I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the OUT FOR BLOOD by Ryan
Steck Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Author: Ryan Steck
Pub. Date: June 4, 2024
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook, Audiobook
Pages: 35
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/OUT-FOR-BLOOD-Steck
“Set in Montana's breathtaking Big
Sky Country and packed with intense, hard-hitting action, Out for Blood reaffirms Ryan Steck’s prowess
in the thriller genre, demonstrating once again why his character, former
Marine Raider Matthew Redd, is a force to be reckoned with. If you're looking
for action, this one’s coming in hot!" — Jack Carr, former Navy SEAL
Sniper and #1 New York Times bestselling author of the
James Reece Terminal List series
From the Real Book Spy, Ryan Steck, comes another riveting thriller full of
“gutsy action and nonstop mayhem” (James Rollins) in the series that New
York Times bestselling author Nelson DeMille describes as
“intense, brutal, and faster on the draw than a gunslinger.”
Winters in Montana can be deadly, but it wasn’t the cold that was killing
Matthew Redd . . .
Gavin Kline, executive assistant director of the FBI’s Intelligence
Directorate, is escorting a high-value prisoner with the intel to bring down a
global conspiracy when their plane comes under attack. In the aftermath, much
of Kline’s team is dead, but he recovers a phone from a member of the hit team
that reveals another attack is imminent. This time they’re going after the man
who was instrumental in capturing the prisoner and foiling their plans: Matthew
Redd.
When Redd learns he’s in the crosshairs, he sends his family into hiding and
heads for the mountains. He might be outnumbered, but the hit team will have to
hunt him down on his own turf. With a snowstorm bearing down on Montana and no
help in sight, Redd fights for survival in the harshest conditions. But when
they take the fight to his hometown, he’ll need all his allies at his back to
save what he holds most dear.
A page-turning thriller set in the heart of Montana, Ryan Steck’s third
action-packed Matthew Redd novel is perfect for fans of the hit show Yellowstone and
readers of C. J. Box and Jack Carr.
Excerpt:
Prologue
MONTANA
Winters in Montana can be
deadly, but it wasn’t the cold that was killing Matthew Redd.
Only eighteen hours earlier,
one of the worst storms the state had ever seen had begun sweeping across
Big Sky Country. Forecasts predicted two feet of snow, subzero
temperatures, and winds in excess of fifty miles per hour. When he first
heard about the forthcoming blizzard, Redd had been worried about
practical things, like making sure they had enough gas for the generator,
plenty of bottled water in case the pump went out or a pipe burst, and
enough food and baby formula in case they were stuck at the ranch for a
few days.
Now he was on his back,
lying in eighteen inches of fresh powder, bleeding profusely, and only
minutes away from certain death.
With the little energy he
had left, Redd tipped his head up and turned it slightly to the side. The
snow around him was stained a dark shade of crimson. The blood had cooled
enough that the falling flakes had ceased melting away upon contact.
Evidently, the spreading pool was no longer being refreshed from the
source. For a moment, he thought maybe the bleeding had slowed, perhaps
due to the frigid temperatures slowing the beating of his heart.
That, he
thought, or I’m almost out of blood.
His eyes grew heavy, and
Redd fought to keep them open.
He was no longer cold. That
wave had already come and passed. Now Redd was numb. Numb to the
bone-chilling temperatures. Numb to the wetness of the snow melting under
him. Numb to the pain of the knife wounds that had spilled his blood.
Snow was still falling at a
rate of several inches per hour. Laying his head back down, Redd looked
to the sky. All around him, snowflakes fell from the heavens—brilliant
ice crystals, no two the same. It was beautiful, he thought. Peaceful,
even.
He could feel the life
draining out of him, and in his final moments, his thoughts turned to his
wife and son.
Emily . . . Junior . .
.
They were safe, and that’s
all that mattered. But Redd found himself wishing he could hold them one
last time. Tell them he loved them.
Moments after he got the
phone call that kicked off the chain of events lead ing to him clinging to life
on the mountain, he’d promised Emily that he’d come back to her.
I’m sorry, Em. I’m so sorry
. . .
