Friday, June 25, 2021

Sneak Peek: Pseudocide by A.K. Smith with Giveaway!

 



Pseudocide
Sometimes You Have to Die to Survive
by A.K. Smith
 YA Twisty Suspense












This tense tale will keep readers on edge until its surprising finale. - Kirkus Reviews

"A gripping suspense novel with unexpected twists."

"Teen fans of Gone Girl will enjoy this smart dark and unpredictable novel."

"Natasha Preston and Karen M. McManus readers will enjoy." ♥


SHE THOUGHT FAKING HER DEATH WAS THE ANSWER TO A NEW DESTINY
SHE WAS WRONG
PLAYING DEAD ISN'T EASY

Sunday Foster had THE PLAN. Make it through the rest of high school, graduate and THE PLAN will begin. Only, fate chose a different path; one decision, one second changed everything,

THE PLAN is ruined.And then a new idea emerges.

What if you could escape your life? Change your name, where you live, and escape all the bad stuff that keeps happening.

Sunday decides in order to change her destiny she must fake her death and start a new life.
 Pseudocide not suicide. Sunday has secrets, but she's not the only one. That's when Sunday must decide how far she will go to hide the truth. Plans never work out quite the way you expect. 

Sometimes you have to DIE to survive.




SNEAK PEEK

I wish I hadn’t worn my blue dress, a wrap dress from H&M that ties in the front. It was an impulse buy, part of a shopping spree for my job at the courthouse. I would never wear the business dresses and suits to school, but putting them on and going to work seemed like dress-up. An adult costume. Now I wonder if the top reveals too much. My boobs fill out the blue lacey Victoria’s Secret bra underneath, which makes me worry about my secret tattoo: the words “live free” printed in a tiny circle, about the size of a dime. I can see the edge of the tattoo if I look straight down—a consequence of one of the ugly rampages with HE and SHE.

It happened a night SHE had passed out after drinking two bottles of wine, and HE had punched the fridge, smashed the plates, and thrown spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen. HE left to wherever it is HE goes and I had snuck out and drove to a tattoo shop near University Park. The brown-eyed tattoo artist, Max, blew me off as soon as I walked in the door because I didn’t have any ID. But when he saw my rendering, the size of the tattoo and the two simple words, he paused, studied my face, and said, “I’m sorry, can’t do it. Come back when you’re really 18.”

Pain is a childhood friend I loathe but sometimes need. A video and a home tattoo kit taught me how to ink my own skin. Jack is the only other witness to my hidden impulse. And now, after the slow healing, Jack likes the tiny tattoo, often tracing the circle with his finger. I think he likes it because he’s the only one who knows it exists.

Tyler’s eyes focus on the cleavage in my flushed chest. With confidence, he orders a dirty martini. The dark-haired, pretty waitress turns to me. “IDs, please.”

The martini is for me. Young Sunday is helping a lonely twenty-one-year-old enjoy a decent dinner, before I hit the party with my buddies.” He holds out his bogus license. His eyelashes never flicker as his lips slide into a smooth smile.

The waitress turns her scrutiny off me and focuses on Tyler, eyeing him up and down like a delicious cupcake she wants to lick. Within minutes, she brings the staff over to the table to sing Happy Birthday. As their voices rise higher, my cheeks flush red. The attention adds a centralized energy in the room. Everyone is looking RIGHT AT US.

Us. Together. I still can’t wrap my head around what I am doing. What am I doing?

The first martini is on the house.

Taste it.” Tyler slides the delicate martini glass across the white tablecloth.

No thanks.”

Oh, come on. Have you ever tasted a dirty martini?”

No.”

Try it.”

It tastes like earth mixed in with bitter olives, a man’s drink. When he ordered the second one, I smiled, but my gut constricted. HE’s blood-shot eyes flashed in my mind. I heard my father’s cruel words that came with sucking down alcohol. “You are stupid. If I didn’t have to take care of you, I could have a better life. You and your worthless mother.” Alcohol loves a cruel vocabulary. 







Full of wanderlust and a professional sunset watcher, A.K. Smith writes twisty suspense books that will keep you up late. Her debut novel, A Deep Thing was awarded the Readers Favorite Gold Medal. A freelance travel writer (under another name), she loves to experience the world, and discover new settings to feature in her latest novels and articles. If she’s not on the water or in the water, she is looking at the water. She spends her days working remotely online in either Mexico on the Sea of Cortez, or in the desert or forests of Arizona. Beautiful settings provide thousands of story ideas that she can’t wait to get down on paper. She is convinced, her best life is with a beach, a blanket, and a book.  Her big loves are her husband, family, friends, and kindness. Her goal is to step foot on every continent on Planet Earth (maybe even the moon) --she's slowly getting there.





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