Jessica Huntley's Blog
October 1, 2023
The book that never supposed to happen ...
The Darkness That Binds Us by Jessica HuntleyThe Darkness That Binds Us is the sequel that was never supposed to happen! It's predecessor was my debut novel and I never intended it to be the start of a series, but my readers wanted more ... so two and a half years later, here it is!
I loved revisiting Cherry Hollow and its residents, creating new characters and developing the story behind the sinister goings-on. Stuff happened I certainly wasn't expecting and this story developed all on its own, going in a direction that truly shocked me.
I think I've grown a lot as an author since Book 1 and have thoroughly enjoyed the process. I hope my readers will enjoy this book ... and maybe creep themselves out a bit too!
Thanks again for supporting me and allowing me to do what I love ... write stories. Jessica x
View all my reviews
April 15, 2023
Jinx is LIVE!
Happy Publication Day to Jinx!
Jinx
I can't quite believe it's finally out there in the world.
A huge thank you to everyone who has supported me and helped me across the finish line.
🔥 I've been blown away by the response and reviews so far from my ARC readers. It's a very strange thing being an author. You doubt yourself every single day and even when you get the praise you then feel like you don't deserve it.
🔥 I wrote a book called Jinx when I was 16 years old (very different to this one but I did use some of the characters). I started writing this version of the book 2 years ago so I feel like it's been a long time in the making!
🔥 Whatever happens with the book, I'll always be proud of my accomplishment in writing it and feel there is an important message within its pages.
Please consider leaving a review on Goodreads and Amazon if you do read Jinx. I love to hear from my readers.
Thank you.
Jessica x
Jinx
I can't quite believe it's finally out there in the world.
A huge thank you to everyone who has supported me and helped me across the finish line.
🔥 I've been blown away by the response and reviews so far from my ARC readers. It's a very strange thing being an author. You doubt yourself every single day and even when you get the praise you then feel like you don't deserve it.
🔥 I wrote a book called Jinx when I was 16 years old (very different to this one but I did use some of the characters). I started writing this version of the book 2 years ago so I feel like it's been a long time in the making!
🔥 Whatever happens with the book, I'll always be proud of my accomplishment in writing it and feel there is an important message within its pages.
Please consider leaving a review on Goodreads and Amazon if you do read Jinx. I love to hear from my readers.
Thank you.
Jessica x
April 2, 2023
Jinx - First Chapter
Jinx
Here is the first chapter of Jinx for you to read.
Available to pre-order now from Amazon below.
https://storyoriginapp.com/universalb...
Chapter One
Then
Helmand Province, Afghanistan, July 2009
The heat is bone-shatteringly exhausting; each time I inhale it burns my throat and nostrils, and I dread taking my next breath. It never lets up, continuing its relentless tirade of abuse, day in and day out, each day worse than the last.
I knew it was going to be tough out here. It’s not like I was expecting it to be chilly and refreshing (it’s Afghanistan for fuck’s sake), but I also wasn’t expecting it to be like living in Hell’s basement, where the fire gets hotter every damn day, stoked by Satan himself. I’d prepared for this tour, trained for months on end, but the shocking reality of the heat, the terrain, the sheer amount of energy it takes to even remain standing is, at times, gradually eating away at my soul, one day, one hour, one soul-sucking minute at a time. I already feel physically and emotionally drained and I’ve only been out here for two months, yet it feels like an eternity.
My tired and overheated brain can barely remember what my mum and younger sister look like. I bet Zoe has already grown another foot taller. That teenager is going to end up towering over me at the rate she’s growing. At five feet six inches I guess I’m of an average height, but she’s destined to reach six feet for sure.
Even the days roll into one – what day is it?
Time appears to be non-existent in this wasteland. Every day is practically the same and I don’t get a single day off, but I do get a late start on a Sunday. That’s the only way I remember what day it is, when I’m told by my sergeant to be in at 10:00 hours instead of 07:00.
All that matters is my job. I show up when I’m supposed to, do what I’m told and never question it, not ever. That’s the stark reality of being a British soldier on a six-month operational tour and I know that; it’s why I signed up to join the Army four years ago.
Four years … it feels like forty.
