Want it by Wednesday, October 24?
Order by 12:00 PM Eastern and choose Expedited Shipping at checkout.
Same Day shipping in Manhattan. See Details
In order to save her mother, a teen is forced to become an indentured assassin in this sizzling “movie ready” (Kirkus Reviews) dystopian thriller.
No one reads the fine print.
The good news is that the USA is finally out of debt. The bad news is that it was bought out by Valor National Bank, and debtors are the new big game, thanks to a tricky little clause hidden deep in the fine print of a credit card application. Now, after a swift and silent takeover that leaves 9-1-1 calls going through to Valor voicemail, they’re unleashing a wave of anarchy across the country.
Patsy didn’t have much of a choice. When the suits showed up at her house threatening to kill her mother then and there for outstanding debt unless Patsy agreed to be an indentured assassin, what was she supposed to do? Let her own mother die?
Patsy is forced to take on a five-day mission to complete a hit list of ten names. Each name on Patsy’s list has only three choices: pay the debt on the spot, agree to work as a bounty hunter, or die. And Patsy has to kill them personally, or else her mom takes a bullet of her own. Since yarn bombing is the only anarchy in Patsy’s past, she’s horrified and overwhelmed, especially as she realizes that most of the ten people on her list aren’t strangers. Things get even more complicated when a moment of mercy lands her with a sidekick: a hot rich kid named Wyatt whose brother is the last name on Patsy’s list. The two share an intense chemistry even as every tick of the clock draws them closer to an impossible choice.
An absorbing, frightening glimpse at a reality that is eerily just steps away from ours—Hit is a taut, suspenseful thriller that absolutely mesmerizes from start to finish.
About the Author
Delilah S. Dawson is the author of Hit, Servants of the Storm, Strike, the Blud series, Star Wars novels and short stories, a variety of short stories, comics, and essays, and the Shadow series as Lila Bowen. She lives in Georgia with her family and a fat mutt named Merle. Find her online at WhimsyDark.com.
Read an Excerpt
The carefully folded strip of paper in my lucky locket reads I want to survive the next five days. I kiss it and tuck it under the tight neck of my long-sleeved black tee with the solemn reverence my mom would give her rosary. Or, in the last six months, her Vicodin.
I sit on the cramped cot in the back of a refurbished mail truck, surrounded by band posters and crocheted afghans and half-finished knitting projects, trying to pull myself together. I can’t stop shaking. At first, the truck smelled like welded metal and fresh paint. I stuck prints from my bedroom at home on the walls, draped my favorite quilt on the cot, and arranged my vintage pillows with a few stuffed turtles from my collection. I even tried hanging up some embroidery hoops, but they kept falling down. For a couple hours, I pretended that it was a dorm room or my first apartment, the freedom and comfort I’ve always craved. But the illusion didn’t last. Now, with fast-food bags crumpled up under the cot and a digital clock ticking down the minutes to failure, it reeks of hot garbage and desperation. It’s one step away from being in prison. Or worse.
I’m already running out of time on my first assignment, with only thirty minutes left before the twelve-hour limit. I’ve been sitting here in my truck, waiting for . . . I don’t know what. For my feelings to coalesce, for some sort of determination to set in. But it never has. I just feel empty and thin and shaky, as flimsy as the fast-food salad I could barely choke down for lunch. I knew I should have gone for fries. Fries would have given me strength.
I swallow again, fighting to force down the lump of fear in my throat. I’ve got a job to do, and not the one at the pizza place where I’ve worked since my fourteenth birthday, slinging pies with my friends Jeremy and Roy to help pay the bills. No, this job is far more disgusting. And dangerous. And I can’t just quit.
“Shit,” I mutter, the word echoing off the metal. A few minutes ago, the digital clock set into the dashboard started blinking, which is a noxious reminder to hurry. They’ve given me twelve hours each to complete ten deliveries, so five days to finish out my “shift,” as they called it. But I supposedly get a bonus if I finish early, and I really need that money. And I need to finish. So I need to get started.
I squeeze back into the driver’s seat, which is on the wrong side, and pull the US Postal Service hat down over my hair. Dark, wavy chunks straggle out underneath, and I wish it were long enough for a decent ponytail. This hat is required, and it’s possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever worn—and that’s saying a lot, because I have a closet at home full of sweaters straight out of the eighties. At the last possible moment, I button the scratchy new Postal Service shirt over my long-sleeved tee. It’s stiff and itchy, and I can’t wait to take it off again. Just wearing the thing makes my skin crawl. Looking down, I make sure the top button is buttoned correctly, not blocked in any way, and I slide the small signature machine snugly into the front pocket.
