This book goes free for a few days every year. When I checked yesterday, the last time it was free was 6–8 May 2023, and it was first published on 4 May 2019, so 5–7 May this year seems to be as appropriate a time as any.
Here’s the blurb:
In a country where the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer, opportunities for cruelty and exploitation are rife. Life may be cheap, but some will pay handsomely for the chance to take it.
Jed Pike – known as ‘Glasgow’, as that was the city where he made his first kill – offers the ultimate hunting experience to those who can afford it. He has made a great success of his evil enterprise, set in the desolate wilds of the Scottish Highlands. Then, a chance discovery sets his feet on a far darker – but even more lucrative – path.
‘The Last Weekend’ is a dark, visceral thriller confronting death, and how far people will go to embrace or avoid it.
Why write about this stuff?
I remember a couple of well-heeled fellow guests in a lovely wee place in Plockton, many years ago, lamenting how people who write crime and thriller novels should think carefully about what they write because they give people ideas. In my experience it’s the other way round – it’s what I read in the news that makes me think and start to develop an idea for a story. Most of what I write about has already happened somewhere in the world. That doesn’t mean writers should be heedless of the possible impact of our words, but equally we shouldn’t be timid. God knows, criminals aren’t!
This book went through a few incarnations and rewrites during its creation – at one point it was a police procedural – but I think it found the shape it needed and I’m very happy with it.
That said, it is brutal in places and the body count is high. As Amazon reviewer Amber Fernn says:
Read this in one sitting before going on a night shift and scared myself half to death!!!! Absolute cracking read and can't wait to read more from this author.
If you want a preview, I’ve included the first chapter in this newsletter. If you want to see more, you can read almost to the end of chapter 5 on Amazon. Or just grab the whole thing free for the next few days.
The Last Weekend
Chapter 1
There were nine of them in the pen. Jess had been in the second batch to arrive, the four in her group adding to the five already there.
No one seemed to know what was going on.
They’d all been lifted from the street, the promise of hot food, a shower and a bed for the night a powerful attraction in the late October chill. Then, somehow, they’d all ended up here – somewhere in the Highlands, locked inside a barred enclosure in the middle of a barn, the top covered over with chicken wire to complete the prison cell they were in. They’d been given food and water, and then left to make themselves as comfortable as possible using the grubby assortment of sleeping bags, pillows and blankets they found piled in one corner of the space.
Music started blaring outside – Survivor’s ‘Eye Of The Tiger’ – as the barn door swung open and two men carrying AK47s walked in. Jess recognised one of them; he was lean and muscular, with cropped blonde hair, and he had been driving the van she’d been lured into the day before. The other man was big and broad, his bullet-shaped head shaved, and he seemed to be in charge.
‘Right, you lot, look lively.’ Bullet Head had to shout to be heard over the music. He undid the padlock on the door of the pen and opened it wide. The people inside clambered to their feet, but didn’t attempt to leave the space. As horrific as it was to be locked up like that, the fear of what else might be in store for them was greater.
‘Come on out here, now.’ Bullet Head raised his rifle and pointed it at them. ‘Unless you want me to shoot you where you stand.’
Reluctantly, casting glances at one another and at the men with the guns, the nine people shuffled out of the pen and into the barn.
The driver had disappeared into an area at the back of the barn, where there was a quad bike and a trailer; he returned with an armful of dark blue boiler suits. ‘Put these on,’ he said, as he handed them out.
‘Why?’ Jess asked, as she took the one offered to her. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose at the stale smell of sweat that came off it. ‘This is disgusting,’ she said. The boiler suit had several holes in it and was covered in dark stains and patches of mud. There was a target on the back, the centre made of reflective material, and two hi-vis stripes on each arm. She looked at the boiler suits the others held; they were all in the same condition.
‘Has everyone got one?’ the driver said. ‘Good. Get them on. Chop chop.’
They climbed into them because they had no choice.
‘Now,’ Bullet Head said, ‘let me tell you what’s going to happen. There are three gentlemen out there who have paid good money to do some hunting. You will be their prey. We’ll take you to the start point and you’ll be given a five-minute head start, after which you will be hunted for an hour. Do you understand?’
‘Hunted!’ someone exclaimed. ‘You can’t do that—’
Bullet Head interrupted him. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Who’s going to stop us – you?’
‘What happens if they catch us?’ asked one of the men. He had a limp and was unlikely to be quick off the mark.
‘They’ll kill you.’
One of the women started to cry.
‘Don’t worry, we’re not monsters – if you’re just wounded, we won’t leave you to suffer, we’ll finish you off, nice and quick.’ He barked out an ugly laugh.
Jess felt suddenly cold, as she realised what the holes in and stains on the boiler suits meant.
‘What if we don’t get caught?’ asked one of the others.
‘If that happens, you’ll be brought back here and you’ll go out again with the next group. If you survive three hunts, we’ll pay you five thousand pounds and let you go.’ Bullet Head looked around. ‘Everybody clear? Good. Run like fuck, make it worthwhile for your hunters. Remember, they’ve paid a lot of money for this, they want a good time out of it.’
‘Christ, this can’t be happening,’ muttered the man with the limp. Then he shouted, ‘You can’t do this! It’s inhuman!’
‘Shut up and get moving or I’ll shoot you myself.’ Bullet Head clubbed him between the shoulder blades with the butt of his rifle; the man stumbled, but kept his feet.
Jess looked at the people around her; fear was written on every face. They were herded out of the barn into the early evening twilight, where they saw the man who’d coaxed them into the van with promises and lies standing alongside three others, who were carrying rifles with powerful-looking sights and wearing helmets with lamps on the front. The man from the van had grey hair pulled back into a ponytail and a nose that had been broken once too often to ever set right. The other men were younger. As the group walked past, Jess could hear them laughing and talking, discussing tactics, pointing out the ones they wanted to shoot. One of them called to Jess: ‘Hey, blondie, you’re mine!’ He raised his weapon and sighted it on her, then pretended to shoot, laughing when she flinched.
