Northern Sun, Book Four in The Mad Mick Series

The latest installment of The Mad Mick series is out now in all formats. The day of it’s release it hit #1 in Military Science Fiction, #2 in Post-Apocalyptic Fiction, and #3 in Military Thrillers. It was the #1 Hot New Release in Military Thrillers. Feedback on this book has been excellent. You can find it for Kindle or in paperback on Amazon or in audiobook on Audible. It will show up on iTunes too but they’ve been experiencing some delays lately.

Northern Sun on Amazon

Northern Sun on Audible

My latest post-apoc release – The Way of Dan, Book One: Burning Down Boise

The Way Of Dan is a new series that’s a bit of a departure from some of my previous post-apocalyptic titles. It’s a little more nostalgiac and runs at a little slower pace than titles like The Mad Mick and The Borrowed World. It’s a revenge tale in a post-apocalyptic setting. It’s available now for Kindle, in paperback, and in audio read by Kevin Pierce.

You can find it here: Burning Down Boise

The description:

Sometimes the story of an apocalypse isn’t one of tragedy, but one of opportunity…

Dan Slaughter has given up on appearances. With his wife dead and his kids grown, he’s slowly reverting back to the east Tennessee boy he used to be three decades earlier. He quit cutting his hair and started smoking pot. He drinks when he wants to and sings along with the classic songs of his lost youth.

When his childhood friend Carl dies suddenly, Dan agrees to help Carl’s mother with the estate, even when it means traveling across the country to Boise, Idaho. Worse yet, Dan has to fly and that’s no easy task for a paranoid hillbilly not used to following rules.

Once he arrives in Boise, it doesn’t take long for Dan to figure out that there’s a lot more to his friend’s death than he’d been led to believe. He begins to suspect the overdose was actually murder and he can’t let it rest.

Only days after arriving, a mysterious solar event traps Dan in the city, leaving him with no prospect of returning home anytime soon. Rather than panicking, Dan readily accepts the new state of things. For him, the apocalypse is an opportunity. With no law enforcement, his plan to deliver a dose of Tennessee justice in downtown Boise just got a whole lot easier.

Want to read a selection from HARD TRAUMA, my new thriller?

Chapter 1

Two Years Earlier

Tyler Stone was running a five-man team in the northern part of the Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Their mission was to conduct reconnaissance on a village where the Taliban was rumored to be stockpiling weapons. They’d been in position for three days and pinpointed a cave with a lot of suspicious traffic. Ty was fairly certain the crates being hauled into the cave didn’t contain cases of beer and bags of pork rinds.

Sometimes their job was to find the weapons and call in an airstrike. They’d paint the target with an infrared laser and air support would blow it back to the Stone Age. This mission was different. They were there to collect photographs and coordinates, then transmit the data back to command. Supposedly, folks higher up the chain would use that data to extrapolate a more complete picture of the supply chain in the region. 

The mission was going smooth as glass, which made everyone jittery. Once they transmitted their data, they were ordered to return home. That was when they paid the price for the previous lack of complications. They were rucking out on a goat trail when their mission was blown in the same way so many other covert ops in the Afghan hill country were compromised.


Up until that point, they’d done everything right. They’d gathered their intel, avoided detection, and sustained no casualties. The two teenage shepherds wore drab pajama-like clothing and carried herding staffs, looking like two kids who’d just wandered out of some biblical tale.

“Keep moving,” Ty ordered his team. “Kamran, handle this.”

Kamran, their “terp”—interpreter—approached the boys and gestured wildly, warning the young men to remain silent or they’d be killed. Perhaps it wasn’t the approved, politically-correct method of requesting cooperation from locals but it was often the most effective. Ty kept his team moving while Kamran assured the shepherds that men would come back and wring their necks like scrawny desert chickens if they sounded the alarm. 

The terp made a good show of it but you never knew how those threats would work. Sometimes the locals resented the Taliban for some atrocity they’d committed on their village and they’d keep silent. Other times, more scared of the Taliban, they’d raise hell, sounding the alarm as soon as you were out of sight. Ty thought they’d actually pulled this one off until they hit open terrain and he chanced a look back at the village thorough his M151 spotting scope.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled.

“What is it?”

Taco, a weapons sergeant, shaded his eyes and tried to make out what he was looking at. He was a tall dude, wrapped in tattoos and muscles, the man just as battle-worn as his gear. His nickname had nothing to do with ethnicity but instead came from his last name, which was Bell. “Please tell me that’s just a dust devil.”