The package I’m supposed to deliver is riding shotgun, and I can’t stop staring at the printed card that goes with it. I’ve been reading and rereading it all day, but it barely makes sense and my brain is full of snow like a broken TV and I know I won’t be able to remember it. And it has to be done perfectly, word for word.
I’ll be lucky if I can remember how to read.
I shove the key in the mail truck’s ignition and turn it, and the engine sputters to life. I drive around the corner to the house I’ve been watching all day and put the truck in park, leaving it running as I step onto the uneven sidewalk. With shaking hands, I lean in and pick up the fruit basket, the plastic crinkling against my fingers and short but wild nails. I painted them alternately bloodred and bright green with dollar signs just last night. It’s not like I could sleep, anyway, what with the unusually large mail truck parked in an abandoned lot and me having a complete breakdown. The nails look a little Christmassy, but it’s really my own personal protest against what I have to do. I’m still me—even if they’re making me do something very, very bad.
I walk up between dried-out, overgrown bushes, holding the basket like a shield. This neighborhood used to be really impressive. We pass it all the time on the way to the store. The Preserve, it’s called, like rich people are just milling around in a beautiful, protected oasis, dumb and magnificent as wild animals. I remember wondering how someone could ever earn enough money to have one of these gigantic, brick castles with a filled four-car garage. Now I understand that they couldn’t. Which is why I’m here in the first place.
The yard is yellow and dry, half overtaken with clover killed by the first frost just a few nights ago. A small tree has fallen over, surrounded by earth gone cracked and hard without constant watering from the sprinkler system, but no one has done anything about it. I trip on an old garden hose and drop the fruit basket to catch myself painfully on my hands. If it were a real gift basket, I would be scrambling to pick up bruised pears and broken apple jelly jars. As it is, the entire thing is still in one piece, the plastic fruit glued firmly together and the foam now dented. The signature machine is still in my front pocket, and I wonder how much abuse it was designed to take. A lot, probably.
For just a moment, I stay on the ground, feeling the burn of cold concrete under my stinging palms, trying to breathe. I want nothing more than to run back to the truck, to run home, to cry, to scream, but I can’t, so I stand and brush myself off. When I pick up the basket, carefully, as if it mattered, I turn it around so the dented part doesn’t show.
There are two steps up to the house, steps that aren’t even really necessary. The paint on the door is peeling, the doorbell dangling by wires. I seriously hope this guy is home. Robert Beard, the list says. With a deep breath, I step up to the door and knock. A cold trickle of fear drips down my spine, and I shift from foot to foot in mismatched sneakers, wishing this was just a bad dream and hoping I don’t lose my salad.
For a while, nothing happens. I start to worry. What if he’s not here? What if he’s already moved on? What if he’s at work? And for just a second, relief floods me as I imagine skipping back to the truck and driving away to get a milk shake and some fries. But the relief is a silly dream, not real, because that would just make my job harder, if he wasn’t here. It wouldn’t get me off the hook. It would keep me here longer, like a writhing worm stuck right through the heart. If worms even have hearts, which I can’t remember. And I don’t want to find out what happens the moment that blinking clock in the car stops counting down.
The curtain to the side of the door twitches to reveal the flash of reading glasses and squinting eyeballs. I smile and hold up the gift basket. Guess what? It’s a package for you, Mr. Beard! He smiles back like a dog slurping over a steak and nods, and the door unlocks and swings open. The hot air inside hits me like a wall. He’s still got enough cash to cover electricity, then. At my much smaller house, we just put on more clothes and live without heat until the pipes are about to freeze, but this dude is living in his own tropical paradise to escape the sharp chill of November, which isn’t sharp at all in Candlewood, Georgia.
The man inside is big and disheveled. What once must have been a nice body has migrated to an old dude pregnancy. He looks like he hasn’t left the house in weeks, with patchy stubble and dark blond hair that’s too long for a rich guy. But his robe is the fluffy white kind you get at fancy hotels, and one of his teeth winks gold when he smiles. And something about him is eerily familiar, but I don’t know why.
“Robert Beard?” I ask, voice squeaking.
“That’s me,” he says.