Four months to go, Aimee …
‘Price! Stop daydreaming about your next fucking shag and finish checking these fucking Snatches.’ The rough voice of Sergeant Miller booms across the golden sand towards me.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’
I snap out of my daydream of laying on a beach in Florida, sipping a cool cocktail, and focus on the job at hand, checking the oil levels, the tyre pressures and all the other things we’re taught to do when first-parading a vehicle. The only thing that matters right now is ensuring the two vehicles, both Snatch Land Rovers, are fuelled and ready to embark on the short trip across the sand to a neighbouring camp. The supplies that need to be transported have already been loaded into the back of each of them so it’s merely a matter of finishing my checks.
But the fucking heat …
It might have been somewhat tolerable were it not for the extra thirty-plus kilos of kit I’m constantly carrying – body armour, webbing, rifle, ammo, day-sack, helmet – they all add up and, on my small frame of little more than fifty kilos, it’s often over half of my body weight. And that’s just the normal kit I have to carry. Of course, I don’t wear full body armour all the time on camp, only when the force protection state is raised, or I venture off camp on a vehicle move, or to visit another camp, but more often than not I do always have to wear some form of protection, which is needed, especially when the threat of an exploding bomb is imminent.
On my very first night here one exploded right outside of camp, which rattled my insides so much I felt sick. The ground shook so violently that I could barely stand. I’d experienced controlled explosions during my training, but it was nothing like the real thing. After that night I realised just how dangerous this job was and told myself that I needed to be more switched on, as Sergeant Miller liked to say.
The straps on the webbing dig into my skin whenever I move, my desert camouflage uniform sticking to my sweaty skin. Staying hydrated in this climate is an absolute must and I already learned that the hard way upon first arriving here. Within a week I went down with dehydration and heat exhaustion, having not realised just how much water I needed to drink in order to remain healthy and fit. The usual two litres a day doesn’t apply here; a minimum of five litres is required, which would be fairly doable, but here the water is warm, stale and tastes like it’s been left out in the sun too long, so I often gag while swallowing it down.
Four months to go …
I rummage around for the set of dog tags I keep stored away in my left inside jacket pocket. They aren’t mine (those are around my neck). They belong to Daffy, my grandfather. He gave them to me as a good luck charm and told me they’d keep me safe. I often squeeze them, feel the cool metal between my fingers for a few seconds when I’m feeling particularly down or homesick. It helps.
‘All done, Sergeant,’ I say, readjusting my webbing for the fifteenth time. The extra weight on my hips is almost unbearable. It’s times like these when I curse my slender frame, which holds very little body fat to protect against the heavy armour grinding across my joints. At the end of every long day, when I can finally remove the issued kit, I’ll often find a new bruise or laceration on my skin, reminding me how fragile my body truly is.
‘Good. Go and find Jones, will you? He’s late. Probably taking a nervous shit.’
I inwardly groan, ensuring Sergeant Miller doesn’t see my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. Sergeant Miller is probably the toughest guy I’ve met in the Army to date. He’s also one of the scariest men I’ve ever met and his voice could quite possibly wake the dead. He shaves his head (or maybe he’s going prematurely bald, but I would never dare question him about it for fear of instant death) and his stare can pierce steel. He once glared at me for doing something wrong and I honestly thought I would spontaneously combust.
I leave the vehicles and go in search of Jones.
His first name is Thomas … yes, he’s called Tom Jones, but god forbid anyone ever calling him that to his face. He’d probably break their nose. He’s known as Jones to everyone, even his civilian mates. I don’t like him and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. He’s one of those male soldiers who believe women shouldn’t be in the Army and he makes no qualms about spreading his point of view to anyone who’ll listen. Basically, he’s a sexist dickhead. He always gives me such a hard time, belittling my every move, but luckily I can hold my own most of the time so I gladly return the favour. I know very well that the percentage of female soldiers in the British Army is less than ten so it isn’t new to me to come across sexism. Even Sergeant Miller muttered a few swear words upon being introduced to me, his latest junior member of the team. There’s also something else about Jones that I don’t like but, try as I might, I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that bothers me so much. Maybe it’s just his arrogant, stupid face.
Shielding my brown eyes from the scorching sun, I scan the area behind the main tent, but everyone looks the same in their desert-coloured combats, helmets and boots, and every single body I see is male. I’ve only seen one other female soldier so far and that had been in the medical tent when I’d woken up after passing out from heat exhaustion. I’m sure there are many female soldiers around but, generally, I’m the only one. It’s a lonely life sometimes as a woman in a man’s world.
