The Cycle of Violence E-Book

Nathan Allen

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Sometimes the punishment does fit the crime.

Privileged rich kid Fraser Jaensch faces a twenty year prison sentence for a shockingly violent crime. His attorney advises him that his only other option is to become a subject in a top-secret program of radical therapy.
Fraser thinks it’ll be a breeze. He thinks he got off scot free.

But he has no idea what he’s in for.

Leseprobe

The Cycle of Violence

By Nathan Allen

Copyright 2015 Nathan Allen

[email protected]

@NathanAWrites

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

Also by Nathan Allen

All Against All

Hollywood Hack Job

The War On Horror: Tales From A Post-Zombie Society

The War On Horror II: Return Of The Undead Menace

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

George Santayana (1863-1952)

Chapter 1

Fraser Jaensch’s face hurtled full speed toward the pavement.

The time was 2:13 a.m. Friday night was now officially Saturday morning.

His head connected with the beer-sodden concrete at an angle and velocity that would no doubt leave him with weeks of jarring headaches and severe neck pain. But at that moment he barely felt a thing. He had poured so much alcohol down his throat and shoved so much powder up his nostrils that he was on a fast-track to invincibility. Nothing in this mortal world could cause him harm.

The club’s meathead bouncers, two ugly gorillas with single-digit IQs, warned him to leave now and never come back.

Fraser responded with a cocky smirk. Who were they to tell him what to do? He was Fraser Jaensch. He was young, rich and handsome. He didn’t take orders from a couple of UFC wannabes in pink polo shirts and security tags dangling from their thick necks. He could buy this entire place with one phone call. He could make these guys wear tutus and clean the toilets. He could do whatever he wanted.

And that was exactly what he was going to do, because Fraser Jaensch always got what he wanted.

He bounced up off the ground as if nothing had happened. He brushed the dust and grime from his four hundred dollar shirt, and he continued on his merry way.

The decision-making part of Fraser’s brain, the part that handled logic and reason, told him that being kicked out of the scuzziest strip club in the sleaziest part of town was a good indication that it might be time to call it a night. Lucky for him, vast quantities of booze had overwhelmed these negative and defeatist thoughts. The impulsive, id-chasing part of his brain grew in influence and stature with every passing moment. This segment of his brain ordered him to keep the party going. These orders were obeyed.

He sauntered along this neon-drenched stretch of sleaze and vomit, and he attempted to gain entry to some of the other fine establishments on offer. He tried using all his powers of persuasion, mostly by deploying some variation of the phrase “don’t you know who I am?”, but on each occasion he found himself stranded on the wrong side the velvet rope.

These setbacks bothered him, but only slightly. He didn’t need anyone else’s permission to party. That was the great thing about having money. The party was happening right here on the street.Hewas the party, and if other people couldn’t see that it was their loss.

A raucous clique of pretty young things on a girl’s night out passed him by. Fraser made his move. He swooped in and invited them to join in his one-man bacchanalia, blindsiding them with the full force of his charisma. They appeared immune to his charms, much to his confusion. The group exploded in a chorus of laughter and impolitely declined his generous offer.

What was happening here? He was Fraser Jaensch. These women – three sevens, four sixes and a five – should be grateful that someone like him had lowered his standards enough to give them a moment of his time. It just didn’t add up.

Maybe the pack mentality had caused them to reject his advances. That had to be it. There were eight of them and one of him. The presence of a solitary desirable male would naturally evoke some sort of negative reaction. It must be a female defense mechanism; they banded together as one to reject Fraser rather than compete for his attention and create rifts within the group. What he needed to do was find some young lass on her own with whom he could connect on a one-to-one level.

He spotted her a few minutes later. She stood by the side of the road in knee-high boots, tight leather skirt and skimpy halter top, trying in vain to hail a cab. Fraser saw it as his gentlemanly duty to rescue this young lass from a disappointing night out.

He sidled up next to her.

“Hey, you’re really hot,” he whispered into her ear, close enough for her to choke on the incendiary alcohol fumes on his breath. “Anyone ever tell you that?”