Through the howling wind,
Redd heard voices. But he knew the men after him weren’t coming to rescue
him. Quite the opposite.
They were there to finish
the job.
Too injured to move from the
spot he’d collapsed into, Redd accepted his fate. And he had no regrets.
From a hard childhood in Michigan, to the death of his mother, to then
growing up on the ranch in Montana with his adopted father, Jim Bob
Thompson, before joining the Marines, Redd, against the odds, had made
something of himself. There had been heartache along the way—losing his
whole
team during an ambush,
losing Jim Bob, and almost losing his ranch. But Redd had had a full
life, far more than he’d ever expected. It wasn’t easy, and ranching was
hard work, but he had a wife he adored who loved him back and a son who
was his whole world.
The voices grew
louder.
This is going to be hard on
Junior, he thought.
“Over here!” someone
shouted. “We’ve got him now!”
Please, Redd
prayed, keep my family safe.
He tried to look at the man
coming to finish the job, but dark circles filled his vision. Almost like
a smoky haze, the circumference of clarity getting smaller by the second.
He sensed the man’s presence now more than he saw him. He was close.
“Found him!” the voice
called to someone else. “He might already be dead.” “Make sure of it,” said
another voice. This one deeper than the first. Redd blinked heavily, fighting
to open his eyes one last time. He could see the
outline of both men now, one
holding a gun that was pointed at his head. This is it, he told
himself.
Redd was determined to look
his killer in the eyes, but he couldn’t find them. Then he realized the
man with the gun had turned away and was facing the oppo site direction,
focused on another target.
On what?
Redd couldn’t see
anything.
The haze grew thicker. His
eyelids were heavier than ever. He squinted, trying to focus. The gunman
was now aiming at something else. Redd looked past him. There!
He caught sight of something
but couldn’t tell what it was. Redd squinted again but couldn’t make out
the figure. It looked like a black blob moving through the snow. It was
coming toward him. No, toward the man with the gun. And it was moving
fast.
Realizing what was about to
happen, Redd felt a thin smile form across his face.
A moment later, everything
went dark.
ONE
WELLINGTON, MONTANA
TWELVE HOURS EARLIER
As he closed the rear cargo
door of the Chevy Tahoe, Matthew Redd caught a glimpse of his reflection
in the window and barely recognized himself. It wasn’t anything physical. Save
for a scattering of snowflakes in his dark hair and beard, giving him a
salt-and-pepper look that aged him beyond his twenty eight years, his
appearance mostly matched his mental image of himself. No, the difference
was something else, something much harder to pin down. Something under
the skin.
Then his gaze dropped to the
foil-wrapped baking dish he held in both hands, and he realized what it
was.
I’m not the man I used to
be.
This was not exactly news to
Redd. In the last two years, his sense of who he was and what he wanted
out of life had undergone a tectonic shift. He was no longer just Matthew
Redd, former Marine Raider. Not anymore. He was Matthew Redd, husband of
Emily, father of Matthew Jr., owner and operator of Thompson Ranch. That
was how he thought of himself now, and it didn’t bother him one
bit.
Honestly, he didn’t miss his
former life.
“Hey, cowboy, are you going
to bring that ham in here sometime today?” Emily said playfully.
Redd looked away from his
reflection and grinned back at the vision of beauty presently leaning out
the door of the twenty-two-foot travel trailer that was, for the time
being at least, home sweet home.
“Coming now.”
“What you thinking about
over there, Matty Redd?”
Emily could always read him.
And in a lot of ways, she knew him better than he knew himself. When
nobody else could get through to him— Redd had a notorious stubborn
streak that hadn’t cooled much as he approached his thirties—Emily could.
“Uh,” said Redd, embarrassed
he’d been caught looking at himself, “nothing.” “Just get it in here before it
gets cold.” As if to emphasize the point, she swiped a hand in front of
her face, sweeping away the snowflakes that were drifting lazily down
from the silver-gray sky.
It had been threatening to
snow for the better part of a week, but that was nothing special in Big
Sky Country.
