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ldbeyer.com
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Old Stone Mill Publishing
ISBN-10: 099638572X
Type: Fiction
Pages: 354
Copyright: January 15, 2016
ISBN-13: 9780996385725
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
When drug cartels threaten to topple the Mexican government and the violence begins to spill across the border, Richter is drawn back to Washington. One by one, cartel warehouses are raided and drug lords are targeted and killed. All except for Pablo Guerrero, the ruthless head of the Sangre Negras cartel, who has only grown stronger. It’s up to Richter to stop Guerrero to protect those he loves.
A powerful drug lord threatens to bring America to its knees.
Only one man can stop him.
Save the president or save his lover? Two years ago, Secret Service Agent Matthew Richter faced the most difficult decision of his life, knowing that by saving the former, the latter would die. In the aftermath, he fled Washington and the agency that failed him. With wounds he’s certain will never heal, he seeks refuge behind a gun as the commander of an FBI SWAT team in New York. After a raid turns sour and Richter is sidelined, possibly for good, he is reluctantly drawn back to Washington by the man he once saved.
When drug cartels threaten to topple the Mexican government and the violence begins to spill across the border, Richter tells President David Kendall it’s time to take off the gloves. One by one, cartel warehouses and tunnels are raided and their drug caches destroyed. One by one, their sprawling compounds and bank accounts are seized. One by one, drug lords are targeted and killed. One by one—all except, that is, for Pablo Guerrero, the ruthless head of the Sangre Negras cartel, who has only grown stronger as others have fallen.
When the hunt for Guerrero finally draws first blood, he unleashes a war no one is prepared for. Now Richter must stop him before it’s too late.
An Eye For An Eye is the action-packed sequel to In Sheep’s Clothing, L.D. Beyer’s gripping debut novel.
Excerpt
As he made his way through the cantina, Pablo Guerrero could hear the cries of the crowd, calling for blood. He tugged at the cap, pulling it low over his face. Dressed as he was in a laborer’s clothes, and not the designer fashions he’d grown accustomed to, he wasn’t recognized.
Stepping out the back door, he threaded his way through the crowd to the side of the ring. He caught the eye of the boy standing in the middle. The boy, no more than thirteen, nodded briefly then held the black rooster up for the judge to inspect. After checking for injuries, the judge held out his hand and the boy handed him the one-inch curved blade. The judge inspected this, first looking then sniffing for the tell-tale signs of poison. Although he didn’t detect any, he wiped the blade with a lemon—a long-standing practice to guard against cheating. Satisfied, the judge tied the blade onto the rooster’s leg then stepped back.
The boy moved to the center of the ring, thrusting the bird in front of him, letting him see his opponent. Across from him, an old man holding a white rooster did the same. Guerrero watched as his rooster twisted and writhed in the boy’s hands, clucking and hissing, anxious to fight. A slight grin crossed his face then disappeared. The judge signaled; the boy and the old man retreated to opposite sides of the pit.
The judge eyed the crowd and called out once more, “Apuestas!” Bets.
Guerrero signaled and handed the judge one hundred pesos, nodding in the boy’s direction.
“El negro.” The black one.
The judge nodded, held the hundred pesos in the air and called out to the crowd again. When all bets were placed, he signaled to the boy and the old man. They stepped forward again, thrusting their roosters at each other several times as the noise grew. The spectators, those wagering and those just watching, began to shout and chant, excited by the imminent battle. The judge called out again, and the roosters were placed on the ground. Like prize fighters, they danced around each other for a second or two before the black rooster charged. Wings flapping, the birds pecked at each other, clawing and fighting as they’d been trained.
The black rooster jumped, fluttered a foot above the ground for a moment, and then dove at his opponent. The white rooster turned, swung his right claw out. As the chants and calls rose to a din, the black rooster crumpled to the ground.
For a second, Guerrero didn’t move. Then he glanced at the old man holding the white rooster aloft, smiling, triumphant. He looked at his own bird lying in the dirt, the dark stains of blood appearing almost as black as the feathers. Guerrero stared at the old man again; his eyes dark. As he turned to leave, he caught the boy’s eyes once more and nodded.
The old man would be found three days later, the dismembered white rooster sitting on top of his brutally beaten body.
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