The Fear. . .
Malcolm York is a sadistic monster, guilty of unspeakable crimes. And with his endless wealth he's funded a series of depraved hunts. The few who survived can never forget. They can only be thankful the terror is over. Until rumors start swirling. . .
Only Stops. . .
Griffin Powell knows the twisted depths of York's madness. He's also sure that York is dead. But then Griff's wife, Nicole, disappears and the phone calls begin--that familiar voice taunting him, promising to destroy everything Griff loves.
When You Die. . .
Using all the resources of the Powell Agency, Griff searches for Nic, aware that every step propels him further into a madman's web. Because the only way to keep Nic safe is to join one last perverse game where winner kills all, and the loser is dead by nightfall. . .
Praise for Beverly Barton's Don't Cry
"A shivery read. . . Tight twists and hairpin turns will keep readers racing through the pages." --Bookpage
"Barton delivers a solid mix of romance and terror in her latest thriller." -Publishers Weekly
Showing 1-1 of the 1 most recent reviews
1 . A must read
Posted January 07, 2012 by Dianne Scaturchio , Brampton, OntarioI only discovered Beverly Barton a year ago when I bought my e-reader. I have now read almost all of her books. This one by far out-did the rest. I have a hard time putting down her book, once I start reading.
The Dead By series was amazing. I read the wrong one first but it didn't matter. Dead by Nightfall was so awesome. The author has the ability to keep you guessing about who the killer is right to the very end of her books.
Beverly was truly a great author.
November 29, 2011
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Excerpt from Dead By Nightfall by Beverly Barton
Ciro Mayorga deserved to die. In truth, the sadistic bastard deserved far worse. If there was any justice in this unjust world, he would have suffered untold misery for years on end. He would have been beaten and starved, hunted like a wild animal, and then forcefully sodomized before being utterly humiliated and tortured until he begged for mercy.
Rafe Byrne believed in the old biblical eye-for-an-eye type of justice and had made it his life's mission to dole out payment in kind for the unforgivable sins that men such as Mayorga had committed. It had taken him sixteen years to hunt down and eliminate four of Malcolm York's closest friends and associates, the men York had so often entertained on Amara. Tanaka, Di Santis, Klausner, and Sternberg.
And now Rafe had captured Mayorga.
The fifty-year-old Spaniard sweated profusely. Rivulets of perspiration ran down his throat and across his flabby bare chest. The distinctive brand between his nipples, a bright pink against his olive skin, no doubt still burned like hell, as did an identical brand in the center of his back and on each butt cheek. The smell of charred flesh temporarily overpowered the scent of fresh hay and manure. Blood dripped from the numerous deep whelps crisscrossing his body, back and front, from neck to ankles. The still-hot branding iron and bloody whip lay at Rafe's feet, both objects used in exacting some small measure of revenge.
Suffering the torment of the damned, Mayorga whimpered continuously between agonized cries and pathetic pleas.
His pleas fell on deaf ears.
The naked man hung by his bound wrists from the rafters in the horse barn, his carcass dangling like a side of butchered beef. As Rafe approached him, Mayorga's bleary gaze struggled to focus on the weapon in his tormentor's hand. In a useless attempt to escape the inevitable, he struggled to free his raw, rope-burned wrists. Knowing the fate that awaited him, he screamed in terror. No one else, save God and the Devil, could hear the man. And only God, the Devil, and Rafe were present when Rafe used the sharp, serrated knife to castrate the demon whose soul was destined for eternal damnation.