Jess’s heart was hammering, her palms cold. She forced herself to take deep breaths, realising her only chance was to be fast and sure-footed – and lucky. She had to keep a clear head. She’d run as fast as she could, find somewhere to hide and stay there for the remainder of the hour. Maybe she’d get the chance to get away when everything had died down. One thing was for sure; she had more chance of freedom out here, even being hunted by men with guns, than she had locked in the pen in the barn.
‘Right,’ shouted Bullet Head as the group came to a halt. ‘You keep your boiler suit on at all times. You hear? In a minute, I’m going to fire into the air and that’ll be your cue to start running. You get a five-minute head start. When you hear the gun fire again, your hunters will be coming after you. When the hour is up, you’ll hear a car horn beep three times. That means it’s safe to come out. Got it?’ Someone turned the music off and the sudden silence made Jess’s ears ring. Bullet Head fired and the group ran pell-mell into the dusk.
Jess’s feet pounded over the heather. The terrain was fairly flat, if a little bumpy underfoot. There was a row of bushes ahead, still more beyond that, and she headed for them like an arrow. Once she reached them, she ducked down behind and took a few seconds to catch her breath. She was startled into further movement by the firing of the gun marking the start of the hunt.
‘That was never five minutes – that was barely two!’
The voice came from her left. Jess looked, but in the gloaming could only make out an indistinct shadow. That gave her heart as she realised she, too, would be barely visible. She zigzagged away into the darkness, still heading in the opposite direction from the start point, aiming for the next clump of bushes. If they were dense enough, she would burrow inside and wait things out; if not, she’d keep on going. She could see the dark outlines of more bushes further away, and taller trees beyond them; there were hiding places out there and the darker it got, the safer she’d be.
Suddenly a short burst of gunfire rang out, followed by a yell, and a pained groaning that was abruptly cut off. She reached the safety of the next line of bushes and took the chance to look back over the terrain. Three lights ranged from side to side as the hunters turned their heads, looking for their prey. She was far enough away to feel safe – for now – and with the lights on their helmets she could see them coming a mile off. Things were starting to feel a little more survivable.
Suddenly a cry went up and she looked to see light reflecting off the hi-vis stripes on the boiler suit worn by someone cowering in the bushes she had just fled from. One of the hunters drew a bead as the figure leapt up and started to run. With the lights catching the stripes and the centre spot of the target on the back, there was nowhere to hide anymore. Jess realised how foolish she had been to believe she would not be noticed in the gloom. As the figure ran towards her, a couple of bursts of gunfire rang out and the victim fell to the ground. Whoever it was began crawling away, dragging himself back towards the bushes, as the hunter ran over to finish the job. He grabbed the injured man and turned him over, standing astride him as he begged for mercy. Jess watched as the man took a hunting knife from his belt, the serrated blade catching in the light from his helmet. He used it to tear open his victim, then pulled the steaming entrails from the carcass and held them aloft as he roared in triumph.
‘Well done, mate,’ shouted one of his companions, as they ran over to congratulate him. The piteous screams ceased and the hunter dropped the offal.
One of the men stooped and dipped his hand in the gore, then smeared the blood of the victim on his killer’s face. ‘First kill. How did it feel?’
‘Fucking great,’ the killer said, as he wiped his knife on the dead man’s clothing; he kissed the blade before putting it back in his belt. ‘Can’t wait for the next one.’
Jess was holding her breath, staring at the scene. Her eyes were stinging; she hadn’t blinked for the duration of the murder. She shook herself as she saw the three hunters starting to look for the next kill. Someone was sighted away to the right, the flare of the hi-vis stripes in the headlamps a beacon, and two of the men ran in that direction. Keeping close to the ground, she slid her arms out of the boiler suit and rolled it down to her waist, so that the reflective stripes and the target were no longer visible. As she rose to a crouch and prepared to disappear into the darkness, she heard a boot scrape on stone.
‘Naughty, naughty,’ a voice said, and she looked up to see the third hunter, knife in hand, standing just a few feet away. ‘Weren’t you told not to take that off?’
Jess stared at him as she straightened up. She glanced to the side and, after weighing up her chances, made a run for freedom. He was on her in seconds, dragging her to the ground and landing heavily on top of her. She was pinned, face down, the man sitting astride her. He grabbed a handful of Jess’s hair and pulled her head back. The pain was excruciating; her back screamed in agony. ‘Told you I’d get you,’ he said. ‘And you’re my first kill tonight, you should be honoured.’
‘Fuck you!’ spat Jess. She knew there was no point in begging for mercy so refused to give him the satisfaction.
‘You cocky cow.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll eat your heart for my supper,’ he said, then slashed Jess’s throat so deeply the knife hit bone. Then he moved off, looking for his next victim.
The hunter was true to his word; when the killing spree was finished, he went back to Jess’s prone form, flipped her over, opened her up and cut out her heart. He dropped it into his upturned helmet and headed back to the hunting lodge.
More stuff to read
If you are looking for something complete to read, on here you’ll find a variety of short stories and flash fiction pieces, plus three novellas, that you can read for free. Below, I’ve linked to the first instalment of each novella:
There are also books available on Amazon, including this year’s two new titles, Debt of Honour and Flesh and Blood.
I hope you enjoyed today’s newsletter. If you did, please spread the word.
Thanks for reading and see you next time.
Bad Intent is free to read, but if you wish you can pop a coin in the tip jar. Thank you!