By Jeff Menapace
In Autumn of 2008, the Lambert kinfolk headed to western Pennsylvania for a weekend getaway to the relatives cabin.
They visited hell instead...
The Fannelli brothers. psychopaths who believed themselves unparalleled, wear this Earth for the soul objective of tormenting others for his or her personal leisure. To make humans play their twisted games.
Except the Lamberts controlled the very unlikely. They performed the sport and survived. confirmed the Fannelli brothers that they'd messed with the incorrect family members.
However, the sport is way from over. There are a few new avid gamers on the town. gamers who seem to have shut ties to the Fannelli brothers. gamers who're taking issues very personally...and promising effects which are very lethal.
Vengeful video games is the hugely expected sequel to the acclaimed mystery undesirable video games. for those who notion you'd glimpsed evil prior to, organize to plummet headfirst into the abyss as writer Jeff Menapace exhibits you a brand new point of worry and heart-stopping suspense.
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Additional resources for Vengeful Games (Bad Games, Book 2)
Sample text
Life, he decided, was all about trade-offs. They’d been in the hills for two days, all of it on the move, sleeping two to three hours a night. He was part of the special operations team of the 75th Ranger Regiment, based permanently at Fort Benning, Georgia, where there was a nice NCO club with good beer on tap. By closing his eyes and concentrating, he imagined he could still taste the cold beer, but that moment passed quickly. He had to focus here, every second. They were fifteen thousand feet above sea level, in the Hindu Kush mountains, in that gray zone that was both Afghanistan and Pakistan, and neither—at least to the locals.
Hadn’t moved at all. Driscoll brought his M4 up, settled the sights on the nape of the man’s neck, and then tightened his finger on the trigger. Easy, easy … squeeze … Pop. Not much of a sound. Hard to hear at all at a range of more than fifty meters, but the bullet flew true and transited the target’s head, leaving a puff of green vapor behind, and he went off to see Allah, or whatever god he acknowledged; at twenty-odd years old, growing and eating and learning, and probably fighting, came to an abrupt and unwarned end.
Wrong gomer was his immediate thought, followed by Shit. The face was the embodiment of confusion and shock. He was shaking his head, trying to get his brain initialized, but young and tough as he was, he wasn’t fast enough for the necessities of the moment. Near the back wall of the chamber Driscoll saw movement, a shadow hunched over, sliding along the rock wall. Not moving toward them but somewhere else. Driscoll holstered his pistol, turned to Tait, then pointed at the gomer on the ground—Cuff ’em—then flipped on his NV and dropped the M4’s sights over the moving shadow.