Hellbent by Gregg Hurwitz

The stunning third Orphan X thriller from the No. 1 bestselling author.

To some he was Orphan X. Others knew him as the Nowhere Man. But to Jack Johns he was a boy named Evan Smoak. Taken from an orphanage, Evan was raised inside a top-secret government programme and trained to become a lethal weapon. By Jack. And yet for all the dangerous skill he instilled in his young charge, Jack Jones cared for Evan like a son.

But Jack knew too much about a programme that had gone rotten - he was a loose end that needed to be dealt with. But if you go after the only person who ever treated him like a human being, you can guarantee that the Nowhere Man will be coming for you. Hellbent on making things right . . .

With Hellbent, Gregg Hurwitz raises the bar again with a masterclass in hi-octane thriller writing.

Gregg Hurwitz

Formats & editions

Paperback

9781405928540

July 16, 2018

Michael Joseph

512 pages

RRP $19.99
Online retailers
Or

Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au
Hardback

9780718185466

March 15, 2018

Michael Joseph

400 pages

RRP $39.99
Online retailers
Or

Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au
Trade Paperback

9780718185473

January 29, 2018

Michael Joseph

416 pages

RRP $32.99
Online retailers
Or

Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au
Hellbent

Gregg Hurwitz

EBook

9781405928533

February 22, 2018

Penguin eBooks
Online retailers
Hellbent

Gregg Hurwitz

EBook

9781405936293

February 1, 2018

Penguin eBooks
Online retailers
Paperback

9781405929905

June 15, 2018

Michael Joseph

512 pages

RRP $16.99
Online retailers
Or

Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au

Extract

Evan’s scuffed knuckles, a fetching post-fight shade of eggplant, ledged the steering wheel. His nose was freshly broken, leaking a trickle of crimson. Nothing bad, more a shifting along old fault lines.

He inspected his nose in the rearview, then reached up and snapped it back into place.

The Cadillac’s alignment pulled to the right, threatening to dump him into the rain-filled roadside ditch. The seat springs poked into the backs of his thighs, and the fabric, dotted with cigarette scorch marks, reeked of menthol. The dome light housed a bare, burned-out bulb, the brake disks made a noise like an asphyxiating chicken, and the left rear brake light was out.

He should have stolen a better car.