I readjust my helmet, silently cursing my long brown hair which I have to constantly keep in a neat bun at the back of my neck; too high up my head and my helmet doesn’t sit right and too far down my neck it gets caught in my uniform collar. I envy the men in the Army sometimes. At least they don’t have to worry about their hair. Back in Phase 2 training I paid to have blonde highlights, thinking nothing of it, and when my instructor saw them he told me to take them out and then I was disciplined. Apparently, as a woman you have to ask permission to have your hair coloured and, if you happen to have short hair, you have to ask permission to grow it too.
I stick my head through the gap in the tent; a hot waft of stale air greets me. If it’s at all possible, the tents appear to be hotter inside than they are outside. Yesterday, it had reached a scorching forty degrees inside the tent, whereas the outside area had only been a balmy thirty-eight. More often than not the air conditioning packs up and it takes days before it’s fixed; that is, if you’re lucky enough to work in a tent fitted with air conditioning.
Upon seeing the tent empty, I walk around to the back where the toilet block is located. It’s never a pleasant experience using them at the best of times, but add in the extreme temperatures, a less-than-adequate diet and poor cleaning facilities, and it’s fucking insufferable. The smell often floats around the camp, catching soldiers out suddenly, making us gag; it all depends on which way the wind is blowing and the time of day. If only I could walk around holding my breath. Heaving my rifle sling further up my shoulder I approach the stinking toilets whilst doing just that.
‘Jones?’ I call out. ‘You in there?’
Without warning the flimsy wooden door flings open and Jones emerges, still doing up his flies. He’s had to take all his kit in with him and there’s never enough room to set it all down, nor is there often enough time to take it all off, so it’s usually a case of deciding whether to hold it or go through the laborious task of taking your kit off.
Annoyingly, Jones is actually quite good-looking in a rugged sort of way. Short hair, chiselled jaw, strong arms and perfectly straight, white teeth. Jones grins when he sees me as my eyes automatically flick to his crotch.
‘Sorry Price, wouldn’t be right to fuck you in one of these shit holes … even you deserve better than that … or maybe you don’t.’ He winks at me as he fastens the chin strap on his helmet.
I roll my eyes. ‘Charming,’ I mutter. ‘Sergeant says hurry the fuck up. We’re leaving soon.’
‘Yeah, all right, don’t get all hormonal on me. Keep your panties on.’
‘My panties are very much on, thank you very much.’
Jones stops in front of me and looks me up and down, cracking a thin smile. ‘I bet they are. How long’s it been? Did you get laid before you came out here? Wait … of course you did. When’s your R ‘n’ R? Bet you’re counting down the days till you can get someone to lick your—‘
‘Jones! Price! Stop fucking about and get in the damn Snatch! We’re leaving in two!’ Sergeant Miller is using his loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead voice, which means he isn’t messing around.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’ we shout together.
‘Jinx!’ exclaims Jones, then pauses when I don’t respond. ‘You didn’t say jinx.’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you know anything? Now you’ve doomed us all, Price.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ I turn and begin marching back the way I came before he has a chance to speak back to me. I’m not a superstitious person. I was born on a Friday the 13th for crying out loud, so I think I’m beyond all that nonsense. Although, Daffy did say that if I ever lost his dog tags then I’d be jinxed forever … but maybe he was just joking.
Yeah, I’m sure he was joking.
I am not looking forward to spending several mind-numbing hours trapped inside a metal box with Jones. I’d rather be trapped inside the toilet block during the hottest part of the day with no air hole.
The noise from the engine is deafening, which, to be honest, suits me just fine because that way I can’t hear the conversation going on between Jones and Sergeant Miller in the front seats. It’s probably full of rude remarks and sick jokes that I rarely understand. As usual, I’ve been sentenced to sit in the back with the kit we’re transporting. It’s mostly electronic equipment and spare vehicle parts. As part of the Royal Logistics Corps my unit is responsible for ensuring all the surrounding camps are fully equipped, whether it be with general stores, engine parts or food and water supplies. At the lowly rank of Private I’m on the bottom rung of the ladder, something I’m reminded of on a daily basis; hence why I’m squashed into the back of the Snatch while Jones and Sergeant Miller get to sit on relatively comfortable padded seats at the front. However, even the padding does very little to protect against the terrible suspension. Jones is a private too, but he’s a man, so obviously gets to sit in the front.
We’re travelling in a convoy of two. Whenever we have to do vehicle moves no less than two vehicles are used. It’s a safety measure. Our routes are always mapped out and we’re constantly in radio contact with each other. Myself, Jones and Sergeant Miller are in the front Land Rover and two other members from our team, Phillips and Jenkins, are in the second.