Still, according to the
Weather Channel, a snowstorm this deep into winter was said to be
“record-breaking” in terms of volume and intensity. A note from the
governor, courtesy of the statewide messaging system, advised everyone to
stay put, as traveling would be “near impossible.” Power outages were
likely too. But they were ready for it, or as ready as one could be. Redd
had made all the necessary preparations. Now it was a waiting game, with
only a brief window before most of the state would grind to a halt.
Thankfully, the full fury of
the storm wasn’t supposed to hit until later that evening, but the
snowfall seemed to have picked up just since they’d gotten back from
Emily’s parents’ house. And it was already sticking.
Getting used to winter again
had been a challenge. Redd remembered grow ing up with Montana winters, which
sometimes started in October and could last until May, but when he’d gone
off to join the Marines at eighteen, he’d lost the tempo of the seasons.
He had been stationed in perpetually sunny Southern California, and even
though deployments and training cycles sometimes took him to places where
the temperatures dropped precipitously in winter, he had only ever looked
at the weather as a challenge to be overcome in the moment. Here, with a
ranch to run and cattle to tend, it was just a fact of life.
He hurried over to the
trailer door, balancing the baking dish in one hand while he worked the
doorknob. As the door swung open, a dark shape—specifically a dark shape
that was 130 pounds of purebred juvenile rottweiler—erupted from the
trailer like a torpedo blasting out of a launch tube and shot past him,
barely avoiding a collision.
“Whoa there, buddy,” he
shouted over his shoulder. “Slow it down. This is a residential
zone.”
The dog, who was now zipping
back and forth across the open ground, seemed not to have heard.
Forgot one, he
thought. Matthew Redd, Rubble’s human.
Rubble was the most recent
member of the family, acquired after the untimely death of his former
owner, Redd’s attorney and friend, Duke Blanton. Blanton had been
savagely murdered by members of an outlaw biker gang. The same gang had menaced
Redd and his family, and ultimately burned down the ranch house where
Redd had not only grown up but begun his new life with Emily, which was
why they were now living in an old travel trailer.
As tragic as it was, losing
the house marked the final transition between the old Matthew Redd and
the new one. Prior to that, he’d been living a divided life—keeping one
foot in the world of special operations by working as an FBI contractor,
leading a paramilitary “fly team” on a worldwide search for an inter
national terrorist, while
still trying to have that “normal” life with Emily and Junior.
The fire itself hadn’t been
a wake-up call or anything like that. It had simply coincided with the
successful completion of his mission for the FBI, freeing him up to focus
on the things that he now realized mattered the most to him.
Building a new house was of
course the first step on that path. Redd had already begun the process of
clearing the site, and with the first part of the insurance settlement in
hand, he hoped to be in their new home before the end of summer. Until
then, they would just have to put up with living in close quarters.
He stepped inside and placed
the dish on the tiny counter between the tiny sink and the even smaller
two-burner stove. Emily was setting the table, crowd ing the place settings
around an assortment of foil-covered pots and pans that contained various
side dishes to accompany the ten- pound spiral- sliced ham Redd had just
brought in.
Emily had spent the better
part of the day preparing the meal, which they would soon be sharing with
their friends Mikey and Elizabeth Derhammer. Rather than attempt such an
undertaking in the trailer’s woefully inadequate kitchen space, she had
done the work at her parents’ house, in a more suitable kitchen. Redd
still wasn’t clear on why they couldn’t just take the prepared meal over
to the Derhammers’ home, where there was an actual dining room, and he’d
said as much when Emily proposed the idea of having Mikey and Liz out to
the ranch for dinner.
“Because, Matty, having them
over for dinner at their house wouldn’t make much sense, would it?”
“It makes more sense than
trying to cram four adults and two babies into this shoebox,” Redd had
replied.
Emily shook her head. “It’s
our turn to host dinner. Liz and Mikey have had us over more times than I
can count.”
That was certainly true.
Since the fire . . . since they had lost almost every
personal possession, they had eaten more meals at the Derhammers’ place
or with Emily’s parents, Elijah and Dora Lawrence, than they had at home.
So Redd could understand why Emily might feel compelled to repay their
kindness. For his part, he treasured their friendship with the
Derhammers. He just couldn’t quite wrap his head around the symbolic
significance of hosting the meal inside their little temporary
abode.
