I thought I’d share a short extract from my horror novel Fury with you this week.

David sat on a black leather sofa, his feet propped up on a glass and chrome coffee table. He looked more relaxed than Andre expected him to, under the circumstances. Ivan Chilikov, or at least that was who Andre assumed it was, stood staring at what could only be described as bad modern art that probably cost more than a kidney transplant, with a glass of red wine in his hand. His short blond hair and blue eyes gave away his Russian heritage. Andre had heard stories about Chilikov’s Russian father who’d moved to Bulgaria after leaving the then-KGB. He left a bloody path behind him as he built up his illegal operations, using all his old KGB contacts. His son had continued in his father’s violent footsteps.
“What is this shit?” Chilikov said at the painting.
“It came with the house,” David said with a shrug then changed the subject as Andre and Alice were ushered into the room. “Look who finally showed up.”
Alphonse sat in the corner, looking uncomfortable in a suit, as though he were about to shit himself. Another of Chilikov’s goons stood next to him, holding a silenced 9mm pistol. Alice tried to bolt from the room when she saw the pistol, but the overstuffed shirt grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her back around.
“What the fuck is going on?” Andre whispered to Alphonse.
“They showed up about twenty minutes ago,” he whispered back, looking up at the pistol-wielding Bulgarian. “All he’s done is look at that fucking painting and drink wine. Hasn’t said a fucking thing until now. He’s one scary motherfucker.”
“Where’s Bob?” Andre whispered, looking around the room.
“He tried to put up a fight. They won and dragged him upstairs. I heard him scream. Man, I’ve never heard anyone scream like that. Not even the chicks we’ve filmed screamed like that. Man, we are seriously fucked,” Alphonse said, trying not to cry. “I think they filmed what they did to Bob.”
Andre couldn’t help thinking how ironic it would have been if they had filmed Bob dying the same way he’d killed so many girls.
“You should really take better care of your Dutch clients, they can be so fickle when you do not deliver a product on time,” Chilikov said, still looking at the painting.
“Van der Haas called you,” David said. It was a statement, not a question.
“He was very apologetic for trying to go to another source. He said you promised him the same product, but for a much lower price, and then you did not deliver. This was very bad business practice on your part. Very foolish. Do you not agree?” Chilikov turned away from the painting and looked down at David, a thin smile played on his lips. “I was surprised when the Dutchman said he had made this kind of mistake, but I could understand him wanting a lower price. It is all just business after all. What did surprise me is that you would make such an error in your calculations. I have heard you are ambitious, but they forgot to tell me you are stupid. These are the actions of a stupid and careless man. Do you not agree?”