While I’m being thrown about and wedged against boxes, I cast my mind back to two and a half months ago while I’d still been training for this deployment. Back then, my focus had been solely on my job and nothing else had mattered. I’d even missed Zoe’s thirteenth birthday party because I’d had to attend a range day to ensure my Annual Personal Weapons Test was up to date. I don’t think she’s forgiven me for that yet.
Then, three days later, two small red lines had appeared on the stick in my shaking hands and my whole life had turned upside down in a matter of seconds. Even then, my mind was focussed on my job and I’d had to make a quick decision about what path I wanted my life to take; did I want to serve my country, or become a mum at the age of twenty-two?
Here I am …
I hadn’t told anyone, not my mum, not my Commanding Officer, not anyone. If they’d found out then I’d have been pulled off this tour whether I’d decided to keep it or not. So I’d had it taken care of quickly and quietly and had turned up for the next part of my training two days later, a little sore, but convinced I’d made the right decision.
I’m still convinced …
A large pothole puts an end to my daydream as my helmet crashes into the roof of the Snatch. My head spins and I see stars.
‘You all right back there, Price?’ shouts Sergeant Miller.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’
‘Atta girl!’
I swear under my breath as I straighten myself up on the hard seat. My webbing and day-sack are wedged beside me, but my rifle is lying across my lap. Its metal protrusions keep digging into my thighs.
‘How much longer?’ I yell, my throat dry and sore. I reach for my water bottle and take a swig just as the Snatch hits another pothole; the water spills across my lap. ‘Fuck!’
‘What’s the matter, Price? Your ovaries shaking loose?’ shouts Jones as he laughs.
I ignore his blatant sexist joke and retort without missing a beat, ‘Nope, how about your balls?’
‘Ha! My balls are still very much attached, Price.’
‘Shame,’ I mutter.
‘Not far now!’ shouts Sergeant Miller. ‘Had to take a longer route cos of the Taliban in the area, but the route’s all planned. You never know when—’ Sergeant Miller never gets the chance to finish his sentence.
A massive explosion erupts like a volcano from underneath the vehicle.
The Snatch hurtles into the air as if it were a tin can.
It’s all over in a matter of seconds.
I’m crushed against the force of the boxes in the back as the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt, landing on its roof.
My ears ring, my head swims with visions of blood and fire … and then nothing …
Here is the first chapter of Jinx for you to read.
Available to pre-order now from Amazon below.
https://storyoriginapp.com/universalb...
Chapter One
Then
Helmand Province, Afghanistan, July 2009
The heat is bone-shatteringly exhausting; each time I inhale it burns my throat and nostrils, and I dread taking my next breath. It never lets up, continuing its relentless tirade of abuse, day in and day out, each day worse than the last.
I knew it was going to be tough out here. It’s not like I was expecting it to be chilly and refreshing (it’s Afghanistan for fuck’s sake), but I also wasn’t expecting it to be like living in Hell’s basement, where the fire gets hotter every damn day, stoked by Satan himself. I’d prepared for this tour, trained for months on end, but the shocking reality of the heat, the terrain, the sheer amount of energy it takes to even remain standing is, at times, gradually eating away at my soul, one day, one hour, one soul-sucking minute at a time. I already feel physically and emotionally drained and I’ve only been out here for two months, yet it feels like an eternity.
My tired and overheated brain can barely remember what my mum and younger sister look like. I bet Zoe has already grown another foot taller. That teenager is going to end up towering over me at the rate she’s growing. At five feet six inches I guess I’m of an average height, but she’s destined to reach six feet for sure.
Even the days roll into one – what day is it?
Time appears to be non-existent in this wasteland. Every day is practically the same and I don’t get a single day off, but I do get a late start on a Sunday. That’s the only way I remember what day it is, when I’m told by my sergeant to be in at 10:00 hours instead of 07:00.
All that matters is my job. I show up when I’m supposed to, do what I’m told and never question it, not ever. That’s the stark reality of being a British soldier on a six-month operational tour and I know that; it’s why I signed up to join the Army four years ago.
Four years … it feels like forty.
Four months to go, Aimee …
‘Price! Stop daydreaming about your next fucking shag and finish checking these fucking Snatches.’ The rough voice of Sergeant Miller booms across the golden sand towards me.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’
I snap out of my daydream of laying on a beach in Florida, sipping a cool cocktail, and focus on the job at hand, checking the oil levels, the tyre pressures and all the other things we’re taught to do when first-parading a vehicle. The only thing that matters right now is ensuring the two vehicles, both Snatch Land Rovers, are fuelled and ready to embark on the short trip across the sand to a neighbouring camp. The supplies that need to be transported have already been loaded into the back of each of them so it’s merely a matter of finishing my checks.
