SAMPLE CHAPTER. The two men chatting at the bar smiled as the diminutive performer re-joined them after the second part of her performance.

An earlier bought drink purchased for her by the bruiser who had earlier called out to her to get her ‘fucking kit off’ was politely declined.

Tania smiled. ‘No thanks, I am with friends.’

‘Come on, sweetheart, I just paid money for that dinky drinkie. Don’t rip me off. Go on, get it down your neck and be a good girl.’

Tania smiled sweetly. ‘Look, love. When I come down off that stage, I am off duty. I am not part of the entertainment, and I can’t be bought. Give me a break, will you?’

The spurned gatecrasher’s face contorted. ‘Exotic dancer, shit. You flatter yourself, lady. You’re just a professional low-paid prick teaser.’

McLeod had so far stood on the sidelines. He assumed things would work themselves through, which was usually the better way. However, on this occasion, it was clear that the unwelcome intruder was not interested in a better way. Turning to face his companion’s tormentor, the lean ex-mercenary jabbed his finger under the barfly’s throat.

‘You heard what the lady said. Now piss off, slap-head.’

‘Excuse me, douche bag, she’s no lady and you’re a twat.’ The words were spat out maliciously.

The stalker’s response to McLeod’s put-down was as quick as it was potentially devastating. The interloper’s bullet-like forehead snapped forward, taking just a nano-second to close the gap with the bridge of the mercenary’s nose.

McLeod was quicker. Dipping and twisting away from the assailant’s intention to splinter his skull, the sunburnt trooper ducked and weaved. His feint caught his attacker off guard, and his assailant’s missile-like head hit empty air.

RETRIBUTION by MICHAEL WALSH, based on real life, is described as the most exciting city vigilante thriller ever. Set in Liverpool, this mercenary killer chiller-thriller is predicted to be the best crime novel in 2025. https://michaelwalshbooks.wordpress.com/

Spilt glasses scattered as the thug finally recovered his balance. To his credit, the molester returned with the agility of a jungle cat. Grasping a bottle’s neck in his fist before smashing the bottle on the bar, the thug circled as he measured the distance between himself and the muscular McLeod.

The mercenary was under no illusions. Instinctively, he sensed that on this occasion, he was on his own. McLeod was confronted by a street fighter who would not only murder but would take psychopathic pleasure in mutilating his intended victim. Keeping his distance, the city’s visitor watched warily the fistful of broken glass glinting in the club’s reflecting orb lights.

The bedlam that had accompanied the surprise attack died to a muted whisper. There was only an occasional murmur of encouragement to one or other of the circling protagonists. Each fighter weighed his chances against a backdrop of brooding silence. Prudently, several of the bar’s clientele disappeared through the club’s doors. Not everyone wished to witness the encircling gladiators and the bloodbath that would surely follow.

‘I don’t believe this is happening,’ Tania breathed.

Gumboot winced. ‘There’s not much we can do about it now, darling. They are not going to shake hands and make friends.’

LEFT. CLICK LINK TO BOOK

McLeod cleared a circle with his feet as he manoeuvred for a better position. The finely balanced bush fighter had not yet lost a fight, but there was always going to be a first time. The stickiness of the bar’s carpet wasn’t helping matters; in fact, its tackiness was a distraction.

As he created an orb of space, McLeod’s eyes never left the piercing, unblinking stare of his bottle-wielding opponent. The ex-mercenary knew that his survival depended upon his being a split second quicker than his opponent. Sure, he had fought bigger and harder men, but only when he was in top condition.

It was now six months since he had slipped out of the Rhodesian bush and started his return to distant Europe. Menacingly, the circling rivals slowly closed the distance that separated them. Few of the bar’s patrons or its staff were under any illusions as to the carnage that could result from the use of a broken-necked bottle.

‘Someone better call the cops.’

‘Someone better call an ambulance or maybe a hearse,’ another supposed in a low voice.

By now, the bigger man’s grin had altered to a sneering leer of self-confidence. McLeod’s circling challenger was a veteran of many bar fights.