He holds out his hands, and I give him the signing machine. Without reading the message, without pausing for even a single heartbeat, he signs it, sealing his fate for the second time. I don’t realize until he hands it back that I was holding my breath. Exhaling a tiny cloud of fog, I look down to make sure the digital stylus worked.
His signature is big and bold with a line underneath it. Bob Beard.
And that’s when it clicks.
This was the Vice President Bob Beard who fired my mom from her nicer office job downtown. She cried for days and never got over the fact that if she’d been prettier, younger, more put together, he might have let her stay. Behind his closed office door, he told her that being a personal assistant was a job for an optimistic young woman with up-to-date skills, a winning attitude, and a fresh-faced appeal. A go-getter.
And my mom knew exactly what that meant, so she boxed up her mementos with what was left of her pride and walked out before she was forced to train her big-boobed twenty-year-old replacement. We started looking for new jobs that afternoon and ate nothing but peanut butter sandwiches to make her two weeks of severance pay last as long as possible. Her next job was a step down in every way, with insurance so bad that my mom’s had a broken tooth for two years but won’t get it fixed. She winces when she drinks ice water now. Since her car accident, we’ve switched to even cheaper peanut butter.
All thanks to Bob Beard.
I press the accept button harder than necessary and nestle the signature machine in my pocket. My pulse speeds up as I angle my body toward him. I’ve hated this guy for years. He holds out his hands for the basket, a little closer, a little more insistent. Bob’s not used to waiting for anything.
“Well?” he says when I don’t shove the goodies at him and run. I shift the basket to my hip, holding it one-handed so I can read from the card. And so he’s directly in front of me.
“Robert Beard,” I start, my voice low and angry, all squeak long gone. “You owe Valor Savings Bank the exact sum of $643,762.80. Can you pay this sum in full?”
His eyebrows go up, and he snorts like a bull.
“Of course not,” he says, confused and angry, like I’m not supposed to know the true depth of his failure as a responsible human being. Like it’s my fault. He licks his lips and pulls the sleeve of his robe down over the shiny gold watch on his wrist. “Are you with a collections agency?”
I clear my throat and take a step back as I read from the card, just a little too fast.
“By Valor Congressional Order number 7B, your account is past due and hereby declared in default. Due to your failure to remit all owed monies and per your signature just witnessed and accepted, you are given two choices. You may either sign your loyalty over to Valor Savings as an indentured collections agent for a period of five days or forfeit your life. Please choose.”
I look down at the card, wishing there were more for me to say, more than all the tiny-print legal crap on back, the language so thick and official I can’t begin to understand it. It’s so confusing, really. They probably did it that way on purpose. I push the basket up against my chest, right over the top button of my shirt and, underneath that, my lucky locket.
“It’s pretty simple, Bob,” I whisper. “You either agree to work for them as a bounty hunter or I have to kill you.”
“What? Who the hell do you think you are, kid? You can’t just walk up to my door and read shit at me and threaten me in my own home! What about charge-offs? What about declaring bankruptcy? That’s how it’s done. There’s a system. Valor isn’t God. This is America, for Chrissakes.”
I sigh. There’s no helping this guy. He sure didn’t help himself. When you look back at the chain of events that brought me here, he’s one of the biggest dominoes that fell. If he’d let my mom keep her job, if he hadn’t been so goddamn greedy, if he’d paid back his debts, I wouldn’t be standing on his doorstep at all. I move the basket back to my side, let that top button get a good look at his snarl, at his gold tooth, at his I’m-a-wealthy-white-guy-so-I’m-protected-from-everything rage.
“Robert Beard, you have two choices.”
“I’m going to take that as a no,” I say.
“Great. It’s a no. Can I have my goddamn basket now?”
I take a deep breath and reach behind me, to the waistband of my jeans. I pull out the Valor-issued 9mm Glock and point it at his chest. We’re so close that I can’t even extend my arm all the way. My hand is shaking like crazy, and the gun feels like it weighs a million pounds, and my fingers are numb and slippery. Bob Beard’s hands shoot up, his body going tense.
“Wait, kid. Let’s talk about this. I might have some cash. . . .” He wiggles his arm, and his sleeve falls down, showing his watch.
My vision goes weird, like I’m looking down a long tunnel, and at the end is this guy I’ve never met but have hated for years, and for just a second, I can see the tiny red veins in his nose lined up in the pistol’s dead-black sights. I lower the gun, close my eyes, say a prayer to whoever is listening, and completely fail to pull the trigger.