“That’s a negative, Taco. I’ve got at least two dozen armed riders headed in our direction.  Those fucking shepherds sold us out.”

Taco shook his head in disgust. “Why am I not surprised?” He threw up his rifle and studied them through the scope.

Ty packed up his spotting scope. “We need to haul ass.”

“Should we engage?” Taco asked. “If I can’t drop them, I can at least scatter them. Slow them down.”

“Negative on that. While we’re engaging, the rest will close around us and we’ll get penned in. Then we won’t be going anywhere.” 

The two men ran to catch up with the rest of their team. Ty flagged down his commo sergeant, Hoot. “See if you can find us a ride out of here!”

A chopper could light those Taliban cowgirls up and haul the team back to base. Command was expecting their request for exfil, anyway. Surely someone was monitoring their op and waiting for the call. 

Ty watched Hoot’s face while he talked, and after two minutes of agitated jabbering, he knew there was a problem. He started to get a sinking feeling in his gut. “What’s the hell’s going on?”

Hoot whipped off his headset, looking pissed. “Everything is grounded. Major fucking storm on our ass. Could be tomorrow before shit settles down.”

“Great,” Ty mumbled. “You tell them we had our own storm to worry about?”

“Affirmative. They suggested we request the QRF if we needed them,” Hoot relayed, referring to the Quick Reaction Force.

“Bernie’s unit is on QRF now,” said Taco. “You know he won’t put anyone at risk. They’ll drag their ass and get here tomorrow so he doesn’t take casualties.”

“Do it,” Ty said.

Hoot got on the radio and passed on Ty’s request. Ty could soon tell Hoot wasn’t having any more luck with this than the exfil request.

“QRF says they’ll contact command and advise us when they have their orders,” Hoot repeated.

Ty shook his head in disgust. He scanned the horizon and in the distance found the storm Hoot was referring to, a dark mass emerging on the horizon ahead of them like some enormous beast. “There’s your dust devil, Taco.”

“I still say we dig in and engage them. We got this. We can take them.” Taco’s speech was rushed. They were all huffing and puffing from humping heavy gear at a rapid pace, their adrenaline pumping. After sitting in those hills for three days everyone was jacked up and ready for a fight. Running didn’t taste good on anyone’s tongue.

“Negative,” Ty said.  “They pin us down and there’ll be a hundred of them surrounding us by tomorrow. They’ll pound us with rockets and there won’t be enough left to bury. We’re going to outrun them, or at least try to.”

“You got to be kidding me,” Hartsock said. He was MARSOC, or Marine Special Operations Command, and had embedded with Ty’s team before. They got a laugh out of it because his name was Hartsock, making him Hartsock from MARSOC. Sometimes that shit was funny when you had nothing else to laugh at, but at the moment, nothing was funny.

“I’m open to ideas if you got anything,” Ty said.

“I don’t think we can outrun them. Those horsemen will ride us to ground,” Hartsock said. “We need a defensible position.”

Ty raised his shemagh and mopped at his face. “They pin us down, we die,” he countered. “We’re going into that storm. They probably won’t follow us in there, but if they do, they’ll lose us. Once we get on the other side, we’ll hunker down and call for a pickup. Maybe someone will be flying by then.”

If we come out on the other side,” Taco griped. “We’ll be blind in there. We could go around in circles and run into the enemy head-on.”

“We’re better than that,” Ty told him. “We tighten up and make sure that shit doesn’t happen.”

Despite any reservations they had, Ty was in charge. They followed orders and ran toward the storm. Ty could see his men glancing nervously at the approaching weather conditions while monitoring the other ominous cloud rising behind them. Ahead was a menacing blizzard of dust and wind. Behind, a band of murderous Taliban intent on torturing them to death and posting videos of it on the internet. This was a solid team, tough men used to suffering, but Ty could tell the ticking clock was wearing on them. No one liked being sandwiched between those two threats. They were truly caught between a rock and a hard place.

They closed on the great storm as it closed on them. The wind picked up immediately and Ty began to have second thoughts about his decision. This was not thunderstorm wind. This was stepping out into a hurricane wind. Dirt pelted them like a sandblaster, making any exposed flesh burn as it was abraded away.

Although they had goggles over their eyes and filthy sweat-soaked shemaghs wrapped around their faces to filter out the dust, it was a futile effort. Their ears filled with grit and dirt. Before long, their clothes were covered with so much dust that each man looked like a boulder risen from the barren landscape and marching around of its own accord. It would be perfect camo if they survived, but that was a big ask.