But the fucking heat …
It might have been somewhat tolerable were it not for the extra thirty-plus kilos of kit I’m constantly carrying – body armour, webbing, rifle, ammo, day-sack, helmet – they all add up and, on my small frame of little more than fifty kilos, it’s often over half of my body weight. And that’s just the normal kit I have to carry. Of course, I don’t wear full body armour all the time on camp, only when the force protection state is raised, or I venture off camp on a vehicle move, or to visit another camp, but more often than not I do always have to wear some form of protection, which is needed, especially when the threat of an exploding bomb is imminent.
On my very first night here one exploded right outside of camp, which rattled my insides so much I felt sick. The ground shook so violently that I could barely stand. I’d experienced controlled explosions during my training, but it was nothing like the real thing. After that night I realised just how dangerous this job was and told myself that I needed to be more switched on, as Sergeant Miller liked to say.
The straps on the webbing dig into my skin whenever I move, my desert camouflage uniform sticking to my sweaty skin. Staying hydrated in this climate is an absolute must and I already learned that the hard way upon first arriving here. Within a week I went down with dehydration and heat exhaustion, having not realised just how much water I needed to drink in order to remain healthy and fit. The usual two litres a day doesn’t apply here; a minimum of five litres is required, which would be fairly doable, but here the water is warm, stale and tastes like it’s been left out in the sun too long, so I often gag while swallowing it down.
Four months to go …
I rummage around for the set of dog tags I keep stored away in my left inside jacket pocket. They aren’t mine (those are around my neck). They belong to Daffy, my grandfather. He gave them to me as a good luck charm and told me they’d keep me safe. I often squeeze them, feel the cool metal between my fingers for a few seconds when I’m feeling particularly down or homesick. It helps.
‘All done, Sergeant,’ I say, readjusting my webbing for the fifteenth time. The extra weight on my hips is almost unbearable. It’s times like these when I curse my slender frame, which holds very little body fat to protect against the heavy armour grinding across my joints. At the end of every long day, when I can finally remove the issued kit, I’ll often find a new bruise or laceration on my skin, reminding me how fragile my body truly is.
‘Good. Go and find Jones, will you? He’s late. Probably taking a nervous shit.’
I inwardly groan, ensuring Sergeant Miller doesn’t see my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. Sergeant Miller is probably the toughest guy I’ve met in the Army to date. He’s also one of the scariest men I’ve ever met and his voice could quite possibly wake the dead. He shaves his head (or maybe he’s going prematurely bald, but I would never dare question him about it for fear of instant death) and his stare can pierce steel. He once glared at me for doing something wrong and I honestly thought I would spontaneously combust.
I leave the vehicles and go in search of Jones.
His first name is Thomas … yes, he’s called Tom Jones, but god forbid anyone ever calling him that to his face. He’d probably break their nose. He’s known as Jones to everyone, even his civilian mates. I don’t like him and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. He’s one of those male soldiers who believe women shouldn’t be in the Army and he makes no qualms about spreading his point of view to anyone who’ll listen. Basically, he’s a sexist dickhead. He always gives me such a hard time, belittling my every move, but luckily I can hold my own most of the time so I gladly return the favour. I know very well that the percentage of female soldiers in the British Army is less than ten so it isn’t new to me to come across sexism. Even Sergeant Miller muttered a few swear words upon being introduced to me, his latest junior member of the team. There’s also something else about Jones that I don’t like but, try as I might, I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that bothers me so much. Maybe it’s just his arrogant, stupid face.
Shielding my brown eyes from the scorching sun, I scan the area behind the main tent, but everyone looks the same in their desert-coloured combats, helmets and boots, and every single body I see is male. I’ve only seen one other female soldier so far and that had been in the medical tent when I’d woken up after passing out from heat exhaustion. I’m sure there are many female soldiers around but, generally, I’m the only one. It’s a lonely life sometimes as a woman in a man’s world.
I readjust my helmet, silently cursing my long brown hair which I have to constantly keep in a neat bun at the back of my neck; too high up my head and my helmet doesn’t sit right and too far down my neck it gets caught in my uniform collar. I envy the men in the Army sometimes. At least they don’t have to worry about their hair. Back in Phase 2 training I paid to have blonde highlights, thinking nothing of it, and when my instructor saw them he told me to take them out and then I was disciplined. Apparently, as a woman you have to ask permission to have your hair coloured and, if you happen to have short hair, you have to ask permission to grow it too.
