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Underground from Brixton

403 pages6 hours


Underground from Brixton is the first installment in the Sangster Fi' Manley series, a sexy narrative of danger, discovery and enlightenment that follows Marcella Jeanette Scott as she sets out on her quest to solve the mystery of her father's identity, but ends up stumbling onto secrets surrounding the untimely tragedy of her mother's death instead. To her surprise, simple queries concerning an absent father succeed in unleashing a Rude Bwoy's blood thirsty vendetta; one that he plans to carry out on the blunt force aggression of machetes and guns, posing a direct threat to Marcella as well as Jacob Lamont, the visiting Yankee Bwoy with whom she falls in love.

From the ghettos of West Kingston to the posh environs of London's West End unfold a series of events that at first appear random and seemingly unrelated...until an attempt is made on Marcella's life and the puzzle pieces of her difficult childhood begin to slowly align. As Marcella and Jacob join forces on an impossible journey, the question is whether they can keep each other safe...or will Jacob be subjected to the fate prescribed by the Rude Bwoy Lennox Graham, who at one point promises to "see to it before the week is out, that a river of blood flows through Brixton...and the prissy gal from St. Mary Parish will be its source."

Exiting the hotel, Marcella was totally preoccupied with her numerous distractions; so much so that she failed to detect the immediate danger congealing right there on her own doorstep. She hesitated on the landing, dissuaded by the vast gloom that seemed to have settled over Hyde Park. It wasn’t quite dark, but the grounds were vast, with dense foliage and swaths of unwelcome shadows. She could stick to the open spaces...or better yet, maybe a quick stroll along Oxford would equally suit her purposes. Looking up and down the street, she took note of the congested pace of traffic. On both sides, vehicles were stacked nose to tail, like an unbroken line of colorful, metallic beetles, each waiting in turn for sufficient space, or some otherwise detectable signal that it was time to decamp from their sidewalk moorings. An uneasy feeling washed over her then, but not caring to hyper-analyze its meaning, Marcella simply decided she would not be venturing inside that park. She descended the remaining steps, pausing briefly before turning and moving North on Park Lane towards the shops and welcoming lights of Oxford; and as she did, the occupants of one of the shiny, Black Beetles snapped to attention. A hush fell over their proceedings as the conversation died and three pulse rates quickened. One man licked his yellow-stained teeth while another’s hand moved instinctively to the Glock strapped beneath his seat. Glassy eyed, they watched their quarry in lustful fascination, anticipating the moment when they finally took her down; especially their leader – the one on whose orders they’d been following and evaluating her movements for the past forty eight hours. The one who more than any other had fallen completely under her spell...and was now hopelessly consumed by the vivid detail of his uncensored imagination. Before the week was done, he would see to it that a river of blood flowed through Brixton...and the prissy gal from St. Mary would be its source.

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