Ty shouted at his men to stay together but the buffeting wind drowned out his voice. As they finally lost sight of the pursuing riders, the swirling storm consumed them totally. There was the faint sound of rifle fire behind them. Their pursuers were giving it one last college try before they lost sight of the enemy, sweeping the storm with blind barrages of AK fire.

“Anyone hit?” Ty barked.

No one answered. He doubted they even heard him. Ty caught their attention and directed them through hand signals to change course. He didn’t know whether the Taliban riders would charge into the storm or balk at its approach. While he doubted they would risk it, they were dogged fighters and it remained a possibility. The team slogged onward, the men shoulder to shoulder so that no one got lost. 

Just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Mother Nature said, “Hold my beer” and they were startled by a bolt of lightning. Thunder shook the ground like mortar fire. If there was anything worse than a dust storm, it was when it intersected with a thunderstorm. The product was what you might expect. It rained mud.

A torrent of muddy rain slammed into them. It was like being hit with a firehose and they were quickly drenched, their sodden gear doubling in weight. Ty frantically yanked his shemagh down off his face, the damp cloth making him feel like he was being waterboarded. Mud streamed into his mouth, bitter and gritty. He used the back of a glove to swipe at his goggles but it was futile. He couldn’t see shit and they were running blind.

He was seriously beginning to question the wisdom of charging into the storm. Hell, could people drown while walking upright? It was starting to feel like a possibility.

Inside the storm, the conditions had not only impaired their visibility but had greatly reduced the amount of light reaching the ground. In those twilight conditions, with mud-encrusted goggles, Ty was placing tremendous focus on the terrain under his feet and keeping his men close. Touch was the only sense still working at full capacity. He noticed the terrain change under his feet and it stopped him dead in his tracks.

He grabbed Hartsock, the man nearest him, by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop. One by one, the men slowed their companions and circled up. 

“I think we’re on the road!” Ty screamed, trying to overpower the wind.

“How the hell can you tell in this mess?” Taco demanded.

“I can’t be certain but the surface feels different. It felt like there was a shoulder at the edge. Let’s head south.”

Ty could barely see any of his men but he got the distinct feeling that they were looking at him like he was an idiot. That was a fair assessment of how he felt at the moment. “That way,” he said, pointing in the direction his smeared GPS assured him was south. “Move!”

They resumed their cautious advance and marched through the blinding slurry of desert mud. Ty took a sip from his hydration bladder, trying to rinse out his mouth, and it was vile, the bite valve nearly as muddy as his boots. Then, as quickly as the storm hit them, they walked out of it. 

Except they weren’t completely out of it. Instead, they’d wandered into what appeared to be the eye of the storm. All around, completely encircling them, was the turbulent spinning blackness of the mud storm. They’d somehow landed in an insulated bubble of calm in the middle of it. 

“Dude, this is fucking weird,” Taco said, spinning slowly, watching for the Taliban horsemen to come pounding into their little oasis at any moment. “I don’t like it.”

“Spooky,” Hartsock mumbled.

Ty took the opportunity to try to clean his goggles, smearing the mud from a thick coating to a thin veneer that he could almost see through. 

“It won’t last,” Kamran assured them. “A minute or two. The storm is moving too fast.”

Aware that he was correct, Ty signaled the men to start moving again.  They were halfway across the eye, on the surface of the road, when he saw a reflection in the darkness ahead of them. “What the hell?”

“What is it?” Hartsock asked. 

“I thought I saw something,” Ty said. “A light or some kind of reflection.”

Then it was on them and there was no time to bolt for cover. They threw up their weapons and leveled them on the black Mercedes Sprinter van. It skidded to a stop in front of them, mud dripping from every surface. Inside, the wide-eyed man and little girl stared out through the smeared windshield at what probably looked like aboriginal mud men surrounding them with guns.

The terrified driver raised his hands in panic.  He was screaming, jabbering, but Ty couldn’t hear a word of it.  He moved around the driver’s side, his weapon never leaving the man’s face. Hartsock did the same on the other side. Ty heard the sliding door roll open on the far side as Hartsock checked the rear of the van. Ty pulled the driver’s door open and turned off the ignition. He scanned the driver’s lap and checked around the seat for any weapons but didn’t find any. The driver was frantically trying to explain something but Ty didn’t understand a word of it.

