Welcome to TRB Lounge. Today, Iโd like to welcome author L.J. Sellers who’ll be sharing an excerpt from her latest release AfterStrike.
About the Book

AfterStrike
What if, without warning, you had to run for your life and leave everything behind?
Remi Bartell faces that terrifying moment and takes only the dog who saved her.
But as she starts her new life, lightning strikes! Remi briefly loses her memory and makes one small mistakeโthat costs her everything. The crime-family patriarch sheโs hiding from kidnaps her and plunges her into a revenge nightmare. The psychological trauma cracks open buried memories from her old life that will either save her or destroy her.
AfterStrike blends fast-paced action with psychological suspense and unexpected romance, then ends with an explosive twist.
You can find AfterStrike here:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Apple Books
Excerpt
Chapter 1
The Turbulent Present
Abandoned and alone
Sept. 7, Wilsonville, OR
Remi opened her eyes, her fists clenched. โItโs still not coming back.โ
Her counselor sighed.โIโm sorry. Thatโs the only method I know for recalling memories. I think itโs time to see a specialist, someone who can help you in a more neurologic way.โ The womanโs robust voice didnโt match her thin, aging body.
โYouโre dumping me?โ Another unexpected blow. Remi had found Joanneโs name in her phone contacts and assumed they had a history. Even though this musty, low-rent office didnโt give off a professional vibe, sheโd counted on this woman to help get her life back.
โPlease donโt see it that way.โ Joanne scooted forward, her eyes troubled. โThis situation is complex for me. During our earlier sessions, before the incident, you told me things about your past, about your guilt. Now that you canโt remember any of that, it would be unethical and probably counterproductive for me to remind you. So I shouldnโt see you until youโve recovered.โ The counselor reached for a notepad. โIโll refer you to a neuropsychologist in Portland.โ
Remi shook her head. โI canโt start over. Itโs all been too much.โ Sheโd had a sliver of hope when sheโd walked in, but now she felt abandoned and alone. That would be the tagline on her gravestone.
โIโm still available by phone if you have destructive impulses and need to talk.โ Joanne held out the referral note.
Remi let out a harsh laugh. Destructive impulses would be her footnote. โIโll be fine. Thanks though.โ
She bolted from the office, knowing she would never be back. Coming here the first time a year ago had felt like cracking open her own chest. She remembered the pain of that first session if not the details. Then two months earlierโjust as she was able to get through a day without hating herselfโsheโd suffered the strike and woken up with unbearable pain and no memory. Pieces of her recent life in this town had come back, but the rest of her past was still a total blank.
What was the point of seeing yet another specialist? So they could tell her she was physically fine and to just be patient? The doctor whoโd treated her in the ER kept saying that, and his indifference, especially to her physical distress, infuriated her. Remi reached for her phone to delete the counselorโs contact, but sheโd left the cell in her car.
At the bottom of the exterior stairs, she swore. Not only was it drizzlingโsignaling summerโs coming endโsome jackass had parked his crappy van too close to her Mazda. Now she would have to squeeze her wide hips in sideways like a contortionist. She shuffled across the secluded back lot, wincing at the literal pain in her ass and wishing sheโd dressed warmer. As she grabbed the driverโs side handle, a flash of panic. Where was Tuck?
Behind her, the vanโs sliding door clanged open. Instinctual fear made her spin around to run, but she was too slow. A powerful hand pressed a vile rag against her mouth and a massive arm wrapped around her rib cage. With a quick lift, the man heaved her like a sack of cement. From inside the van, someone grabbed her armpits and pulled her into the dark space.
โMotherfuโโ She couldnโt form the rest of the word. Her tongue wouldnโt work and her brain felt woozy. Yet before she blacked out, a vague thought came together. Whoever sheโd been hiding from had finally found her.
Chapter 2
The Recent Past
Did you call me Remi?
July 3, two months earlier
Thunder boomed in the dark sky and Remi tensed. A storm hadnโt been in the forecast, so the sky-shaking noise caught her off guard. Every fiber in her body wanted to bolt for the building, but she had to round up the kids first. She ran toward the girls on the swing set. โGo inside!โ She pointed at the back door. โNow!โ
Remi pivoted toward the boys playing basketball and repeated her frantic message. Three of the kids went wide-eyed and followed the girls, but Trevor, a hyper five-year old, took another run at the low hoop. Panic made her heart pound in her ears. โI said now!โ
The boy turned, shocked at her tone, but instead of running toward the daycare, he burst into tears and bolted to the corner of the fenced-in play area.
Shit. She didnโt have time for this.
The sky flashed, a light so bright it hurt her eyes.
โGet inside!โ Remi dashed toward him, but he dodged her. Cursing loudly, she gave chase, catching him as he rounded the big metal slide. She scooped him up and tried to run, but he was heavy and kicked at her knees. Thunder boomed again, and her lungs fought for air against her tight chest. Almost there. As she reached the patio, the boy squirmed out of her arms and scurried in the door ahead of her.
