Yancy Lazarus is having a bad day: there’s a bullet lodged in his butt cheek, his face looks like the site of a demolition derby, and he’s been saran-wrapped to a banquet table. He never should have answered the phone. Stupid bleeding heart—helping others in his circles is a good way to get dead.
Just ask the gang members ripped to pieces by some kind of demonic nightmare in LA. As a favor to a friend, Yancy agrees to take a little looksee into the massacre and boom, he’s stuck in a turf war between two rival gangs, which both think he’s pinch-hitting for the other side. Oh, and there’s also a secretive ass-hat with some mean ol’ magical chops and a small army of hyena-faced, body- snatching baddies. It might be time to seriously reconsider some of his life choices.
Yancy is a bluesman, a rambler, a gambler, but not much more. Sure, he can do a little magic—maybe even more than just a little magic—but he knows enough to keep his head down and stay clear of freaky-deaky hoodoo like this business in LA. Somehow though, he’s been set up to take a real bad fall—the kind of very permanent fall that leaves a guy with a toe tag. Unless, of course, he can find out who is responsible for the gangland murders, make peace in the midst of the gang feud, and take out said magical ass-hat before he hexes Yancy into an early retirement. Easy right? Stupid. Bleeding. Heart.
***
So I requested this one since it has a male MC. I really enjoyed the last (and only) testosterone kicking UF I read so why the hell not. Plus there's smoking, drinking and if I cross my fingers and wish like a teen girl at a boy band concert there's likely to be lots of bad words, stupid judgement and broken bones. Maybe some squishy and gross indestructible monsters, unrealistic bearing of unbearable injuries and male vs. male banter I'd never get away with during an evening out with the ladies.
Let me tell you, crossing fingers pays off just fine, thank you very much.
Honest to God, just a few pages in I've been battered by all of the above in addition to an unfortunate stitch in my side and chunk of something lumpy half way down my throat following the Noob-male-UF reader mistake of snorting back a laugh.
Yancey Lazarus just doesn't let up. If he isn't being beaten, shot, lit on fire or driving a knife into your tickle spot with his non-stop self depreciating rants he's running for his life bemoaning all the stupidity leading up his flight.
Will this book hurt? Yep. A lot. You're gonna like it too.
Thank me later.
I received a copy from NetGalley in exchange for my review.
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