Happy Release Day to C. Elizabeth Vescio's WASTELAND (Wasted #2.5), a collection of short stories that take place in the world of her Wasted Series! Check out the book and excerpt, and be sure to enter the giveaway in the Rafflecopter below!
Inside the halls of Osiris, the men and women who make the contract killing agency tick polish their weapons and hone their skills. But how did they start working for Nero and Lex in the first place, and when did they find out they were destined to kill people for a living?
Before Frankie Fairholm let you into her crazy, dysfunctional world of murder for hire, the lives of these men and women were already in danger. Their training was put to the test alongside their morals.
A troubled Catholic school girl with a penchant for murder, a naive con-woman in over her head, a driven socialite with a bad day that keeps getting worse, an assassin second-guessing his sworn oath... being a contract killer doesn’t mean you aren’t human, it just means your humanity is hard to find, and probably a bit tarnished.
Excerpt from WASTELAND
(Taken from The Fallen Leaf)“All young people need guidance,” I said. “I find it strange that you are so young and sure of your life path. You do not seem to be a typical killer.”
“Guess I’m not,” Spark said. “I live moment to moment. I don’t see the harm in it. I like to have fun.”
“You lack discipline,” I remarked
He grinned over at me and scratched his head. “I guess so…but discipline ain’t everything.”
“It is if you want to survive in your profession,” I said
The more serious I tried to be, the wider his grin got.
“Doesn’t it get tiring being so serious all the time? Isn’t it stressful? Don’t you want to experience life?”
I frowned at the question. “What do you mean?”
I thought he would want to learn from a seasoned assassin. Instead, he questioned me.
“Well, I’m guessing that your customs don’t allow you to fight for anything that saves you… like love. Too many emotions cloud judgment, blah blah blah,” he said. “You guys just have to be warriors through and through. Fight for honor even though honor is never gonna save you. You don’t get to stop and appreciate the world and people around you.”
“And you think I should be doing this?” I asked.
“Everyone should.”
“Interesting philosophy,” I nodded. “You take lives, but you want to embrace life. You think love is a strength that will save you.”
“Oh, I know it will,” he said. “Eventually. Maybe not anytime soon.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Nope,” he looked over at me. “But you have, haven’t you, Yeh?”
I felt my body get cold. The feeling was a surprise that I hadn’t felt in quite some time—it was fear. This young man had me figured out, and we had only known each other for an hour at most. A kid—it made little sense to me. I had not even admitted this feeling to myself yet, let alone some boy with a cocky smile.
But he knew.
ELEGANTLY WASTED (Wasted #1)
On the eve of her high school graduation, proper socialite Francesca “Frankie” Fairholm rebelled against her elitist and controlling family to pursue the dark lifestyle of a contract killer for the enigmatic Osiris Corporation. Years later, with her training complete, she believes she's doomed to the life of a sociopathic lone gun until a botched hit brings two unlikely allies, her cousins Addison and Katharine.
Using Katharine’s etiquette school, Elegance, Inc., as a front, the trio weave through Frankie’s dark underworld, carrying out contracts, drinking too much wine, and trying not to get each other killed.
Trouble follows the team home when the death of the cruel Fairholm matriarch reveals more than they ever wanted to know about their family. As the funeral preparations play out, the trio begin to realize there is much more to their employer than meets the eye and their family connections run deeper than they ever imagined.
Elegantly Wasted: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Series Website
UNCONTROLLABLY WASTED (Wasted #2)
“I needed to learn to be less melodramatic, but it was hard in this family.”
It’s been a year since Francesca Fairholm met the rest of the Osiris team and the company heads, her two half brothers Nero and Lex. As they groom her for leadership, it’s all Frankie can do to keep her cynical sarcasm in check as she starts training two new Strikers, avoids the romantic advances of Spark Dawson, and does her best to pry a little family history from her cold, distant Aunt Alexa.
With the pressure of her secret dual life building and her mother acting strangely, Frankie’s sanity is pushed to the brink when she makes a grisly discovery that shakes the young Striker to her core. Despite her cousins’ fear that her panic attacks signal a full mental breakdown, Frankie is positive she’s not crazy. Finding clarity in her personal investigation into Osiris’s origins, she uncovers more about the company than she would rather know.
As her life starts to unravel, things get deadly and, before she knows it, she’s facing down an old target’s pissed-off widow, an unstoppable mercenary, and the one thing she’s most terrified of admitting to herself. It’s possible the whole situation won’t explode in her face. Yeah, like Frankie has that kind of luck.