Outside the trailer,
Rubble’s insistent barking signaled that something had changed. It could
have been anything from a racoon trying to sneak up on the garbage can to
one of the cattle wandering too close to the fence, but Redd was pretty
sure he knew what it was. He tugged aside the curtain over the little window
in the door and looked out to see Mikey Derhammer’s Billet Silver Dodge
Ram 3500 dually rolling up the drive. It was, according to Mikey, “more
tank than truck.” Redd didn’t disagree.
As boys, Redd and Mikey had
been the best of friends. Now they were more like brothers, and Redd
considered him family. Liz too.
Working the ranch with his
adoptive father, J. B. Thompson, hadn’t left a lot of time for
extracurricular activities. As a result, Redd had cultivated few
childhood friends. Nevertheless, two people had managed to break through
his self-imposed social shield—Emily Lawrence, his first and only love,
and Mikey.
When J. B. had been
badly injured in a fall, Redd had secretly blamed himself. Maybe if he hadn’t
been wasting time with his friends, J. B. wouldn’t have gotten hurt
in the first place. To atone for this perceived failing, he’d dropped out
of high school and out of his friends’ lives and managed the ranch single-handedly
until J. B.’s recovery was complete.
J. B. hadn’t been able
to stop him from quitting school, but he had insisted that Redd get his
GED, a necessary step if Redd was going to realize his lifelong dream of
enlisting in the Marines. When Redd had told him that he was done with
that dream and that he was going to stay and work the ranch, J. B.—a former
Marine himself—had put his foot down.
“I can’t make you take the
oath,” he’d told Redd. “But don’t you use me as an excuse.”
J. B.’s particular
brand of tough love and encouragement was exactly the kick in the pants
Redd had needed. The only problem was that in leaving Montana he’d
permanently closed the door on his relationships with Emily and Mikey. Or
at least it had seemed that way at the time.
Nearly two years prior, when
J. B.’s death had brought him back to Stillwater County and the
ranch just outside the little town of Wellington, he’d been both
surprised and humbled to discover that those relationships had not died, but
merely gone fallow. It had taken a little effort to rekindle his romance with
Emily, a fiercely independent and successful nurse practitioner working
at the county health clinic, but with Mikey, it was like not a single day
had passed.
Matthew Redd, friend of
Mikey.
“They’re here,” Redd called
out.
“Rubble beat you to it,”
retorted Emily. “Don’t shout. You’ll wake Matty.” He looked at her sidelong.
“You think Matty won’t wake up the second Luke walks in the door?”
Lucas, Mikey and Liz’s son,
was about two years older than Matthew Jr., and the two boys were
frequent playmates. Like fathers, like sons. Emily sighed. “I suppose you’re
right.” She gave the table a final inspection. “Well, I guess this is as
good as we’re going to get it.”
Redd opened the door,
careful to keep Rubble out, and went to greet their guests. Mikey, who
had already stepped out from behind the wheel, took Redd’s proffered hand
but then pulled him into a fierce bro hug. Though he definitely wasn’t a
hugger, Redd, who was a good six inches taller than Mikey, couldn’t
resist a smile as he stared out over the top of his friend’s head.
“All right,” he murmured,
gently pushing Mikey away. “Go help your wife bring the kid in out of the
cold.”
Liz picked Luke up out of
his safety seat and laid him down alongside Matthew Jr. The adults
used the brief respite to enjoy the appetizer course Emily had prepared,
along with the chardonnay Liz had brought.
“So, tell me all about your
plans for this place,” said Mikey after emptying both glass and
plate.
Redd laughed. “You should
ask Em. I’m letting her take point on the design.” “Matty would have been happy
with a one-room log cabin,” interjected Emily.
“And what would be wrong
with that?” he said playfully. He was only half joking.
“Come on, Matt,” said Mikey.
“It’s the twenty-first century. You’ve at least got to have a man
cave.”
“I’ll let him have his man
cave,” replied Emily. “But I put my foot down when he wanted to put in a
panic room.”
Redd’s easy smile wilted a
little. Although Emily was making light of it, Redd was not at all
pleased with his wife’s resistance to the idea.