“Kamran!” he barked. “Get over here!”

The terp rushed to his side and looked from Ty to the driver.

“Tell him we need a ride. Now!”

Kamran spent a moment nailing down a dialect the two shared, then relayed Ty’s request.

 “No,” the driver replied in English

“Uh, he said no,” Kamran replied.

“I think I understood that part,” Ty growled.

“He says he’s Pakistani and here on business. He’s already late for an appointment.”

The rain began to pelt them again as Ty stewed on their predicament. The eye was passing and the storm was nearly back upon them. He was not letting this vehicle pass unless he and his men were aboard it. Command would frown on stealing a vehicle, regardless of their situation. They never wanted you to do anything that might end up on the evening news. Ty was struggling to figure out a different approach, a bribe or threat that might make the driver acquiesce when a gunshot split the air. 

Ty flinched and flattened himself against the vehicle, head swiveling for the source of the shot. Then he saw the column of Taliban riders had burst into the eye of the storm as well. They may have looked like a sodden mass of swamp creatures but they were deadly and only seconds away. Ty swung his rifle and tore off several shots in their direction. The rest of the team did the same. 

Negotiations were over. Ty made a command decision, shoving the driver out of the seat and onto the floor. “Get in!” he bellowed, and his team scrambled for the side door, exchanging gunfire with the approaching riders as they piled in.

The terrified young girl screamed at the top of her lungs.

Taco pounded the back of the driver’s seat. “Go! Go! Go!” he barked.

There was the rattle of more gunfire and one of the back windows shattered, spraying the interior with pellets of safety glass. Ty turned the key but it wouldn’t start and his heart sank. They were dead.

“Go!” Taco demanded.

“I’m trying!”

“Wrong gear!” Kamran shouted, leaning forward to place the shifter into the Park position.

Ty could have punched himself in the head. God, he was an idiot. Apparently he’d turned the key off when the van was in Drive so it wouldn’t start. He tried the key again and it fired right up. Ty stomped the gas pedal and the van slewed, the tires spinning on the mud road. He eased off until they gripped and the van lurched forward. The girl, still in the seat beside him, emitted another bloodcurdling scream. The sound was grating on Ty’s nerves. There was enough chaos without her adding to it.

“Take her!” Ty instructed her father, the man apparently too petrified with fear to act. He hadn’t moved since Ty shoved him onto the floor between the seats. 

When the Pakistani man didn’t react, Ty shoved him, jarring him from his paralysis. He gestured at the girl. The father’s arms shot forward and collected his daughter. He pulled her to the floor with him and shielded her with his body. Her scream became a keening whine of terror, melding with the general state of chaos.

More gunfire sprayed the back of the van, punching holes in the sheet metal and remaining glass. Ty had hoped to gain distance from the riders but they lost visibility as they re-entered the storm and he couldn’t go much faster than they could. If he got the van stuck or went off-road and hit a rock, they were dead. Hartsock and Taco were wallowing on the floor, trying to peel off their soaked packs, slippery with mud. Hartsock came out of his gear first and rolled to his knees. 

He aimed through a jagged hole in the rear window and started pounding out controlled bursts of 5.56 fire at the pursuing Taliban. The sound of the automatic fire in the enclosed space of the van was deafening. They all had hearing protection stashed somewhere in their gear but who the hell had time to look for it?

“Get’em, cowboy!” Taco hollered, finally making it to his feet and joining the fight.

He ripped the muddy goggles from his head and tossed them to the side, raised his boot, and stomped the shattered pane of glass from the opening on his side of the rear door. The addition of a second shooter only intensified the noise and bedlam in the van.

“Kamran! Ask him where this fucking road goes!” Ty bellowed, unable to judge the volume of his own voice since he couldn’t hear shit.

The terp shoved the Pakistani man to get his attention and launched a barrage of questions at him. 

One of the pursuing riders got lucky and swept the rear of the van with another burst of gunfire.  Ty had the sensation of being touched on the shoulder. He thought Kamran might be trying to get his attention but he was afraid to take his eyes of the road.

Taco cried out and collapsed to the deck. The girl screamed and Ty caught a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision. He spun to see what the girl was screaming about and realized the touch on his arm was the sensation of her father’s brain spraying onto the right side of his body. Ty was covered in gore, the dampness going unnoticed due to his already saturated clothing.

