people standing on a bridge 200 yards away from him. They looked confused and angry. Cars hurried people away while police and first responders took control of the scene.

The explosion in the building he was in burned steady beside him. Several of the injured laid on the ground calling for him or anyone for help but he ignored them. His instincts told him to ignore the pain of others. “What was my mission? I can’t remember.”

Brandon staggered to get away stepping over the bodies of the dead. A man grabbed him. “Hey buddy you looked hurt bad. I need to get one of the medics to you.”

Brandon replied, “No, I’m okay. Help the others.”

The man shouted, “Medic! Over here we got an injured man.”

Brandon resisted and pushed the man away. He staggered down the street hearing the man shouting to officers behind him. An Officer shouted, “Hey Sir, we need to ask you some questions.”

Another officer stepped in front of Brandon. He pushed the officer grabbing his gun. Brandon raised the gun and shouted, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

The officer froze in place, but others were approaching the area. Brandon shouted at them. “Stop or your friend is dead!”

They stopped. Brandon moved away. Once he had enough room between himself and the officers, he broke out into a full run. He heard them chasing him. Brandon darted around a corner. He went into a door. It was a backdoor to a club. He walked through keeping his head down to go unnoticed.

He grabbed a towel from the bar and asked the bartender, “Can I get a bottle of brandy?”


The bartender placed the bottle on the bar. Brandon asked, “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Sure, you okay? We all heard the explosion across the way.”

“Yes, I’m fine just got a little banged up.” The bartender handed him the kit. “Thanks, I’d appreciate if you forgot I was here.”

“You sure Buddy? I can call for some help.”

“Yes, I’m sure. There are people hurt worse than me. The medics need to tend to them instead of me.”

“Okay, I never saw you.”

Brandon handed him money. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks Mister, anytime. I certainly never saw you.”

He popped inside the bathroom and into a stall. “I can buy people easily with the right amount of cash.” He removed a pocketknife and cut a slit into his forearm. He reached inside and retrieved the microchip. Then he smashed it on the floor. He poured the brandy on the cut and wrapped the towel around his forearm. Then he removed the bandages from the kit, sat the towel on the ground. He bandaged up his forearm.

“I remember being in that building. They hired me to kill someone, but I remember being thrown into a van and taken from my home. They screwed my head up. Nothing is clear. I got to get to the house on Sydney Street.”

He left the bathroom. No one paid any attention to him. He nodded at the bartender and handed him the kit on the way out.

Once out the front door, he looked both ways. No police in sight. “They’re preoccupied with the explosion. What happened there?” He hailed a cab and one stopped. “4334 Sydney in Fort Washington. There’s an extra hundred if you make this off book.”