I stick my head through the gap in the tent; a hot waft of stale air greets me. If it’s at all possible, the tents appear to be hotter inside than they are outside. Yesterday, it had reached a scorching forty degrees inside the tent, whereas the outside area had only been a balmy thirty-eight. More often than not the air conditioning packs up and it takes days before it’s fixed; that is, if you’re lucky enough to work in a tent fitted with air conditioning.
Upon seeing the tent empty, I walk around to the back where the toilet block is located. It’s never a pleasant experience using them at the best of times, but add in the extreme temperatures, a less-than-adequate diet and poor cleaning facilities, and it’s fucking insufferable. The smell often floats around the camp, catching soldiers out suddenly, making us gag; it all depends on which way the wind is blowing and the time of day. If only I could walk around holding my breath. Heaving my rifle sling further up my shoulder I approach the stinking toilets whilst doing just that.
‘Jones?’ I call out. ‘You in there?’
Without warning the flimsy wooden door flings open and Jones emerges, still doing up his flies. He’s had to take all his kit in with him and there’s never enough room to set it all down, nor is there often enough time to take it all off, so it’s usually a case of deciding whether to hold it or go through the laborious task of taking your kit off.
Annoyingly, Jones is actually quite good-looking in a rugged sort of way. Short hair, chiselled jaw, strong arms and perfectly straight, white teeth. Jones grins when he sees me as my eyes automatically flick to his crotch.
‘Sorry Price, wouldn’t be right to fuck you in one of these shit holes … even you deserve better than that … or maybe you don’t.’ He winks at me as he fastens the chin strap on his helmet.
I roll my eyes. ‘Charming,’ I mutter. ‘Sergeant says hurry the fuck up. We’re leaving soon.’
‘Yeah, all right, don’t get all hormonal on me. Keep your panties on.’
‘My panties are very much on, thank you very much.’
Jones stops in front of me and looks me up and down, cracking a thin smile. ‘I bet they are. How long’s it been? Did you get laid before you came out here? Wait … of course you did. When’s your R ‘n’ R? Bet you’re counting down the days till you can get someone to lick your—‘
‘Jones! Price! Stop fucking about and get in the damn Snatch! We’re leaving in two!’ Sergeant Miller is using his loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead voice, which means he isn’t messing around.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’ we shout together.
‘Jinx!’ exclaims Jones, then pauses when I don’t respond. ‘You didn’t say jinx.’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you know anything? Now you’ve doomed us all, Price.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ I turn and begin marching back the way I came before he has a chance to speak back to me. I’m not a superstitious person. I was born on a Friday the 13th for crying out loud, so I think I’m beyond all that nonsense. Although, Daffy did say that if I ever lost his dog tags then I’d be jinxed forever … but maybe he was just joking.
Yeah, I’m sure he was joking.
I am not looking forward to spending several mind-numbing hours trapped inside a metal box with Jones. I’d rather be trapped inside the toilet block during the hottest part of the day with no air hole.
The noise from the engine is deafening, which, to be honest, suits me just fine because that way I can’t hear the conversation going on between Jones and Sergeant Miller in the front seats. It’s probably full of rude remarks and sick jokes that I rarely understand. As usual, I’ve been sentenced to sit in the back with the kit we’re transporting. It’s mostly electronic equipment and spare vehicle parts. As part of the Royal Logistics Corps my unit is responsible for ensuring all the surrounding camps are fully equipped, whether it be with general stores, engine parts or food and water supplies. At the lowly rank of Private I’m on the bottom rung of the ladder, something I’m reminded of on a daily basis; hence why I’m squashed into the back of the Snatch while Jones and Sergeant Miller get to sit on relatively comfortable padded seats at the front. However, even the padding does very little to protect against the terrible suspension. Jones is a private too, but he’s a man, so obviously gets to sit in the front.
We’re travelling in a convoy of two. Whenever we have to do vehicle moves no less than two vehicles are used. It’s a safety measure. Our routes are always mapped out and we’re constantly in radio contact with each other. Myself, Jones and Sergeant Miller are in the front Land Rover and two other members from our team, Phillips and Jenkins, are in the second.
