Hi guys! Entangled Teen authors are joining together to share some exclusive content with you. There will be 2 teams, The Smartass Team who will post a swoon worthy deleted scene or an excerpt, and The Badass Team who will post a villainous deleted scene or excerpt. The event runs December 2-13. We will wrap up with a twitter party on December 13th 9 PM EST/6 PM PST. #12DaysofKickass
Just follow along with the tour and find the hidden word (it will be highlighted) in each post and fill out the Rafflecopter form! In addition to the Rafflecopter prizes, we’ll be giving away more books and Amazon and Barnes & Noble Gift Cards during the twitter party!
I’m happy to host Sara Hantz on my blog today.
Sara Hantz comes from the UK and now lives in Australia (via 10 years in New Zealand). With a background in education, she lectured for many years before deciding to devote more time to her writing and working in the family business. She is also the author of Will the Real Abi Saunders Please Stand Up, and The Second Virginity of Suzy Green. Visit her online at sarahantz.com
Sara is the author of this dark and twisty book, IN THE BLOOD!
For seventeen years Jed Franklin’s life was normal. Then his father was charged with the abuse and murder of four young boys and normal became a nightmare.
His mom’s practically a walking zombie, he’s lost most of his friends, and the press camps out on his lawn. The only things that keep him sane are his little sis; his best friend and dream girl, Summer; and the alcohol he stashes in his room. But after Jed wakes up from a total blackout to discover a local kid has gone missing—a kid he was last seen talking to—he’s forced to face his greatest fear: that he could somehow be responsible.
In a life that’s spiraled out of control, Jed must decide if he chooses his own destiny with Summer by his side or if the violent urges that plagued his father are truly in the blood…
Sounds great, huh? Want more? I thought so. On to an excerpt from her book, which takes place in the court room. It’s the first time we see her main character Jed’s father (who’s a serial killer):
I slink down into the chair, pulling my grey hoodie tightly around me, and fix my eyes on the door used to bring in the prisoners. The courtroom’s full, everyone waiting with baited breath to see The Arizona Monster aka my dad. So far, no one has recognized me, which is a miracle seeing as half the street is here. Fucking rubber-neckers.
I asked Mom this morning if she was going to the trial and she said no. Then, when I told her I was going all she did was sigh loudly and say it was up to me. It’s like she doesn’t realize how important it is. Or maybe she doesn’t care.
I’ve never been in a court before, only seen it on TV and it’s very different from how I imagined. For a start, it looks like a classroom apart from all the cops. I bet they’re expecting someone to take a swing at Dad. And who’d blame them? Not me that’s for sure. Because given the opportunity I’d do the same thing.
“Bring the prisoner in,” one of the cops calls.
In an instant the whole place is silent and everyone’s head is turned in the direction of the door.
A shiver runs down my spine and I hold my breath as the door opens and Dad’s brought in, handcuffed and flanked by two prison officers.
He’s got a black eye and looks at least twenty pounds lighter than when I last saw him. And he wasn’t overweight then. He sits in the dock, wearing the expensive Armani dark grey suit Mom bought him for work; he was wearing it the day he was arrested. He holds his head high, defiant almost. It’s like he’s still pretending to be innocent. That won’t last long once the evidence comes out.
Starting from over the opposite side of the courtroom from me, he stares at everyone, each second his gaze getting closer and closer to where I’m sitting. I try to look away, to lower my head so he doesn’t realize it’s me, but something compels me to keep looking. Then it’s too late.
Our eyes lock, and his light up. His lips turn up into a slight smile. My heart is pounding in my ears. What the fuck should I do? The guy sitting next to me whispers to the woman on his right and she whispers to the person next to her, until everyone sitting in my row is giving me the most evil stares. My instinct is to get up and run. But I can’t. Not without causing even more of a freak show than I’m already doing. Instead, I force myself to look down and keep my eyes focused on the floor until the judge calls for opening statements.
The prosecution lawyer stands and faces the jury.
“Elliott James, Garret Mitchell, Robert Morrison, Ethan Lopez.” He pauses, glancing around the courtroom. Talk about theatrical. “Innocent children. Trusting children. Dead. Sexually assaulted and brutally murdered, in cold blood, by the accused.” He points his finger at Dad.
Everyone stares at Dad and he remains impassive. Not a flash of guilt, remorse, or sadness is remotely etched across his face. It’s like he’s totally divorcing himself from the whole proceedings. I don’t know this cold, insensitive man. He may look like my dad from the outside but that’s where the similarity ends.
The prosecutor outlines the evidence he’s going to present to the court including witnesses. Something doesn’t seem right, but I can’t put my finger on it.
The defense lawyer stands up next.
“My client, Benjamin Franklin, is a family man. Who loves his wife and children. And who’s been accused falsely.”
My jaw drops. What the fuck? Falsely accused, how does he make that out? How’s he gonna deal with the hair in the trinket box?
“All the evidence is circumstantial,” the lawyer, continues. “My client was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the evidence will show this…”
I rest my head in my hands. I don’t understand what’s going on.
Circumstantial? That means there’s no concrete evidence, which doesn’t make sense. What about the hair? Why doesn’t that count? Why didn’t the prosecutor mention it?
Or was the evidence planted? Is Dad not guilty? Have we got it wrong?
He is guilty. I saw his face when they found the trinket box. If it was planted he’d have said so. Dad’s never been the sort of guy who takes things lying down. And I can’t forget he as good as admitted what he did in the letter he sent me. All this is probably some crazy-assed legal bullshit to try and get him off. So much for his doctrine that you should always own up to your mistakes and take the punishment.
For some reason, the judge calls for a recess and I decide to leave and go back to school. Coming here seemed like a good idea, so I could make some sense of everything, but all it’s done is confuse and sicken me even more. The opening statements were bad enough, no way can I sit through all the gruesome evidence the prosecution’s going to produce. To hear how those poor boys suffered. And I know now that it’s not going to help me learn any more about my father and why he did it. I don’t care what his defense lawyer says; in my heart I know he’s guilty.