A moment later, the air sizzled and a bolt of lightning knocked her to the ground. The pain was so intense Remi blacked out before her face hit the concrete.
She woke to the sound of concerned voices, a man and a woman talking softly nearby. Her eyes fought to stay closed like they did sometimes on sleepy mornings, but she managed to force a word out of her parched mouth. โWater.โ Why did she hurt everywhere?
One voice came closer. โRemi, can you hear me? I see you blinking.โ
Who was Remi? โWater.โ She forced her eyes open.
The man, who seemed young and dressed in white, was rather blurry as he leaned in and offered a straw. The cool liquid soothed her mouth, and the room came into focus: a small exam space in the back of an ER.
โWhy am I here?โ Dread filled her chest as she realized she couldnโt remember what had happened.
โYou were hit by lightning at the daycare.โ
What? Confused, she sat up and peeked under the sheet. Her body had nice breasts that were starting to sag and a layer of pudge on her belly. How could she not remember this? Panic rolled in like a tidal surge, threatening to drown her.
โYou should lay back and rest.โ The man pressed a lever to raise the top of the wheeled bed. โIโm Dr. Azul Sanjay.โ
โDid you call me Remi?โ
A flash of concern. โYour work badge says Remi Bartel.โ
She gulped for breath. โI canโt remember anything.โ
โWeโll get you a CT scan and see whatโs happening.โ The doctor sounded calm, but his eyes were uncertain. โYour memory loss is likely temporary.โ An uncomfortable pause. โIโve never treated a high-voltage shock patient, but my understanding is that the effects are short-term.โ
โGood to hear. Because I need to get home.โ Remi didnโt know why, but the feeling was urgent. โHow long have I been here?โ
โTwo hours or so.โ
Remi glanced at the wall clock: 3:45. About the time she usually got home from work. The thought floated in and out, untethered to specific details. Still, it offered hope her memory would return.
Dr. Sanjay shifted. โYou donโt seem to have any injuries except for the burns where the lightning entered and exited your body. As soon as you feel ready, we can release you.โ
Remi touched the white bandage taped to her right shoulder socket. Where was the other burn? She started to ask, then realized she knew. The searing pain in her left butt cheek now made sense. โHave you given me any pain medication?โ
โNo. I wanted to see how you felt first.โ
โLike Iโve been dunked in a deep fryer with a vice-clamp around my head, then branded on the ass.โ She tried to smile. โSo put some of the good stuff in my IV, please.โ
The doctor looked surprised. โOn a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain you can imagine, whatโs your level?โ
โI thought I just told you, but Iโll say eight or nine, just to be clear.โ
A long moment of silence. โOkay. Weโll get some anti-inflammatory in your line, and Iโll write you a script for ten Percocet with no refills.โ
โThanks. Iโd like to leave soon.โ And go where? Remi tried to visualize her home. A small brown cottage came to mind. No. That was her childhood home. โWhere are we, by the way?โ
โWilsonville.โ
It meant nothing to her. โCan you be more specific?โ
โItโs a small town south of Portland, Oregon.โ
The west coast seemed familiar and correct. Time to get out there and see it. Maybe the visual images would trigger actual memories. โWhereโs my purse? With my driverโs license?โ
โItโs likely still at the daycare. Weโll call them. Anyone else we should contact? A spouse? Family?โ
Remi couldnโt think of a single person she might know. โAfter the CT scan, will you call an Uber for me?โ Being alone with the pain and memory loss rather terrified her, but lying in this windowless room not knowing anything felt like a layer of hell Dante hadnโt experienced.
Chapter 3
The Recent Past
Her life had once been more vibrant
A few hours later
Remi walked into KinderCare, blinking at the bright colors. If she worked here, she must like kids, but she didnโt remember this place. Or anything else. Her CT scan hadnโt shown an injury to her skull or brain, but her mind seemed to be lost in a thick fog. The sensation was bizarre and embarrassing and she wanted to get this interaction over quickly. Her headache had eased, but so had the effect of the anti-inflammatory, and her burns hurt with every movement.
โRemi!โ The stout woman behind the counter desk beamed. โIโm so glad youโre okay. Weโve all been worried sick.โ
Remi tried to be pleasant. โThanks.โ She glanced at the receptionistโs badge. โCheri.โ
โYouโre wearing hospital scrubs. Are you sureโ?โ
โIโm fine. My clothes were burned and they cut them off me.โ
โOh right.โ Cheri stood. โLet me get the rest of the staff. Theyโll want toโโ
โNo. Please. Iโm not up for it. I just need my purse.โ
โOf course.โ Cheri reached under the counter and held out a brown canvas shoulder bag.
