Forbidden: Better Wear Your Flak Jacket by F. Stone Excerpt, Trailer, Giveaway & Interview

Forbidden: Better Wear Your Flak Jacket

by F. Stone

on Tour June 19 - July 7, 2017

Synopsis:

Gunfire echoes within the walls of a Middle East police compound. Screams of terror are brutally silenced. Police captain Hashim Sharif captures one survivor. Soon Eliza MacKay will wish she had died with her companions.
The vile act of terrorism is covered-up. Sharif becomes the reluctant keeper of his city's bloody secret – and the witness, MacKay. His corrupt superiors have a gun rammed against his skull. Disloyalty to the mayor will be rewarded with being buried alive.
Whatever the cost, his government’s honor must be restored. Secretly, Sharif hunts forensic evidence. Who is responsible for the murder of fifteen American volunteers? And, why did MacKay lie about her identity? He can’t trust her. Her mental illness is going to get both of them killed.
When he receives orders to dispose of MacKay, his Muslim faith is tested. Murder an innocent in cold blood? He will suffer Allah's eternal wrath.
CIA Agent Hutchinson has the lying Sharif in his cross hairs. Sharif dodges the agent’s traps almost as easily as the hit man on his tail. When Sharif discovers the shocking truth, he loses all hope of survival.
What is worth dying for? Perhaps it’s not bringing a madman to justice. Could it be saving the life of a woman who kick-started his numb heart? On the knife edge of risk, Sharif plots an act most forbidden and fatal.

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense, Romance, International Thriller
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: December 2016
Number of Pages: 363
ISBN: 0995150907 (ISBN13: 9780995150904)
Purchase Links: Amazon  | Barnes & Noble  | Goodreads 

Read an excerpt:

An armored truck with a mounted machine gun roared up behind the two police motorcyclists. Something is terribly wrong. She ducked deeper behind the luggage and stared into the darkness. She desperately searched for a rational explanation. A cold knife pierced her core.
After speeding through intersections and red traffic lights, the vehicles came to a sudden halt. Gate hinges squealed in protest. The impulse to leap from the back of the truck fought with her intense need to remain hidden. If it were not for the armed vehicle at the rear, she would have jumped and disappeared into the night. In another moment, the opportunity vanished.
The vehicles lurched forward. Through the flap’s opening, she saw a massive iron gate. High walls extended on either side. The vehicles stopped.
The motorcyclists drove to either side of the truck. The armored vehicle surged forward, nearly crashing into the back of the supply truck (where Eliza is hiding). Eliza scrambled to put more of the luggage between her and the mounted gun. It bore down on her as if it had spied her. She gasped.
Eliza strained to hear a pleasant greeting, an apology for the change of plans, anything that would tell her heart to stop its thundering in her chest.
Someone shouted, “Ikhrog men al Araba,” then in English, "Get out of the bus!"
“Stay together,” Charlie called out. At first the volunteers sounded merely annoyed, but their mood rapidly deteriorated.
“Charlie, there’s a mounted automatic weapon on that truck. Something’s not right here.” The man’s alarm ricocheted through his companions. Quick footsteps reminded Eliza of nervous horses in a corral – wild-eyed, snorting and circling as they searched for an escape.
Charlie attempted to calm his group. "I’m sure this will all make sense. I'll see why there’s been a change. Who’s in charge here?” he called.
Scattered thoughts fed her fear. The unmistakable sound of large guns being maneuvered sucked the air from Eliza’s lungs. Near the supply truck, she heard the ping, ping of a cell phone, then the trembling voice of a woman crying, "Ralph, pick up the phone. Please. Oh God …." The woman screamed. With a blast of gunfire, her cries stopped. Bullets pierced the canvas and shattered a suitcase in front of Eliza.
Her body trembled violently. In minutes she would be killed. The luggage offered no protection. Terrified to make any sound, yet frantic to hide, she pressed her backpack to her chest. She gasped as if starved for oxygen. Tears ran down her cheeks as she heard the terrified people and Charlie beg for their lives. This is only one of my nightmares. I’ll wake up and everything will be fine.
The truck with the mounted machine gun swerved around the supply truck. Deafening sounds of machine gun blasts and screams tore through her chest. She plunged down among the luggage.
A man came into her view as he lunged toward the gate. A police officer ran after him and fired several shots into the man’s back. The American dropped, bloody and lifeless.
Suddenly, an armed man dashed to the rear of the supply truck and saw her. She gasped. Oh my God, he's going to kill me. I've got once chance. Get his gun. Her martial arts training kicked in. She lunged forward. As they grappled, both fell.
Falling on top of him Eliza punched his groin. He cried out in agony. She crab crawled on all fours toward his weapon several feet away. Too late she saw a boot aimed at her head.
She ducked for cover under the supply truck. Too late. The cop stomped on her head, ramming her forehead into the pavement hard. Her momentum pushed her under the truck’s back end.
Dazed, she checked to see if he followed her. He was struggling to free his boot, snared in her scarf. A gun’s muzzle appeared, aimed in her direction. Bullets ripped through her coat’s shoulder. Puffs of down feathers stuck to the sweat and blood on her face.
I’m hit. Get out. Run. Eliza kicked and crawled out from under the truck on the far side of the killers. The deafening gunfire and screams surrounded her. Her mind froze. She pressed her body into the truck’s solid frame.
More bullets smacked the ground near her. More vehicles arrived. Bright headlights blinded her. She turned away to shield her eyes. Desperate, she ran an erratic, aimless course. Silhouettes of shapes, helmets, guns and bloody bodies flashed in front of her. Keep running. Dodge. Find cover. She ran like a wild animal, blind to the teeth that would tear her apart.
When the thunder from the machine gun stopped she glanced back. The man at the machine gun tumbled head first off the truck. His companions continued to fire their weapons, but now toward the gate. More shots came from behind the blinding lights. The men ran toward the front of the supply truck. Riddled with bullets, their bodies twisted and fell.
Silence.
Eliza gazed in bewilderment at the tall form appearing in the light. He raced forward past the open gate, his weapon raised in her direction. More men followed behind him. She ran, searching for cover.
He shouted, “Tawakaf and am, la tatharak Kiff.” Then in English, “Stop where you are. Don’t move! Stop.”
A short burst of gunfire. Bullets struck the ground a few yards in front of her. She skidded to a stop. Breathless, she turned toward the gunman. She could not make out his face below the dark helmet. He wore a police uniform like the killers had – black from head to toe. If not for his vehicle’s headlights, he would have been invisible. He raced toward her, his weapon held steadfast in her direction.
***
Excerpt from Forbidden: Better Wear Your Flak Jacket by F. Stone. Copyright © 2017 by F. Stone. Reproduced with permission from F. Stone. All rights reserved.