While I’m being thrown about and wedged against boxes, I cast my mind back to two and a half months ago while I’d still been training for this deployment. Back then, my focus had been solely on my job and nothing else had mattered. I’d even missed Zoe’s thirteenth birthday party because I’d had to attend a range day to ensure my Annual Personal Weapons Test was up to date. I don’t think she’s forgiven me for that yet.
Then, three days later, two small red lines had appeared on the stick in my shaking hands and my whole life had turned upside down in a matter of seconds. Even then, my mind was focussed on my job and I’d had to make a quick decision about what path I wanted my life to take; did I want to serve my country, or become a mum at the age of twenty-two?
Here I am …
I hadn’t told anyone, not my mum, not my Commanding Officer, not anyone. If they’d found out then I’d have been pulled off this tour whether I’d decided to keep it or not. So I’d had it taken care of quickly and quietly and had turned up for the next part of my training two days later, a little sore, but convinced I’d made the right decision.
I’m still convinced …
A large pothole puts an end to my daydream as my helmet crashes into the roof of the Snatch. My head spins and I see stars.
‘You all right back there, Price?’ shouts Sergeant Miller.
‘Yes, Sergeant!’
‘Atta girl!’
I swear under my breath as I straighten myself up on the hard seat. My webbing and day-sack are wedged beside me, but my rifle is lying across my lap. Its metal protrusions keep digging into my thighs.
‘How much longer?’ I yell, my throat dry and sore. I reach for my water bottle and take a swig just as the Snatch hits another pothole; the water spills across my lap. ‘Fuck!’
‘What’s the matter, Price? Your ovaries shaking loose?’ shouts Jones as he laughs.
I ignore his blatant sexist joke and retort without missing a beat, ‘Nope, how about your balls?’
‘Ha! My balls are still very much attached, Price.’
‘Shame,’ I mutter.
‘Not far now!’ shouts Sergeant Miller. ‘Had to take a longer route cos of the Taliban in the area, but the route’s all planned. You never know when—’ Sergeant Miller never gets the chance to finish his sentence.
A massive explosion erupts like a volcano from underneath the vehicle.
The Snatch hurtles into the air as if it were a tin can.
It’s all over in a matter of seconds.
I’m crushed against the force of the boxes in the back as the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt, landing on its roof.
My ears ring, my head swims with visions of blood and fire … and then nothing …
March 1, 2023
Jinx Goodreads Giveaway is Live!
Enter to win a FREE paperback of my new suspense thriller, Jinx; a story of murder, revenge, love and overcoming trauma.
Who would you believe is capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?
Who would you believe is capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?
February 15, 2023
Jinx - Cover Reveal
🔥 COVER REVEAL - JINX 🔥
Here it is! Something a little different from me this time, but I think it fits the book perfectly.
🖤 Who would you believe was capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?🖤
Publication date is 15th April 2023.
Pre-order below (and it's a special discounted price).
https://storyoriginapp.com/.../89f687......
Here is a short extract from Chapter 3.
Jinx
🔥 The flames are growing higher; smoke is filling the vehicle, sucking out all the oxygen, but I can just about glimpse a murky ray of sunlight ahead of me so that’s the direction I head in. I scramble over boxes and debris until eventually arriving at the front of the vehicle; the scene that meets my eyes is one I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life.🔥
Here it is! Something a little different from me this time, but I think it fits the book perfectly.
🖤 Who would you believe was capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?🖤
Publication date is 15th April 2023.
Pre-order below (and it's a special discounted price).
https://storyoriginapp.com/.../89f687......
Here is a short extract from Chapter 3.
Jinx
🔥 The flames are growing higher; smoke is filling the vehicle, sucking out all the oxygen, but I can just about glimpse a murky ray of sunlight ahead of me so that’s the direction I head in. I scramble over boxes and debris until eventually arriving at the front of the vehicle; the scene that meets my eyes is one I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life.🔥
February 7, 2023
New Blurb for My Dark Self
"My name is Josslyn and I’m a psychopath. Actually … that’s not technically true. Let me explain ..."
Josslyn is a mild-mannered vet who prefers animals to people. Alicia is a ruthless and psychotic killer. But there’s a problem … They are the same person.
When Josslyn finds a clue as to who Alicia really is, she sets out on a mission to discover the truth and hopefully get rid of the psychopath in her head before she kills again.
However, Alicia has her own agenda and isn’t afraid to mess things up for Josslyn. She wants control of their body and won’t rest until she gets her way.
Someone is stalking them and clearly knows more about them than they do. Will Josslyn and Alicia ever be able to see eye to eye and work together to overcome adversity?
