My Name Is Not Heather Stokes

“COLOSSUS… kicks some serious ass.” – Joe Lansdalecolossus

“Jette Harris firmly establishes her voice within this well-worn genre… [COLOSSUS] is a damn good debut from a new voice.” – Gabriel Ricard, Drunk Monkeys

Abducted and held captive, four high school seniors are forced to entertain the malicious appetites of an unpredictable predator. He calls himself Rhodes. They call him Colossus, the looming, threatening figure teetering on the edge of madness.

Heather Stokes, no stranger to tragedy, does all she can to protect her friends, risking her life and sanity. As days of torture drag into weeks of Hell, both Heather and Rhodes realize that they are in over their heads, and it is possible that none of them will survive.

twogunsCOLOSSUS is a brutal psychological thriller that will have fans of Gillian Flynn and James Patterson adding a new name to their list.

Trigger warning: Sexual violence, torture, suicide.

COLOSSUS is now available in paperback and on Kindle.

For autographed copies, e-mail me: jetterfly@gmail.com

Copies may also be found at Book Browser in Woodstock, GA: www.mybookbrowser.com

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SAMPLE

          By the time he was done sweeping the floors, the shame had bedded back down. Z gathered the trash bags, checked once more to ensure the building was empty, then kicked open the back door. He could not help but feel the irony that a brilliant mind like his–a mind accepted to MIT–was pouring coffees and taking out the trash. Hoisting the bags up, he tipped them one-by-one into the dumpster squatting in the back corner of the parking lot. Brushing his hands as he turned, he was surprised to find Witt’s pearl white Nissan Titan still sitting in the far corner of the parking lot, next to an old red Jeep Cherokee. His brow furrowed. He was sure he had checked and double-checked that everyone had gone.

That’s when he saw Witt.

Witt was lying prone next to his truck. Z thought at first he was playing a prank. Then he noticed the blood seeping from Witt’s forehead, staining his strawberry-blonde hair a deeper shade of red.

“Witt!” Z ran to crouch by his side. “Witt?” He pressed on his chest and shook him. “Witticus Maximus, wake up!”

“What’s wrong?”

He found Rhodes behind him. “Call an ambulance!” Z said, “He’s hurt–He’s bleeding.”

Rhodes already had his phone in his hand, and dialed 9-1-1. “What intersection is this?” he asked as it rang.

Z had to think for a moment before he could recall the street names he repeated every day. “Dallas and John Ward,” he finally stammered.

“Yes, medical emergency,” Rhodes spoke into the phone. “Please send an ambulance to Dallas and John Ward. There are two boys here, injured… They’re in great danger.”

I’m not hurt; It’s just Witt,” Z tried to explain as Rhodes ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. Slowly, the pieces fell together in Z’s mind. He jumped to his feet, turning to confront Rhodes, but he was hit in the chest by a bolt of lightning.

He hadn’t noticed the Taser in Rhodes’s hand.