A Very Good Man (Dead End, Book 1) by P. S. Power

By P. S. Power

How a lot is an efficient ebook worthy to you? How even more is a brilliant one worth?

At the tip of the realm Jake struggles to maintain the folk with regards to him, a bunch of strangers, alive. It isn't as effortless because it sounds, seeing that so much of them are greater than a piece caught within the outdated global. however the luxurious and laxity of that point has long past forever.

And Jake is the one individual robust adequate to maintain all of them in line.

Leaving him hated and reviled.

What they don't find out about Jake is how sort and detailed he actually is, a superb guy, come to assist all of them continue to exist. no matter if he has to kill them to do it.

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Additional info for A Very Good Man (Dead End, Book 1)

Example text

He held her in his arms as she sobbed, and sobbed, and that night he brought his suit to the dry cleaner’s. But Lindsey Salmon was another thing altogether. She was gifted, one of the twenty students from his school who had been selected for the statewide Gifted Symposium. The only trouble in her file was a slight altercation early in the year when a teacher reprimanded her for bringing obscene literature—Fear of Flying—into the classroom. “Make her laugh,” I wanted to say to him. ” All I could do was talk, but no one on Earth could hear me.

It was a hard sock in the stomach. ” “Nothing is ever certain,” my father tried. Lindsey sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m going to be sick,” she said. ” “Dad, I want you to tell me what it was. ” My father got down a large metal mixing bowl. He brought it to the table and placed it near Lindsey before sitting down. “Okay,” she said. ” “It was an elbow. ” He held her hand and then she threw up, as she had promised, into the shiny silver bowl. Later that morning the weather cleared, and not too far from my house the police roped off the cornfield and began their search.

He made sure to specify so that my parents would be relieved of their first thought—that the police had found my body, that I was, for certain, dead. ” my mother said impatiently. She crossed her arms and braced for another inconsequential detail in which others invested meaning. She was a wall. Notebooks and novels were nothing to her. Her daughter might survive without an arm. A lot of blood was a lot of blood. It was not a body. Jack had said it and she believed: Nothing is ever certain. But when they held up the evidence bag with my hat inside, something broke in her.

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