A soft beep starts up from the truck, the siren getting louder and louder, like an alarm clock that hasn’t reached full volume yet. How much time do I have? A minute? Less?
I swallow hard and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Eyes still closed, I pull the trigger and shoot Bob Beard right in the chest.
The gun barely recoils, and I take a few steps back. God, it happened so fast. And it’s so unreal. And he still doesn’t understand. He gurgles and clutches the door frame before sliding to the ground, one hand to his heart like he’s about to say the Pledge of Allegiance. I lean over him, angling the top button of my shirt, the glossy black one, so that it’s right over the bloodstain blooming on the front of his fluffy white robe. I wait until he stops breathing. I want to make sure they know.
With trembling fingers, I place the printed card from Valor on his chest for his next of kin. Not that the explanation is going to help much unless one of them is a lawyer. Maxwell Beard has the same address and is tenth on my list, and I’m guessing it must be his son. For just a second, I consider stepping over Robert Beard’s body and going inside to find Maxwell and get that bonus. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up, and I don’t want to do it in a dead man’s house. Seconds have passed, but it feels like forever.
I leave Bob lying there, his door wide open, and jog back to my truck with the basket under my arm and the warm gun in my hand, finger firmly off the trigger. My feet are numb, my heart trying to pound out of my chest. I feel cold all over, cold and empty, except that there’s something warm all over my face, and I know I’m crying, but I don’t have a free hand to wipe away the tears. The lump in my throat is about to come up, a writhing ball of lettuce and fat-free ranch. Killing a person—it was both a million times easier and a million times harder than I’d thought it would be. And because it was him, because it was Bob Beard, God help me, it almost felt good. And that scares me.
Today is the first day of government-sanctioned assassination, and the faster I can get through my list of ten debtors, the better my chances of catching them like this, unaware. I can only hope that they’ll all be this uncomplicated—one person, alone, at home, confused, with no warning or rumors. It will be so much easier if they haven’t heard mysterious gunshots all day or found some accidental slipup on the Internet. The guy from Valor Savings said they would prevent that, but we all know that the Internet was made for conspiracy theories, even ones that are eerily true.
I slow to a walk to stick the gun in the back of my jeans and unbutton the Postal Service shirt with one hand. God, it’s just the itchiest, scratchiest, we-don’t-give-a-shit-about-your-comfort-est piece of clothing imaginable, even with a tee underneath. Plus, since I know that the camera in the top button never turns off, I’ll just feel better when it’s wadded up in a ball on the floor under the seat. I’ve still got my pride, and I don’t want them to see me puke, whoever they are.
“Dad? Dad!” someone shouts behind me.
I don’t turn around. I walk faster.
“You! What did you do?”
I break into a run and sling the basket and shirt into the passenger seat as strong hands yank me down, flailing, from the open sliding door of my still-running truck. The guy spins me around and holds the front of my T-shirt bunched in one fist, shoving me against the truck hard enough to make it rock, hard enough to hurt. Rage sings through me, and I don’t need to throw up anymore. I need to fight.
“What did you just do?” he yells, slamming me against the truck again.
I gulp down my anger and grab his wrist with my left hand, struggling to put some room between my body and the cold metal of the truck. Reaching behind my back for the gun, I whip it around and put it to the side of his chest, tight, so he can’t jerk away. So he can’t see my hand shaking.
“Let me go,” I say, quiet and cold.
I look at his face for the first time, and my heart wrenches in my chest. It’s like looking at a ghost. He looks like his father, like what his father used to be when he was my age. Dark blond hair falling over buttery brown eyes, tall and broad-shouldered like an athlete. And yet he’s wearing the shirt of a band I like, a shirt I have too. Or used to have. It’s at my old house with my mom and most of my stuff, just another part of the life I was forced to leave behind.
His fingers fall open as the gun kisses his ribs. I yank my shirt away and step back. But the gun doesn’t budge. The kid’s hand is open between us, frozen in place, and I’m transfixed by a prominent Adam’s apple that bobs all the way down and back up.
“What just happened?” he says, staring into space.
“Your dad had a debt, and Valor Savings called it in. This is totally legal.”
“Valor Savings? The . . . the bank? But why? You can’t just go around shooting people.” Rage and sorrow war on his face, and he’s panting like a dying animal.