Uncontrollably Wasted: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Series Website
Excerpt from the Guilty Conscience.
Instead of going home, I made my way to River Hill Gardens to visit Donna Cohen, a lonely old lady slowly dying from lung cancer. She never questioned when I visited her—even when it was clear I was cutting class.
That particular day, however, she wasn’t alone. Her nephew, Judah, was visiting.
Judah collected killers. It was blind luck that I met him on the day that I realized I was one.
He saw right through me, too.
After the initial introductions, Donna left Judah and me alone on the front porch.
Donna liked to fix tea for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hated the shit. So, like always, I let her go in the house and make it.
I tried not to show my nervousness. My head still buzzed from adrenaline. I was distracted.
“You okay?” Judah asked me.
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine.”
He looked at me, questioning.
“You have a cigarette I can have?” I asked.
“Smoking is bad for you,” Judah responded.
Fuck me, I thought. Here I was, visiting his aunt who had stage-four lung cancer, and I asked for a fuckin’ cigarette.
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head. “I’m not thinking straight today.”
“It’s fine,” Judah smiled.
The shrill of an ambulance invaded the air as it flew by. I couldn’t help but think it was for Jimmy.
Too late.
“I smoke cigars, even though I know I shouldn’t,” Judah said, as the siren faded into the distance.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I was too distracted to give anything but a one-word answer.
Judah’s eyes watched me closely.
I grabbed one of the poles that connected the porch to the roof and tried not to fidget.
“Where you visiting from?” I asked.
“I’ve been on business in Italy,” he said.
Italy sounded fancy. He looked fancy, too. He couldn’t have paid less than three grand for his tailored Gucci suit and horsebit loafers. My uncle had the same taste in clothes.
“What is it that you do?” I threw him a look.
“You live around here?” he asked, changing the subject.
“No,” I said. “I live uptown. I just go to school in the Bronx.”
“Right,” Judah nodded. “I remember what Donna said now. You’ve been having some problems at school lately…with a boy.”
“What?” I blurted out.
That’s right, I remembered. I told Donna about Jimmy.
The alarm that shot up my spine was almost enough to make me run away without an explanation. I didn’t think Donna would divulge information to her nephew. I didn’t think it would come up twenty minutes after I murdered Jimmy.
“Not that it’s any of my business,” Judah smiled.
“I don’t have no problems with no boy.” I was flustered, and it showed. I released my grip on the railing and took a few steps down the stairs.
“I didn’t mean…” Judah’s face twisted into a crown. “I apologize for my rudeness.”
“I gotta get going, anyway,” I said. “Tell Donna I’ll see her next week. It was nice meeting you.”
Judah nodded at me, but didn’t say anything.
When I reached the sidewalk, he spoke up.
“Gretchen,” he called.
I turned back to him in acknowledgement.
“You have blood on your shoe,” he told me.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my internal panic from surfacing.
There wasn’t anything I could say to the man, so I turned and started walking down the street.
Excerpt from the Odd Couple
“I’m pretty sure this is the start of a horror movie,” I said.
James didn’t say anything.
He walked ahead of me to a shack hidden by some bushes.
I tugged at my backpack straps, not wanting to go inside. It was hot enough out here.
James continued his silent treatment as he brought a small arsenal of guns out and set them on a weathered table to the side of the hut.
I just watched as he put on a combination back-and-shoulder holster, then armed himself with two semi-automatic pistols and a shotgun.
“We need to snipe this first tower,” he said. “Two guards up top and one who patrols the base.”
I glanced down the dirty road. This sounded less and less like we were dealing with some cult, and more like a crime syndicate.
“Guards,” I muttered. “What did Uly get himself into?”
“My guess,” James started loading one of the rifles, “is that Uly tipped off his mark and he managed to trap him. I did some research on the guy—assuming Uly didn’t. Jean Pierre Toussant isn’t just some crime lord. He’s also a religious extremist and all-around nutbar.”
“So, this is his compound.” I let out a sigh and dropped my backpack on the table.
“Definitely,” James said. “Edge might have figured that out, if he stopped playing video games for five minutes.”
“Hey,” I said. “Don’t bag on my Forward. Yours didn’t catch it either.”
James’ Forward hated him too, but I didn’t want to bring it up. It was a touchy subject.