Ty roared from rage and frustration, pounding the steering wheel with his palm. He was splitting his focus between the road, where he couldn’t see shit, and the back of the van, where he had no fucking idea what was going on. “Taco? Talk to me!”

“Thigh wound!” Hartsock barked. “Missed the artery. He’s plugging it now. He’ll live.”

“Not if we don’t get out of this mess,” Ty countered.

The girl slipped from beneath the bloody crush of her father’s body and crawled into the passenger side footwell, pressing her tiny body as tightly as she could into the cramped space. She was no longer crying, her eyes squeezed desperately shut, tears streaking her stained face.

There was a jolt as a wheel rode over the nearly invisible shoulder. He jerked his eyes back to the road and struggled to correct the van without losing control. It slid dangerously, the back end slewing left and presenting just enough of its side to the enemy that they pounded it with 7.62 rounds.

Ty glanced back and saw holes punched in the van’s sidewall. He also noticed his terp gasping for air, frightened eyes opened wide. “Hoot!” Ty called to the commo guy. “Kamran’s hit!”

Ty wasn’t sure if Hoot could hear him or not. He had to be as deaf as the rest of them at the moment. He was in the back of the van trying to shoot out of the same holes Taco and Hartsock were but was having a hard time staying out of their way. There was too much flying lead in too small a space. Hot brass bounced in every direction and rolled around on the floor. It was like trying to stand on marbles.

“Hoot!” Ty repeated.

The commo guy heard him that time and sprang into action, checking the now-collapsed terp. “Got between his armor!” Hoot yelled. “I think he took one in the lung.”

Ty whipped his head around in time to see Kamran emit a cough that sprayed a mist of blood onto his already dirty face and gear. “Can you get a chest seal on him?”

“Look out!” Hoot screamed, gesturing frantically toward the windshield.

Ty swung his eyes back to the road in time to see they had driven out of the storm and he was about to crash into a HUMVEE stopped directly in front of them. Ty locked onto the steering wheel with both hands and stood on the brakes. The heavy van went into a slide and stopped mere feet shy of the armored vehicle. There were groans and cursing from the back as men fought to get on their feet, hot rifle barrels scorching them through their clothing.

The second HUMVEE in the column had a roof gunner and his weapon was trained directly on Ty’s window. They had no idea who he was or who the van belonged to. Ty raised his hand as soldiers spread around the vehicle, trying to figure out what was going on.

This story continues in HARD TRAUMA, available in paperback, audiobook, and for Kindle on


My second thriller, first in a new series, was released on May 8th. It’s available for kindle and in paperback on Amazon. Audio is currently being produced BUT the virus seems to have put a serious dent in Audible’s ability to process audio. There are some significant delays right now so cross your fingers.

Purchase HARD TRAUMA on Amazon

I have several books planned for this series with perhaps two more releases this year. This series explores veteran’s issues and human trafficking while overlaying them on a taut, high-action thriller.

Here’s the description from Amazon:

Ty Stone never wanted to be anything but a soldier.

While in Afghanistan, an operation under his command goes horribly wrong, ending his military career. Ty is thrust back into civilian life, stuck working as a security guard at a truck stop. To make matters worse, he struggles every day with the demons that followed him home from the war.

His new job is routine, even boring, until a young girl is abducted while he’s on duty. Ty can’t let the case go, even when law enforcement insists he leave the investigation to the professionals.

Ty doesn’t listen.

He cannot listen.

His gut tells him that the investigators are going down the wrong road and with every minute they waste, the girl slips farther away. Unable to accept that outcome, Ty risks it all for this new mission. He knows that somehow their fates are inextricably bound. If he can save her, then somehow he might just be able to save himself.

A long-awaited update.

I have been writing like a fiend. I released the 3rd Mad Mick book on Valentine’s day which was probably my biggest book yet. The paperback went over 400 pages.

My next release is called Hard Trauma, the first in an action-thriller series about a guy named Ty Stone who’s having a little trouble adjusting to life after leaving the military. He gets sucked into a child abduction case that changes his life forever. That book is already up for preorder and the audio is being recorded now. If you’re interested in preordering the Kindle version, you can find it at Hard Trauma.

Hard Trauma isn’t a post-apocalyptic book but I’m definitely not done with the post-apocalyptic genre. I’m nearly done with the first book in a new post-apocalyptic series called The Way Of Dan which I expect to release toward the end of May. I’ve also started the next Mad Mick book, the 4th in the series. It’s untitled at this point but I expect to finish it by the end of May.