Book Trailer:

Author Bio:

On our cattle ranch in Alberta, when an animal was in distress or injured, I was put in charge of nursing it back to health. Never mind that I was just a kid and hated the sight of blood, but I had to muster up the courage to apply home remedies. My survival rate was pretty good. It seemed like a foregone conclusion that I would progress to nursing – humans. After one year into nurses training, I bolted. Bed pans and chronic diseases pushed me in different direction; a career of dealing with drug addicts, murder, suicide, fatalities, and biker gangs. In 1983 I graduated with honors as a paramedic and worked in the City of Edmonton’s Emergency Services.
For the next twenty years, I came face to face with scenes most people would rather not think about. I loved it. Having experienced life in the most deadly and gut wrenching events, and work alongside the police service, I gained the fodder for creating intense novels.
My creative DNA shocked me when I was driven to write a dystopian / paranormal / romance novel, The Guardian’s Wildchild. After taking several writing courses, I presented the manuscript to Omnific Publishing who published it in 2011. Just when I thought I could get my life back, another story took me prisoner – Forbidden. I couldn't believe there was this kind of story within me and desperate to be told. I resisted. It was futile.
Retired and focused on home life, I’m back to being a mom to four pets and one husband. We travel and taste the excitement of other cultures. In between adventures, I’ve dabbled in water color painting, photography, needle work, gardening – the list goes on. In my next life, I plan to explore the cosmos.
I’ve learned a few things in my seventy years. Thoughts are powerful. Intention is everything. Passion is the key to success.

Interview:

1.    When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

Fifteen years ago, I experienced an out of body event. Not my first, but that one shook me to my core. I started to write about it hoping the effort would quiet the recurring memory. It didn’t. Ten pages soon became fifty. Then two hundred. Then it occurred to me that I was writing a novel.

2.    How long does it take you to write a book?

Until it’s perfect. That could mean a week, or years.

3.    What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

What? There’s supposed to be a schedule. No one told me about that. The fact is, I can skip meals, sleep, even dental appointments when my creative gene is fired up and on a roll. However, I never miss dress shopping or having lunch with friends.

4.    What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I have conversations with my characters – and they answer. When I’m deep in the writing zone, I can feel their presence. Yes, it is odd. I still have control over the story, but it flows so much more smoother if I allow their voice, their passion to blend in with developing the structure of the story. Symbiosis comes to mind.

5.    Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

I’ve spent a lot time wondering the same thing. Sometimes I wonder if God has inspired me to write. Or, maybe the characters are real entities in another dimension who beckon me to tell their story. The one thing I do know. It’s magical.

6.    When did you write your first book and how old were you?

You’d have to swear to secrecy. Too old, LOL.

7.    What do you like to do when you're not writing?

It would be easier to list what I don’t do. I love adventure, to be challenged physically, mentally and spiritually. I study Shamanism. I’ve won awards for my needlework. Watercolor painting has become my latest challenge. I’ve raced snowmobiles and have many trophies. My husband and I travelled the world and rafted down the Shotover River in NewZealand.I’m most at peace when sitting in silence in my Rocky Mountains, Jasper, Alberta

8.    What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

I learned that I write better if I shut off my ego and let the characters tell the story.