“Go read the card, Max,” I say.
I exhale, a soundless sigh.
“The one I left on his chest. Just read it, okay?”
I climb into the truck backward, my eyes locked with his and the gun still pointing at his chest. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t turn to his father’s body. He definitely doesn’t go read the card, which would explain how Valor Savings Bank, now just Valor Savings, paid off every debt the US government owed to every other country on earth and now owns everything from sea to shining sea, plus Alaska, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico.
If he would just read it, the dumb asshole, he would know that Valor Savings is now calling in debts and that, thanks to a tricky and vague little clause in a credit card application that no one bothered to read before signing, they can legally kill their debtors. Even if Max did read the card, he still wouldn’t know that he’ll be making his own choice in exactly four days, if not earlier.
Kill or be killed, and God bless Valor.
I could shoot him right now. Could just pull the trigger while he stands there, stunned. Easy pickings. I could have done it a moment ago, while he was holding me by my shirt and the adrenaline and defiance were shooting through my veins, making my trigger finger as itchy as my Valor-issued shirt. I should have done it then, before I looked into his eyes. It would have made my life a hell of a lot easier.
But I couldn’t do it. And I still can’t. Not while he’s wearing that T-shirt. It would be like shooting my favorite band, like killing my old self. And Valor may force me to do things I don’t want to do, but they can’t take away the things I am. Or the things I love.
That’s what I tell myself as I get in the purring mail truck and drive away, my Postal Service shirt crumpled up on the passenger seat by the dented foam gift basket. Max stands there, watching me, until I turn off his street, the big game hunter leaving the Preserve behind until I come to claim the next dumb but magnificent animal in four more days. I swerve to the side, quick, and barf up my salad into the bushes by the neighborhood’s elegant, brick-framed sign.
As I climb back into the truck, the clock on the dashboard stops blinking and calmly begins counting down from 12:00:00.
When the GPS tells me to turn right, I do.
Goddammit, I do.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
MY THOUGHTS A dystopian book with a plot based on how no one reads the fine print, and now they either die or become assassins. Who reads the fine print, right? No one does, I don't, so a dystopian based on this is very interesting. Thanks to some fine print with their credit cards, Valor Savings Bank has full permission to kill their customers or force them to become assassins. When Patsy's mom becomes in debt, they come to her house and threaten to kill her mother and burn their house down if Patsy doesn't kill people for them. She now has to kill ten people in less than a week and she quickly realizes that all ten of these people are somehow connected to her. This book was very fast-paced and a lot happens in a short amount of time. This book spans in less than a week if that gives you any idea. I already mentioned how I find the premise very interesting and so unique and I do think that, at most parts it was done well. It was horrible what Patsy was going through, obviously, and with each person she changed and was affected deeply. As time goes on, she also grows more hatred towards Valor. One thing that we get a hint of, but I wish there was more, was Valor's takeover. Valor took over the emergency numbers and who knows what else. I really want to know fully how Valor took over and how much control it has. Also, there is a hint of another company trying to similarly take control. This isn't really a big deal, neither of these are, since they both are most likely coming to play in the sequel. A bigger issue that I tried to ignore was the romance. There's a bit of a teamwork/romance that Patsy gets with Wyatt. What I can't ignore is that Patsy not only killed his father, but is also supposed to kill his brother. I just think that this was just way too unbelievable and no one can forgive someone for that so quickly, no matter the circumstances. IN CONCLUSION Overall, this was a very original, fast-paced dystopian thriller. It kept my interest all the way through. I have issues with the romance in the time span, but that's the only major issue. I would like to know more about Valor and this horrible new world and I hope to get more answers in the sequel!
As a huge fan of Delilah S. Dawson's, I have been waiting for this book to be released for quite some time. I found the premise to be very interesting and realistic- considering the state of National and general personal debt, currently. The story is based on the near future, in which Valor National Bank has used their considerable monetary resources to bail the US out of all of our National debt. This, basically, seems to make each citizen debtor their property and they have decided to use our youth as "agents", of a sort. The choice is this: pay back your debt immediately or become an indentured assassin for Valor. The only other outcome is death, at the hands of the assassin sent for you. The main character, Patsy, takes the job as an assassin for Valor, in order to save her mother's life. Her mother is the only person Patsy has ever been able to depend on, in her life, and she believes that she is prepared to do anything to save her. But is she really? As the job becomes more complex and she begins to notice connections to those she is sent to "collect" from, she wonders if there is more going on than anyone understands. I loved the way Delilah worked in these connections to create a rich and complex dystopian story, which will have much more to offer us in the coming sequel, as well. She is, also, fabulous in dealing with difficult situations in a meaningful way, while injecting a bit of necessary levity. The ending just blew me away and I wish that Strike (the sequel) was coming sooner! Overall, Hit was a major literary HIT for me, this month (if you will excuse the pun).