For the second half of 2020, I’ve got a new Borrowed World book planned. Beyond that, it will depend on what readers are asking for.

I appreciate the emails and comments. Your feedback has been very helpful and your support is always appreciated. I hope you guys are staying safe in these crazy times. Do not be discouraged and do not be broken.

2019 Update

2019 was a tough year.

My goal was to transition to writing full-time by the end of 2019. As part of that plan I set an ambitious goal of five releases. As it was, I ended up with four releases and five completed novels. The last one, a new book in The Mad Mick Series will not release into January due to some unexpected delays.

I decided I wanted to be a full-time writer in 1980. Yes, that’s correct, 1980. This has been a long, intense journey. I wrote six complete novels that I could never find an agent for under the old agent/publisher system. In 2005 I completed that sixth novel and collected more rejections for the pile. I quit writing for nearly ten years after that, not starting again until 2014. That was the year I wrote the book that would become The Borrowed World and decided to launch it through Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. The title was based on a quote from Cormac McCarthy, one of my favorite writers.

So I go into 2020 as a full-time writer nearly forty years after setting that goal for myself. Thanks to everyone who helped make that happen. If I have any advice to offer, it’s work hard and be persistent.

What happens now? I have six books planned for 2020 in the genres of Science Fiction and Thrillers. More on that later.

The Latest

My latest release came in August. BLOOD BOUGHT is book 4 in The Locker Nine series. It’s available now in audio, ebook, and paperback. People REALLY seem to be liking this one.

If you’re concerned about missing updates, please sign up for my mailing list. You usually get first notice of releases.

BLOOD BOUGHT: Locker Nine 4

What’s next? In the coming days I’ll finish Borrowed World 7, THE UNGOVERNABLE, for all of those folks who have been asking for an update to that series.

I’ll also have some BIG NEWS for you in the next update. Thanks for reading.

Compound Fracture Release

As of today, the long-awaited next book in the Locker Nine series is available. I hadn’t added to this series in a while and folks have been asking so I decided to go ahead and more forward with it. The good news for fans of this series is that I’m nearly done with the 4th, and probably final, book of the series. It should release in July.

The ebook and paperback formats of Compound Fracture are available now. Audio is still about ten days off but it complete and in Audible’s hands. The ebook and paperback aren’t linked yet on Amazon so you’ll have to click a different link depending on which format you’re interested in.

Ebook of Compound Fracture

Paperback of Compound Fracture

What’s Next?

My next book should be dropping on February 1st.  This one will be the sequel to The Mad Mick.  I had been planning a different book but response from readers pushed this book to the front of the line.  Look for Masters of Mayhem in paperback and ebook on February 1st with audio running a little behind that.  To hear more about future books, scroll down below the cover image.

What happens after that?

Well, I’m already nearly 1/3 of the way through the next book in the Locker Nine series.  Don’t have a title for that one yet but I’m hoping to release it in April.  That should be followed by an installment of The Borrowed World coming in early summer.

As a reminder, follow me on social media.  I’m active on Facebook and Instagram.  I also encourage you to sign up for my mailing list.  That’s the one place where you will always get notified of the latest releases.

Thanks for reading!

The Mad Mick!

The latest book, THE MAD MICK, is out in ebook and paperback.  This is a new series and though The Mad Mick was mentioned in the second Locker Nine book, Grace Under Fire, you don’t have to read any other books to dig in and enjoy this one.


“Rock-solid characters, buzz-saw action and backstories deserving of books of their own. Amazing…”

Conor Maguire nearly lost his daughter Barb when she was three years old, injured by the drunk driver that killed his wife. When the justice system failed him, Conor — the son and grandson of IRA bombers — retaliated against the driver in dramatic and gruesome fashion.

While an ironclad alibi prevented the police from pinning the murder on Conor, it did not prevent a covert agency within the US government from recruiting the talented young bomber and machinist. For over twenty-five years, Conor designed and built custom weapons of death and destruction at his compound in the mountains of Virginia.

Then a series of devastating terror attacks brought down the United States. Conor and Barb assumed they were safe in their secure compound. They had food and a water source. They were armed and highly-trained. Then Barb was kidnapped.

The kidnappers, needing slave labor for their farm, didn’t know why Conor was known as The Mad Mick. They didn’t know the fear and respect his name invoked in the shadowy world of covert operations. They didn’t know that when it came to protecting his family, he was without conscience, without compassion, and without equal.

But they would soon find out.