During his time as a Marine
Raider and then subsequently working with the FBI, he’d made more than
his share of enemies—enemies every bit as dangerous as the outlaw bikers
who had destroyed their home and murdered Duke Blanton. As much as Redd
wanted to believe that he had left all that behind, some of those enemies
were still out there, just waiting for a chance to settle the score.
If . . . when the day of reckoning came, Redd would
do whatever it took to protect his family. And the best way to do that
was to make sure they had a safe place to go when the bad guys rolled up
without warning.
Emily, who chose to believe
in the fundamental goodness of humanity, had dismissed his precautionary
thinking as paranoia. Contrary to what she was telling Mikey and Liz, the
matter was far from resolved.
“It’s not a panic room,”
Redd insisted. “It’s a safe room. Think of it as a refuge. Like a
big fancy storm shelter.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “More
like a bomb shelter.”
Mikey scratched his chin. “I
don’t know, Em. I think I’m with Matt on this one.”
“What a surprise,” Liz
remarked dryly. “You two taking the same side. Who’d have predicted
that?”
“It’s just common sense,”
Mikey went on. “It’s like the Boy Scout motto—be prepared.”
Redd flashed a triumphant
grin at Emily and offered an open-hand see what I mean gesture
toward Mikey.
“Like either of you were
ever Boy Scouts.”
“I wanted to be one,” countered
Mikey and then in a small voice added, “Mom wouldn’t let me join. She
didn’t get along with the den mother. Said she was a drunk—well, you
know. A word she probably shouldn’t have said in front of kids.”
“Den mother?” said Liz.
“Isn’t that just for Cub Scouts?”
“Same thing,” Mikey said
defensively.
“I’m sure it’s not,” said
his wife, laughing.
“Well, after Mom put the
kibosh on it, I kind of lost interest.” He waved his hand as if to
preempt further discussion. “All I’m saying is, it doesn’t hurt to plan
ahead.”
“I don’t disagree,” said
Emily. “I just think there are better uses for our limited resources.
We’re not exactly made of money.”
Mikey inclined his head to
cede the point, then turned to Redd. “Well, she did say you could have a
man cave, bro. Now we’ll have a sweet spot to watch football. Take the
win.”
Redd opened his mouth to
reply, but before he could say another word, his phone rang. His brows
creased in consternation as he took the device from his pocket and looked
at the screen. “It’s Gavin,” he muttered, frowning.
Emily gave him a distressed
look. “Be nice, Matty. He’s trying.” Redd shook his head. “I’m sure it’s a work
thing.” He stared at the display a moment longer, debating whether or not
to let it go to voicemail. “I should probably take this,” he said,
tapping the screen to accept the call. In an instant, everything changed.
About Ryan Steck:
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Ryan Steck
is an editor, an author, and the founder and editor in chief of The Real Book
Spy. Ryan has been named an "Online Influencer" by Amazon and is a
regular columnist at CrimeReads. TheRealBookSpy.com has been endorsed by
#1 New York Times bestselling authors Mark Greaney, C. J.
Box, Kyle Mills, Daniel Silva, Brad Thor, and many others. A resident of
Michigan, along with his wife and their six kids, Steck cheers on his beloved
Detroit Tigers and Lions during the rare moments when he's not reading or
talking about books on social media. He can be reached via email at ryan@therealbookspy.com.
Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub
Giveaway Details:
1 winner
will receive a finished copy of OUT FOR BLOOD, US Only.
Ends July 2nd, midnight EST.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour Schedule:
Week One:
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6/17/2024 |
Excerpt |
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6/18/2024 |
IG Post/TikTok Post |
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6/18/2024 |
Excerpt |
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6/19/2024 |
Excerpt |
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6/20/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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6/21/2024 |
IG Review |
Week Two:
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6/24/2024 |
IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post |
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6/24/2024 |
IG Review |
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6/25/2024 |
IG Review |
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6/25/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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6/26/2024 |
IG Review |
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6/26/2024 |
Review |
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6/27/2024 |
IG Review |
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6/27/2024 |
IG Review |
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6/28/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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6/28/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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