Prison warders at the city’s tough Walton Prison would welcome his return to the cells on the special wing by addressing him by his first name. He was a regular patron of Her Maj’… Such was the street fighter’s notoriety that there could never be any question of his sharing a cell with another prisoner.

A shiver trickled up the nape of McLeod’s neck as he realised that he was up against a street fighter of tarnished reputation. His opponent was a legend in his own slime. Finding his balance, his foe then leaned slightly forward. As the two fighters circled, the barfly’s right foot was constantly extended as he pawed the carpet for the grip needed to launch himself at the wiry McLeod.

A veteran of numerous hand-to-hand encounters in South Africa’s Bush Wars, the mercenary turned arms dealer weaved snake-like in unerring balance was an added essential. Aware that he was up against a lethal fighting machine McLeod regretted he had earlier taken a beer but his head was clear and sharply in focus.

When finally, his opponent came in at him, he came in fast. As his opponent lunged, McLeod’s instincts and his self-training took over as he launched himself horizontally into the air.

The mercenary broke his fall with his extended forearm as he crashed to the carpeted floor beneath his assailant’s lunge. The bottle gripped in his opponent’s fist cleaved empty air as McLeod, in a cat-like crouch, swung his right foot around his opponent’s ankle. Simultaneously, the bush fighter slammed his left foot into the front of the incoming bruiser’s knee.

An agonized wail erupted from the attacker’s distorted face as the tibia bone of his lower leg cracked and snapped. Springing to his feet like a cat, McLeod then jabbed relentlessly at his falling opponent with a rapidity that went far beyond the training of hand-to-hand combat field manuals.

Bringing his right foot smashing down into his fallen adversary’s crutch, the shock of McLeod’s follow-up had yet to register on the victim’s face.

For McLeod’s antagonist, the fight was decided. However, the hardened trooper’s blood being up, he had yet more to deliver. The mercenary’s heel stomped repeatedly into the fallen man’s lower belly and groin. No mercy was asked, and no mercy was given.

‘For God’s sake, McLeod, don’t you think you’ve done enough? What the hell are you trying to prove?’

‘Get him out of here fast.’

‘He had it coming to him.’

‘Shit! I just don’t believe what I’m seeing.’

The normally cool-headed McLeod was barely aware of the damage he had done to his antagonist. Now unconscious, an ominous dark trickle of blood began to trickle from between his victim’s lips; his assailant’s skin was waxen.

Allowing himself to be pushed through the gathering crowd and then onwards through the bat-wing doors, the mercenary could hear the approaching wail of sirens. Gumboot was both angry and elated, but he was also relieved.

‘Jesus Christ, Fraser, where the hell did you learn to fight like that, mate? You sprang on him like a fucking leopard.’

‘You never mind that, Gumboot. It doesn’t matter.’

‘You ever thought of doing that for a living, like taking bets or something? I could be your manager, how about that, Fraser? I saw Clint Eastwood once….. ..’

McLeod grinned. ‘Gumboot, my friend, do you think I was a blanket-stacker in the Army?’

Tania, who so far had been too incensed to say a word, was venomous. ‘Thank you very much. I imagine my job is now history thanks to you two. What am I going to do? Where will I find work?’

The dancer was livid as she flung open the cab’s door and slid into the vehicle’s back seat to be immediately joined by Gumboot and his bushfighter friend.

RETRIBUTION by MICHAEL WALSH, based on real life, is described as the most exciting city vigilante thriller ever. Set in Liverpool, this mercenary killer chiller-thriller is predicted to be the best crime novel in 2025. https://michaelwalshbooks.wordpress.com/

‘Tania, I really am sorry, babe. I just reacted to the way he was pushing you around. If I hadn’t acted as I did, he may have done you some damage, sweetheart?’

‘Bullshit and bollocks,’ the dancer snapped. ‘I can handle it without doing that kind of damage. I get hassled like that all the time. You might have killed him?’

McLeod looked embarrassed. ‘Look, Tania, I said I am sorry.’

‘Sorry! Sorry! That really is big of you to feel sorry for me. After tonight I’m going to be as popular as a burning fucking orphanage.’ TELL US WHAT YOU THINK

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