Once again, thank you for reading Finding Hubby. Here’s a snippet of what to expect from Golden Sands. I would like first and foremost tlsplace readers to get the books before anyone. Between today and Monday 1st of October, please send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org if you would like to formally indicate interest in having a book reserved for you. The email should include the following details.
- Full Name
- Location (Country and State)
Golden Sands is due to be out on Monday 15th of October. E-copies will be available on Amazon.com for purchase for the esteemed readers outside Nigeria. I would announce how to get it in your city in Nigeria as time goes on.
AND REMEMBER TO COME BACK NEXT MONDAY TO READ TRICIA’S NIGHTMARE!!! Enjoy the snippet.
Golden Sands PROLOGUE
July 07 2001, 16:55hrs
The black SUV raised a cloud of dust as it sped into the village. All the villagers had gathered, curious to see where it was going. It was early evening and the sun was just setting in the horizon, a huge red giant on the landscape. Their sun parched skins under tight turbans and flowing kaftans were the color of the fine desert sand. The village was barely more than a line of brick-walled houses on both sides of a dust road in the desert. The SUV had dark tinted windscreens which hid the occupants from sight and everyone watched curiously to see where it would stop. They didn’t have to wait long, as it soon pulled up beside the largest house in the village. The owner of the house was one whom the villagers did not interact with. He was a foreigner, and he lived alone in his big house. Rumor had it that he had beaten his wife to death. He had once been working for a powerful politician, but had since fallen out of favor and retired to this village rather than go home. As the car parked, the main door of the house opened and he came out to the low mud gateway to see what this intrusion into his quiet life was. He didn’t get visitors and he really didn’t want any. The strength of his gait did not indicate his sixty something years in any way; he was tall and broad, and had a menacing scowl on his face. As he got to the gateway, the backdoor of the car opened and a young lady stepped out. A momentary look of shock passed across his face; then it gave way to anger. “So the runaway finally returns”, he said, spitting. He continued “the disgrace that could not stay in her husband’s house.” The young lady took measured strides towards him, her brown eyes holding a deep hatred that no words could describe. The villagers had by now gathered at a distance to watch the spectacle before them as it unfolded. He raised his voice in anger, expecting her to cower in terror as she used to “and you think coming here with a car you prostituted yourself for will impress me?” She now stood before him, a small figure before his imposing frame. He raised his hands to hit her as he spat “your place is still on your knees before your father!”
Her movement was like a flash, he couldn’t even see it. All he felt was a sharp pain shoot from his belly to the roots of his brains and he clamped his eyes shut. When he opened his eyes, he was on his knees before her, and she now looked down at him for the first time in their lives. He looked at her eyes and it was only then that he saw what they held – the fear they had always held for him was now replaced with a burning hatred. Now the fear crept into him and gripped his heart. He began “surely you will not do anything to hurt your father. Let’s go inside and talk things over as family should.” He began to get up but in another blur, she hit him again and the sharp pain forced him back on his knees. The villagers did not dare move any closer to the scene. She reached into her jacket pocket, took out a picture of a woman that looked like an older version of her and held it before his eyes. The moment he saw the picture, he began to tremble, knowing what she had come to do. Resigned to his fate, he steeled himself and quelled the trembling in his hands. He raised his head and then looked at her defiantly and spat on the picture. In one movement, she hit him in the throat, cutting off his air supply. As he gasped for air, she hit him across the face and he swung around. A third hit on the back of his neck and it snapped. He was dead before he hit the floor.
Almost simultaneously, two huge men with submachine guns stepped out of the car and the villagers quickly took cover. She took her time to walk to the car and then spoke to one of them. “Burn it”, she said, pointing to the body.