Silver and Blood (Hahmood The Killer Book 2)

Blood Runs Deep in the Fight for Silver

What begins as a simple bodyguard job pulls Hahmood into a deadly game of power and deceit. A ruthless landowner will stop at nothing to seize control of valuable silver mines, even if it means turning the frontier into a war zone.

As tensions rise, Hahmood finds an unlikely ally in a lawman chasing a feared killer—but the trail is tangled, and the truth is murkier than it seems. Someone is trying to manipulate Hahmood, a grave mistake for anyone who underestimates a man like him. And as the bullets fly, something else threatens to unnerve him: the possibility of love, or maybe just another lie waiting to spring.

Gritty, fast-paced, and packed with twists, Silver and Blood is the gripping second entry in Stuart G. Yates’ Hahmood the Killer series.

Get your copy of Silver and Blood and ride straight into the heart of a brutal, unpredictable frontier.

Excerpt from the book

The Hanson ranch was a big, sprawling spread, but it was struggling. Times were moving on; the development of the railroad meant change—or progress, as some liked to call it—could not be halted. Developments hit Hanson where it hurt most – in his pocket. He persisted, however, in driving his herds across the prairies and selling them in the markets in Colorado. But this was proving increasingly difficult. Men were hard to come by. Good men who knew how to ride, manage a herd. Lol Freeman was one such man. He came asking for work some two months or so ago. Merv Heecher, the foreman, took one look at him and signed him up. A lean, wiry man, his gun holstered low on his hips, Freeman had the sort of mean, weathered face that other men shied away from. Not many wished to go up against Lol Freeman.

He soon proved his worth, roping cattle as if it was second nature. His ability to ride and help break in some of the stallions brought a broad grin of satisfaction to Merv Heecher’s face. He had ridden the range for over twenty-five years, and Freeman was proving to be one of the hardest-working and competent cowboys he’d seen. On Saturday nights, with money in his back pocket, Freeman rarely, if ever, went to town with the rest of the boys. Preferring to stay behind in his bunkhouse, some of the others viewed him with suspicion, believing him to be arrogant and too far beneath them to mix with everyone. When Tex Winter called him a ‘snobbish no-mark’, they went at it ferociously. Winter was big, knew how to land a punch, but Freeman dodged and weaved, countering each of the big cowboy’s blows with ones of his own, smearing blood over Winter’s face from the punch that broke his nose, decking him on the ground with a right cross that would have felled a prime bull. Not long after he recovered, Winter left the ranch without a word, tail firmly between his legs. After that, nobody dared say anything derogatory to the big, powerful Freeman.

He’d visited his old ma before he rode across to the ranch. She lived a little way outside the small town of Highridge, a place still served by a stagecoach. She seemed older than he remembered. Their last meeting was brief.

“I feel it in my bones,” she said, sitting up in bed, a shawl draped around her shoulders. Freeman knew Sarah Foresight came visiting three or four times a week, and he made a mental note to go and see her, ask how his ma truly was. He worried about her constantly, always had ever since he first left home and fell into bad company up in Missouri. That was years ago, but some of the things he got up to came back to haunt him in the dead of night more than once.