“Which is why I’m irritated,” James huffed. “It’s like I have to do everyone’s job for them. It’s like the words ‘high priority’ mean dick.”No one asked you to, I thought. That was James’ problem. He over-analyzed everything and was a douchebag about it. It was no wonder he was in his thirties and single.
“So,” I frowned, putting on my own shoulder holster. “Uly might already be dead, and we’re out here in voodoo central risking our necks for no reason.”
“Don’t say that word,” James said.
“What? Voodoo?”
James made a face as I secured my handguns in the holster.
“Are you scared?” I smirked.
“No,” James narrowed his eyes. “I just don’t like this shit. I don’t like people who fuckin’ deal with hoodoo, witchcraft, cut-your-balls-off-so-you-can-live-forever bullshit. They’re irrational and dangerous. They make me nervous.”
“You’re being really judgmental.”
“Oh, fuck off, Krushinski, for the love of Christ.” James handed me one of the rifles.
“You leave him out of this,” I chuckled.
The more upset James got, the more his New Yorker came out. It kept me grounded. Surely, God wouldn’t let me die in this shithole with a fucking Giants fan.
Excerpt from the Accidental Savant
My feet hit the pavement, making the “bomp bomp bomp” of my heels match my pounding heart.
It was the first time I had to run in stilettos. Even better, I was running in a ridiculous pink party dress, which Brian had made me wear.
I always fall for the wrong kind of guy.
This particular bad choice had been taking advantage of my poker skills—making me cheat lonely men out of thousands at the casinos in Vegas. I almost got away with it, until a big Italian guy burst in on a tournament and pointed a gun at my head. Behind him, two more men appeared—not quite as intimidating, but still packing major heat.Brian took one look at the men and bolted from the room, leaving me and everyone else to lose our shit. I wasn’t the most graceful under pressure.
The big guy seemed like he was after Brian, but he quickly turned his focus on me, which made me panic and bolt. Guns meant business.
So, I found myself running; I started on the top floor of a suite at Caesar’s Palace and somehow managed to find my way to the parking garage. I don’t know how. Everything was a blur, but I didn’t dare stop.
Scary men were after me and, of course, my shitty boyfriend was nowhere to be seen.
The only thing powering me forward was the line of coke I had snorted in the bathroom an hour prior.
It was four in the morning; the garage was empty of people. I made my way to the back entrance, hoping I could escape down Flamingo Road toward the Rio.
I was almost to the exit when the headlights of a black SUV lit me up from behind.
I turned my attention to the screeching brakes to make sure I wasn’t about to get run over. That’s when I was tackled from the side by what felt like a Mack truck.
We both went flying; his hand grabbed onto my frilly pink dress and ripped a portion of the tulle. I rolled out of the way to get a better look at him.
Same guy from upstairs, I realized.
He still had the gun in his hand, but he was a bit out of sorts.
The back door to the SUV opened up and another man emerged. I did a double take—he looked the same as the man in front of me.
Jesus Christ.
I didn’t have time for this.
About C. Elizabeth Vescio
Author C. Elizabeth Vescio likes to play in the dark world of cynicism and death. Her Wasted series touches on the demented and humorous side of a delightfully dysfunctional family. Vescio is an award-winning photographer and avid font snob.
Jack of all trades and stereotypical black sheep, Cara has been writing somewhat dark and morbid since that teen angst hit somewhere in the early 90's- probably because her dad was a mortician. After pursuing a degree in English, she changed gears to photography and design in 2006... although she kept penning stories for fun while reading the works of Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde and Hemingway (whom she adores even though he was a huge douche canoe). In 2009, her life shifted considerably and she found herself writing Elegantly Wasted- helping her sort out a bunch of stupid feelings and other lame stuff.She enjoys cynical debates, cupcakes, making her mother-in-law sew her aprons that she never wears, zombies, the Fifth Element and Tomb Raider. She gathers her life inspirations from Neil Gaiman, Julia Child and Paul Simon. When she isn't out photographing her next project, she's studying color, concept and design or writing stuff down in hopes it makes sense one day... or she's on Pinterest.
Cara lives in Las Vegas with her husband, John and their three genetically altered dogs all of which have personal vendettas for the guy who cleans the pool.
Giveaway
One signed copy of Wasteland, Wasted Series bookmarks and a pack of character cards.***Any contestant that uses dummy or contest only accounts to enter will be disqualified.***
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