My Dark Self
Josslyn is a mild-mannered vet who prefers animals to people. Alicia is a ruthless and psychotic killer. But there’s a problem … They are the same person.
When Josslyn finds a clue as to who Alicia really is, she sets out on a mission to discover the truth and hopefully get rid of the psychopath in her head before she kills again.
However, Alicia has her own agenda and isn’t afraid to mess things up for Josslyn. She wants control of their body and won’t rest until she gets her way.
Someone is stalking them and clearly knows more about them than they do. Will Josslyn and Alicia ever be able to see eye to eye and work together to overcome adversity?
My Dark Self
December 4, 2022
Jinx Announcement
🖤🔪 Jinx - The new suspense thriller from Jessica Huntley 🖤🔪
Jinx
COMING IN APRIL 2023 (Date TBC)
Read the first 3 chapters now by signing up to my newsletter via this link - https://tremendous-artisan-1662.ck.pa...
BLURB
British soldier, Aimee Price, is regarded as a hero for saving a man’s life. But traumatic flashbacks of the explosion and self-deprecation force her to hide from the limelight.
Twelve years later, her old flame is arrested for a murder he claims he didn’t commit. Can she believe him when she has a history with the victim and he has a tendency for violence?
Aimee must find out the truth, even if it means losing her job, all while trying to live a normal life and start dating again.
But can she put the past behind her? Even when it’s determined to destroy her by opening old wounds?
Who would you believe is capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?
ABOUT JINX
Jinx is very close to my heart. For those who don't know, I was a British army soldier myself and experienced a great deal of sexual harassment and bullying during the time I served. Whilst my experience in the Army was memorable and honourable, a lot of it was not, and was the start of my severe depression and anxiety.
Some of the stories and experiences I write about in Jinx are based on my own, which is why this book is so important and has an underlining message that I hope people understand.
Jinx is on Goodreads now to add to your Want To Read list. Keep your eyes peeled on my monthly newsletter for further updates regarding my ARC team, cover reveal and publication day team sign ups.
Jinx
COMING IN APRIL 2023 (Date TBC)
Read the first 3 chapters now by signing up to my newsletter via this link - https://tremendous-artisan-1662.ck.pa...
BLURB
British soldier, Aimee Price, is regarded as a hero for saving a man’s life. But traumatic flashbacks of the explosion and self-deprecation force her to hide from the limelight.
Twelve years later, her old flame is arrested for a murder he claims he didn’t commit. Can she believe him when she has a history with the victim and he has a tendency for violence?
Aimee must find out the truth, even if it means losing her job, all while trying to live a normal life and start dating again.
But can she put the past behind her? Even when it’s determined to destroy her by opening old wounds?
Who would you believe is capable of murder: the man you almost married or the man whose life you saved?
ABOUT JINX
Jinx is very close to my heart. For those who don't know, I was a British army soldier myself and experienced a great deal of sexual harassment and bullying during the time I served. Whilst my experience in the Army was memorable and honourable, a lot of it was not, and was the start of my severe depression and anxiety.
Some of the stories and experiences I write about in Jinx are based on my own, which is why this book is so important and has an underlining message that I hope people understand.
Jinx is on Goodreads now to add to your Want To Read list. Keep your eyes peeled on my monthly newsletter for further updates regarding my ARC team, cover reveal and publication day team sign ups.
November 30, 2022
New Book Update
Jinx by Jessica HuntleyHello Fellow Book Lovers!
I want to take this opportunity to introduce myself and my book a little bit.
Jinx is a book I originally wrote when I was 15. However, it's changed a HUGE amount since then and I want to explain why. When I was 15 I spoke to a writer who was much older than me (in his fifties I think) and he told me that my writing was too descriptive and lacked real world experience. He told me to go and live my life, get some life experience and then start writing ...
So that's exactly what I did ... And I started my life experience by joining the British Army at age 18. I have now left the Army and have a husband and a young son and a dog. I now consider myself a published author.
Jinx will be my 6th published book and I have used my own experiences of being a British Army soldier to create my characters and give my readers a true and accurate representation of what it's like being a female in the British Army.
Now, the book is not all about being in the Army. It's a murder mystery and a suspense thriller rolled into one, with a tiny hint of romance, so hopefully it's got something for everyone.
Keep an eye out for the release date, upcoming reviews and more.
You can do this by simply adding the book to your Want To Read list.
Thank you in advance for supporting me!
Happy Reading!
Jessica Huntley
View all my reviews
Jessica HuntleyJinx
