Today I am delighted to welcome Florida based Lee Davis Jr. to Swirl and Thread. Lee has just published his novel Oath of the Osprey (June 22nd) which is available on Amazon in Kindle, paperback, and hardcover editions.
‘Oath of the Osprey follows Douglas Cooper, a cultural anthropologist with an unusually precise mind, after his brother is murdered while investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl named Joon. What begins as a desperate search pulls Doug and his unlikely allies into conflict with a hidden network that treats human lives as inventory and mistakes as loose ends.‘
Today Lee is sharing an extract with us all, so I do you hope you enjoy!
[ About Oath of the Osprey ]
A stolen child. A murdered brother. One oath left to keep.
Douglas Cooper was never meant to be a hero.
He is a University of Florida anthropology professor with an unusually precise mind, a carefully ordered life, and a deep fear of losing control. But when his brother David is murdered while investigating the disappearance of a thirteen-year-old girl, Doug is pulled into a world he was never prepared to face.
Joon was not taken at random. She was handpicked, shadowed, and stolen to fulfill a stranger’s order.
As Doug follows the trail David left behind, he uncovers a trafficking network that treats human lives as inventory and children as commodities. He is not a detective, a soldier, or a man looking for a fight. But he made an oath long ago, and keeping it may be the only way to save her.
What begins as one man’s desperate search becomes something larger: a story of grief and loyalty, unlikely friendships, second chances, and ordinary people discovering what they are capable of when someone they love needs them.
Oath of the Osprey is a character-driven crime thriller with heart, blending suspense and danger with raw emotion, gallows humor, sharp sarcasm, and the fierce bonds of found family. The stakes are brutal, the characters are human, and even in the darkest moments, they still find reasons to laugh.
[ Extract ]
Chapter 30 Excerpt / Extract
The sharp stench of bleach and ammonia bit Doug’s nose, dragging him toward the surface. Darkness clung to him, but it was fraying, torn by sound and smell and the faint pulse of music leaking through the walls.
He was eight years old, smoke stinging his eyes as he and David crouched by the fire pit at the lake. A marshmallow blistered at the tip of his stick, flames licking it until it caught and turned black. David laughed, tried to blow it out, and the two of them collapsed into the pine needles, sticky fingers, faces lit orange by firelight.
The present surged back, cold concrete against his spine, iron pressing into his shoulder blades. He shivered, body aching, then slipped again into another scene from his memory.
The canoe. He was ten, water closing over him, lungs locked, panic clawing. David’s hand, strong and sure, seized his shirt and hauled him up. Air flooded his chest again, his brother’s voice steady in his ear: I’ve got you, little brother. Always.
A drip echoed somewhere nearby. His head throbbed in time with it. Boots shuffled.
He knew he had to wake, but the past tugged up one last memory from the depths: Papi Gene at the edge of the lake, handing David the .22, showing him how to steady his aim. Above them, an Osprey wheeled against the sky, wings spread wide before folding into a perfect dive. The splash, the kill, water exploding around it. Predatory grace, etched forever into Doug’s mind.
The Osprey faded, replaced by voices, Russian and low. His skull throbbed with pain, nausea rising. Doug clung to the darkness, almost grateful for it, as it still carried his brother’s voice.
The voices sharpened, but his throbbing skull still couldn’t shape them into words. A wave of sickness rolled through him, and the floor seemed to tilt, but a quiet voice inside told him to stay still. Stay silent.
Boots shuffled close. Behind his eyelids, the darkness flickered red, then bright, then black again as someone swept a light across his face.
A female voice spoke Russian. “We get to kill them, right?” The relentless drip echoed somewhere to his left.
I know that voice. Elevator girl. Katherine.
A faint trace of coconut and vanilla, the steady, even rhythm of breath beside him.
V.
Relief washed over him.
She’s alive.
Pain sliced into his wrists, the plastic bands biting deep, sharpening his focus. Pain had always done that for him. It narrowed the world. Gave his mind an edge. The same way he crafted his best lectures while enduring the sting of a tattoo machine.
More voices. Russian again. Crisp, unsoftened vowels. Blunt. No wasted syllables.
Siberian. Bratsk or Krasnoyarsk, most likely.
“Shut it, Nat. We wait for Dima.”
He caught the snap of a lighter, followed by the acrid scent of cigarettes. A long exhale.
“Come on, Nikky. Let me have a little fun before the boss calls and spoils the party.”
“We can’t stay here all night.” A new voice, deep, husky, and unmistakably American. “The janitor clocks in at eleven. Whatever you’re going to do, get it over with.”
Assessment. Maintenance room. Adjacent to the nightclub. Nikky and Nat. Nikolai and Natalia, most likely. The pair from Home Depot. The fuckers who took Joon. One unknown American. Has to be the bouncer. V is still out, but alive.
I’m zip-tied to iron pipes, about six inches in diameter, running floor to ceiling. That explains the thrumming.
Where the fuck is my shirt?
His body trembled in the frigid, damp air.
He began working on the zip ties.
Thank you, Manhacks.
They’re waiting on a call from the boss. The blond giant from the funeral. His name must be Dima.
He peeled his eyes open, just a slit.
Mistake.
The room tilted. Nausea surged, bile burning at the back of his throat. The coughing and gagging surprised even him. Boots scraped concrete as his captors closed in.
He forced his eyes open again, slower this time, fighting the urge to vomit.
Do I have a concussion?
The girl, Natalia, knelt in front of him. Polished platform boots. Sheer stockings. A scarlet miniskirt hitched high on her thighs.
She slapped his face.
“Hey, sexy professor,” she said. “Wake the fuck up.”
[ Bio ]
I’m Lee Davis Jr., a Florida author and lifelong storyteller.
I wasn’t formally trained as a writer, and I didn’t grow up imagining I would someday become an author. I’ve simply always loved stories. I love hearing them, reading them, watching them on screen, and disappearing down research rabbit holes that may or may not eventually make it onto a page.
I was born and raised in Florida and now call New Smyrna Beach home. My family and friends are the center of my world. My amazing wife, D’Yan, and I have five adult children, three grandchildren, and a Bernedoodle puppy, Bodhi, who would probably object to being listed last.
We try to navigate life with kindness, curiosity, and a love for adventure. We travel whenever time allows, spend as much time near the ocean as we can, and have a bucket list of places around the world that seems to get longer rather than shorter.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to stories about people and the unexpected places life takes them.
I love characters who are funny, flawed, loyal, brave, inappropriate at exactly the wrong time, and human enough to make terrible choices for understandable reasons. I like stories where danger reveals character, humor becomes a survival tool, and the people who show up for each other become every bit as important as the plot.
My fiction explores ordinary people under extraordinary pressure. I’m fascinated by the moments when fear, love, grief, loyalty, and instinct collide, and when someone discovers what they’re capable of, whether they wanted to know or not.
I write thrillers with emotional stakes, cinematic tension, sharp humor, and characters who carry their scars into the fight.
Website ~ https://leedavisjr.com/
Instagram ~ @lee.davis.jr
