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The Dying Game

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SAS hero Jack Small makes a long awaited re-appearance in this latest Clunge actioner - a tale of betrayal, intrigue and forbidden love.

Small is tasked with protecting a beautiful Russian heiress, the daughter of a powerful oil magnate. Much is at stake, with the British government cutting a deal with the Russian Mafia to guarantee the safety of a vital gas pipeline.

Unfortunately, Chechen rebels have other ideas and attempt to kidnap the girl at a lavish society ball in the heart of London. Only Jack Small stands in their way, but not before he's fallen in love with the stunning beauty he's been assigned to protect... at all costs. Ultimately, it is a love that is doomed.


Jack stood on the balcony flanked by two security guards. He surveyed the throng below with quiet confidence. All checks were in place and all exits closely monitored by the small army of private bodyguards that had been put under his command.

The party was in full swing, the laughter and continuous chink of champagne glasses making the music almost inaudible. The light from the enormous chandeliers danced across the shimmering ballgowns and immaculately-clad party-goers like diamonds on water. You could almost taste the atmosphere of splendid opulence.

Jack felt a presence at his side. 'Natasha, you look... heavenly!' enthused Jack as the stunning blond heiress gently caressed his muscled arm. She'd taken an instant shine to him the moment they had been introduced by her illustrious father - and Mafia boss. 'Is that a gun under your kilt or are you just pleased to see me?' she laughed, 'I'm afraid it is a gun under my kilt - but I am pleased to see you.' Natasha smiled. 'Can we go somewhere a little... more private?' she purred in his ear. Jack knew what was coming and gently took the girl by the arm. He nodded to the two stony-faced security men and guided the girl up the spiral staircase to the apartments. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. In any case, it went with the territory: guns, lavish parties, yachts... and millionaires' daughters.

The door closed gently behind him, but not before a cursory glance up and down the deserted corridor. Good - nobody about. All too busy dancing and getting pissed Jack mused. Now down to the nitty gritty of SF work.

She looked superb, the moonlight illuminating her hair through the open veranda. The champagne and the heady mix of music and fine fayre had made Jack light headed, and now this. It was too much. 'I love you Jack' whispered Natasha before letting her gown fall to the floor. She was naked. Jack's strong hands moved down from her shoulders to her firm breasts before letting them explore her silky buttocks. She turned around with a sigh and Jack kissed her neck before moving his hands down to her engorged and very erect penis.

'What the fu...?' Jack never finished the sentence. The transvestite fell to the floor as a stream of 9mm erupted from behind the curtains. Damn, he'd not checked. With almost animal-like instinct, Jack drew his concealed CZ75 pistol - the weapon of choice for CP work and immediately felled the shooter on the balcony with a well-placed double tap to the head. He ran across to the balcony only to see a car disappearing at speed up Whitehall - and the bloodied mass of slaughtered humanity that was once his highly-trained security team.


Clunge's most sexually explicit work to date, The Dying Game was nevertheless panned upon its release - in common with just about every other book he's published. Some critics argue that Clunge deliberately writes tripe. Whatever one's view, The Dying Game is a rip-roaring rollercoaster of cliches that has catapulted Clunge to the very top of his game, and the work is an international bestseller and has been Number 1 in Latvia since the presses started rolling.