Remi took it, dug around for a wallet, then stared at her driverโs license. The woman in the photo looked vaguely familiar: thirty-five or so with ash-blonde hair, hazel eyes, and round cheeks. Kinda pretty, but not really. The name read: Remi Lynn Bartel. She noted the date of birth and realized she was only thirty-one. She looked up at Cheri. โMy memory is fuzzy. Do I have a car here?โ
The receptionist frowned. โThe green Mazda.โ
โThanks. I need to go.โ
โAre you sure you should be alone?โ
โIโm not sure of anything, except that I need to get home.โ Remi also remembered the address on her license after glancing at it only briefly. That struck her as odd.
From an interior door, a young boy burst into the lobby. โRemi!โ He threw his arms around her legs. โIโm so sorry you were hurt.โ
Startled by his affection and concern, Remi patted his head. โThanks. I think Iโll be okay.โ She felt bad about not remembering his name.
He looked up. โJason told me you were dead.โ
Remi chuckled and stepped back. โDo I look like a zombie?โ She forced a smile. โI was just asleep for a while. Now I have to go home and rest.โ
โYouโll be back tomorrow?โ
โMaybe not โtil next week. Bye for now.โ She hurried out before anyone else confronted her.
In the car, which was impressively clean, she gave Google Maps her address and let its naggingvoice guide her. As she drove through Wilsonville, the sign for Boonsferry Landing amused her, and directions to Coffee Lake made her smile. Had she grown up in this funky little town or purposely moved here? When the Nag told her sheโd arrived, Remi stopped at the end of a short side street and stared at the two-story farmhouse. This wasnโt it. She noticed two mailboxes, then realized the driveway went past the house to another dwelling in back. Remi eased down the cracked, narrow concrete, spotted a cute cottage, and felt a little less intimidated. On the porch, a planter bloomed with purple petunias. Had she planted them? She stepped up to the door and panic hit her. What if she had a roommate or boyfriend inside? Would she even know their name?
Remi unlocked the door with the other key on her set and stepped inside. The air smelled of fried onions, a strangely comforting scent. Something banged in the back of the house, startling her. Rapid clicking sounds, then a little white dog with a brown face burst across the room. He leapt into her arms, wiggling and kissing her face.
โTuck!โ
Love surged in her heart, overwhelming her to the point of tears. She wasnโt alone. This little guy was her lifeโand remembering his name delighted her. She squeezed him tight, then sat on the bench by the door, letting him jump and rub all over her until he settled down. By then, pain screamed at her to get up, and she took one of the Percocets sheโd picked up at the hospital pharmacy. She needed to put something in her stomach soon, or the oxy might make her nauseous, but she wanted to explore the house first.
The tour took all of three minutes, with Tuck padding along. In addition to the boxy living room and galley kitchen, she had two small bedrooms, a hall bath with outdated fixtures, and a closet-sized laundry room with a dog door leading outside. The main bedroom was tidy and simple, the only color a mint-green blanket, the only decoration a vase with dried flowers on the dresser. The simplicity suited her, yet also made her sad, as though her life had once been more vibrant.
โNot much to look at, huh, Tuck?โ
He wagged his tail, and they wandered back down the hall. The spare room contained a narrow desk with a laptop, a dust-covered stationary bike, and a stack of empty retail boxes. Theyโd once contained a flat-screen TV, an electric can opener, and sets of plates, bowls, and glasses. Sheโd either recently purchased these things, or she never threw away boxes.
A memory tickled her subconscious, like the way her nose itched before a sneeze. Exhausted, Remi headed back to the kitchen. She needed to eat, take some aspirin, and rest for a while.
Halfway through a bowl of canned chili, with Tuck eating his share nearby, an image surfaced. She was stepping out of her car at a park, where sheโd looked around and liked what she sawโa quaint, lush-green town where she could feel safe. Her backseat had some luggage, a blanket, and a bag of dog food. Tuck, of course, was at her side.
When had she moved to this place? By the look of the house, particularly the retail boxes, maybe only a few months ago. Yet she knew it had been longer, and sheโd come here for a reason. Someone to be close to? No. Fear squeezed her heart. Someone to get away from. . . in yet another life she couldnโt remember.
About The Author

L.J. Sellers
L.J. Sellers writes the bestselling Detective Jackson mysteriesโa four-time winner of the Readers Favorite Awards. She also pens the high-octane Agent Dallas series, the Extractors series, and provocative standalone thrillers. The Gender Experiment also won a Readersโ Favorite Award, and her newest release, AfterStrike, is getting the best reviews of her career.
L.J. resides in Eugene, Oregon where many of her 30 novels are set. When not plotting murders, she enjoys standup comedy, cycling, and zip-lining. And much like her Extractor character, she once rescued her grandchildren from a dangerous cult in Costa Rica
You can find author Sellers here:
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