9.    How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

I started writing my first, The Guardian’s Wildchild, in 2000. It was not my intent to publish it. Then my dearhusband, and very critical reader, said it was good. I took a couple of years off to learn how to write. In 2011, Omnific Publishing bought the rights. I still love that novel. I thought I could get my life back after that. Within two months after TGW was on Amazon, Forbidden became an obsession. It’s my finest work, so far.

10.  Do you have any suggestions to help me become a better writer? If so, what are they?

There is no simple answer unless you were born under the ‘writer’s gift’ star. Write as much as possible, even if it’s just to please yourself. It’s like a muscle. The more you use it, then inspirations, visions, wo[Type a quote from the document or the summary of an interesting point. You can position the text box anywhere in the document. Use the Drawing Tools tab to change the formatting of the pull quote text box.]

rding and phrases will begin to follow you throughout the day and in your dreams. You’ll begin to recognize what pieces add to the story and what is just useless fluff. You may love the fluff, but if it doesn’t move the story forward, it’s garbage.

Be prepared to receive criticism. Take classes in a group setting (it’s amazing how much you learn from each other). Join a writer’s group (on line and in the flesh). The writer’s group I highly recommend is IWSG – Insecure Writers Support Group.

Writing a novel is the hardest work I’ve done. I’ve worked as a paramedic which required me to be brave, strong, controlled, resourceful, intelligent, compassionate, and know when to tell a biker to “F off.” But writing has been ten times harder.

The best advice I can give is this. “Never friggin give up!”

11.  Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

One of the best reviews I received for The Guardian’s Wildchild stated, “You took me to a place I’ve never been before.” I floated about for days. The reviews for Forbidden have been ‘over the moon’ amazing. I’m so thrilled when a reader loves my books. Here is the most recent review of Forbidden.

ByVickiGoodwinon June 8, 2017

Format: Paperback|Verified Purchase

What a thrill a minute ride this book takes you on. The characters are futuristic and totally awesome. I loved that times had allowed for more freedom for women. I kept following the story and each time I would think it was getting to the conclusion I drew, it would slam-bang me into another direction.

The love story part was really well told and I was happy with the relationship of these two different people. I found this to be a creative and unique storyline that kept me intrigued and on pins and needles.

12.  What do you think makes a good story?

Fascinating characters are a must – all of them. Even unforgettable. You must learn what makes a character breathe down a reader’s neck. They can carry a bad plot, even poor editing. If the reader falls in love with the hero / heroine, you’re half way to a best seller. My advice is to following instructions from Writers Helping Writers.

13.  As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

I wanted to escape the farm. My father worked from sun up to past sun down 365 days a year. He loved it. I didn’t. It’s quite amusing to realize that as an author I work 365 days a year, all hours day and night. Fate has an odd sense of humor.

14.  What would you like my readers to know?

I want you to know that there is a story that hasn’t yet been written – but you must write it. Every one of you.The story? The characters are unique. The plot is full of twists and turns, ranging from glorious moments to struggles that defy belief. And the title on the cover is YOUR NAME.

Yes, it’s your autobiography. And the best part is there will be no muse directing the story and no editor telling you to delete, delete, delete. You are free from any writing rules or expectations.

Let me explain. Many years ago I began to study my ancestor’s history. Thanks to the internet I had access to records dating back hundreds of years. I became a voracious hunter of even the most minute details. Tracking my lineage was relatively easy. Dates of birth, marriage, death, and sometimes addresses and occupations helped define the lives and struggles of my distant relations. But, like an addict, I wanted more.

Then a wedding photograph of my Great GreatGreat Aunt in England flipped up on my screen. The thrill sent me on an all-consuming search for their story. I found a few letters.

Tears of rapture filled my eyes. My history began to take shape. My lineage, all that brought me to have my amazing life, formed a map outlining my DNA and probably more than I can conceive.

And yet, I wanted more. I wanted to know about their dreams, failures, defeats, passions. What mattered to each of them? Did they have regrets? What were their darkest thoughts? What brought them to their knees?

I suppose, at the time of managing their daily chores, they would not have thought of their life as not interesting. They wouldn’t have known that if their autobiography had surfaced, I would have fallen to my knees and blessed their bones. I would have cried their name and asked God to give them eternal peace. I would have wept.

This is why, my dear readers, you must write your story. Someone in the future will grasp your manuscript and know he/she has a treasure. If you are an author, write your autobiography. If you have not written anything, write your autobiography. Put it in safe keeping.

One more thing. After writing your autobiography you may awaken a passion that has, so far, remained silent. You may become a best-selling author.

Catch Up With Our Author On: Website , Goodreads , Twitter , & Facebook !

 

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