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Ty Hutchinson

Good Bad Psycho

Good Bad Psycho

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 381+ 5-Star Reviews

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A monster is on the loose. And he has a sidekick.

Join Abby in her pursuit of justice in the heart-pounding Good Bad Psycho. The thrilling conclusion to the Fury trilogy.

Good Bad Psycho is book three in the trilogy and book twelve in the series.

"Knocked this trilogy out of the park." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ — Reader Review

Series: Abby Kane FBI Thriller #12


In the thrilling conclusion to the Fury trilogy, Agent Abby Kane is convinced the mysterious person known as the Monster is protecting his criminal app empire by unleashing a chilling killing spree.

Abby is forced to take the offensive to halt his reign of terror, which could put her family squarely in the crosshairs. To complicate matters, a person from her partner's past reemerges to stop her.

Can Abby put an end to the Monster's rampage? Can she safeguard her family from the looming threats?

Join Abby in her pursuit of justice in the heart-pounding Good Bad Psycho.

Read An Excerpt

“Wow, that made me vomit a little into my mouth.”


“Now I gotta wash that nastiness out.” A man with a pointy beard sat on the floor, back against the wall and legs splayed in front of him. He gulped the last of his sports drink before tossing the empty bottle toward a trash can. It hit the rim and bounced back toward him.

Another man with a spotty five-o’clock shadow sat on a ratty loveseat with his feet resting on a wooden coffee table. He rubbed his nose with his hand.

The two young men had been holed up in the studio apartment since 10:00 that morning. The afternoon sun seared through the bare windows, creating an oven effect that resulted in pit-stained T-shirts and body odor resembling roadkill. 

Empty plastic bottles, chip bags, and burger wrappers lay scattered across the floor. A twin bed was tucked into a corner of the room. There was also a small desk and chair. The desk held a laptop, a mouse, and a stack of unopened mail. A large conch shell was being used as a paperweight. Tacked to the walls were large pieces of poster paper covered with scribbled writing.

“Come on, man,” Pointy Beard Man said. “We’re supposed to fill an entire sheet with ideas every day we meet.” 

Spotty Shadow Guy threw his hands up. “Dude, I spit out a bunch of ideas earlier, but you kept dissing them.” 

“Because they don’t work.”

“Don’t work? They all work! You just don’t like them.”

“Maybe I’ve got a point.”

Spotty Shadow Guy cocked his head before shaking it. “Look, asshole, I don’t work for you. You’re lucky I’m even working with you.”

Pointy Beard Man jerked his head back. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m the one generating most of the ideas here. You’ve barely contributed. And I’ve got way more experience than you.”

“It’s not about quantity. It’s about quality.”

“What?” Spotty Shadow Guy raised his voice. “Are you saying my ideas are shit?”

“I’m saying they’re far-fetched.”

“They’re unique. I’m not trying to do what’s been done. If they seem far-fetched, it’s because I’m thinking outside the box with these ideas. I want to break down barriers. I’m being creative. Unlike you, with your pedestrian contributions.”

“I’m giving people what they want. People like familiar. It’s comfortable for them.”

“Hey, look, man, you can either strive for greatness or you can stick with the norm. And if you want the norm, then you’re just striving for average. Mediocre fanfare, results, and success—that’s what average gets you. I’m not about that.”

“You really think your ideas are all that?”

“Ideas,” Spotty Shadow Guy tapped his chest, “versus no ideas.” He pointed at Pointy Beard Man. “I think that says it all.”

“All crap ideas—that’s what you have. It’s laughable. I have to contain myself at times. I’ve never met someone so pathetic. You should just give up. You got lucky for a brief moment when you came out to Silicon Valley, but that time has passed. No one now will take a chance on you and your idiotic ideas.” Pointy Beard Man added big air quotes on the word “ideas” for effect.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not shutting up. You need to hear this shit. I’m speaking truth. You just never had anyone tell you this.”

“I said shut up.”

“Why? Am I hurting your feelings? Someone want to cry to their mommy?” Pointy Beard Man said in a baby voice. “Deal with it, man,” he said in his own voice again. 

“I’m warning you, man.” Spotty Shadow Guy sat forward. “You better shut it.”

“I’m just being real.” Pointy Beard Man shrugged. “You should think of another career because, this, what we’re trying to do here—you got no skin in it. Wasted effort is what it is for you.”

“Shut it.”

“I’m not shutting shit. I’m getting this crap off my chest right here and now. I’ll shut up when I’m done and not a—”

Spotty Shadow Guy exploded off the couch and across the room to the desk, where he grabbed the conch shell. 

“I told you to shut the hell up!” He slammed the conch shell into Pointy Beard Man’s head. Blood spattered onto his face. “But nooooo, you had to keep running your mouth.”

Again, he slammed the shell into the man’s head.

And again.

And again. 

The wall Pointy Beard Man had been sitting against grew redder with each strike. 

“Now who’s got ideas, huh?”

A chunk of the shell broke off and lodged in the man’s skull. Spotty Shadow Guy then focused his attack on the man’s face until it was a pulpy, red mess. The conch shell lost all signs of ever being white. 

Pointy Beard Man fell over to his side, unrecognizable. A growing circle of blood formed near the edges of what was left of his head.

Spotty Shadow Guy sat back on his heels, breathing fast and hard. He dropped the shell, and it hit the floor with a thunk

“I told you to shut up.”

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