Ehhhhh. This book was weird. Some part of me wanted to like it, because it was a seriously interesting idea. But it fell so flat for me. I had issues with the characters. That's a huge deal breaker for me. But, hey. At least it was a quick read? (Except for the info dumping, that is.) Patsy was annoying. I swear, if I had heard her talk about yarn bombing one more time... I would have stabbed her with a yarn needle. It's good to give characters depth. It's bad to have them fixate on one thing that gets endlessly repeated. I found it so hard to believe that a girl who's done some backwoods shooting can bloom into this kick-ass assassin. I had a hard time taking anything Patsy said, did, or thought seriously. The biggest downfall for me was the romance. I really want to use air quotes for that. It just wasn't believable or swoony at all. Possible spoilers, y'all. (But not really 'cause you find this out early on?) Patsy kills Wyatt's father first thing. But he's like HEY-O, who cares about my dead pops?! There's some hottie assassin girl to chase, bros! And they kiss and insta-love and gag and killmenowstopitplease. Hit felt like a conspiracy theorist dream, complete with all of the over the top and unbelievable twists and turns. There was insta-love, info dumping, and unbelievable characters. Basically, everything to make me dislike it. It wasn't the worst book I read, but it wasn't my favorite. There was a cute dog in this story, but even she couldn't save it. I won't be tuning in for the second book in this series, because I just don't care what happens to Patsy. **I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review with no compensation.
3.5 Stars Hit asks more questions than it is prepared to answer. Plot: The United States has sold its debt to the banks, and because no one cares about what they're signing, the banks have legally been killing the "weakest links" of society. What I liked the most about this concept is that it made me think, a lot. As a society, we no longer even consider documents without scribbling our John Hancock, so what's stopping anyone from abusing that power? While it started off as Patsy knocking off 10 people from a list of "deadbeats," she begins becoming more introspected and seeing her victims more as people instead of names on a page. I bought this one on a complete whim with no research so I had no idea that Hit was the first installment in a series. Be prepared to be scratching your head in confusion for a good chunk of this book. I found myself desperate for the bread crumbs of information that Dawson would throw the reader every now and then. Characters: Patsy has not known an easy life which explains how she can judge others for living in excess. While she felt completely devoid of emotion for the first half of the book, she did begin to open herself up to the reader eventually and speculate more about the human condition and society. I enjoyed her commentary on her situation and the tidbits of her past explaining how she came to be the person she is today. There is a boy-situation in this one which seems a bit unrealistic. When you're knocking off johns, I feel like your least concern should be some boy. They do fall victim to insta-love, but I do believe that Wyatt was a good addition to the team and aided in humanizing Patsy. World Building: Hit is scary because, like most dystopians, there is a grain of truth. It's not too hard to imagine a bank laying claim to a country and doing with it as it will. Patsy's inner critique and the narrator helped illustrate the struggle between the town's social classes. Audiobook Performance: Rebekkeh Ross gives a 5-star performance in this audiobook! Her male voices are believable and none of her accents sound offensive or too far out. She captured Patsy's tortured voice well which made the reading experience even more enjoyable. Short N Sweet: Hit is a non-stop thriller that paints a dark future that doesn't seem so out-there. I personally recommend the audiobook edition, because I believe the narrator delivers a level of humanity that can't be read on the pages.
I love the premise of this plot, especially as a YA book. It makes you think about the model of debt in this country. Not everyone on the list has irresponsible debt - some people just have a small mortgage or a student loan. It definitely got me thinking about my own mortgage and how even buying a reasonably priced house is a big risk. I found this near-future story very realistic. I put off reading this book for about a month after I got it from the library. I was worried it would be too much like other teen assassin books I've read lately. It was not. Patsy is an ordinary girl with no super powers or genetic gifts. She's just trying to keep her mother from being murdered. With each person on the list, Patsy shows up on their doorstep offering them a choice: pay back the money they owe (obviously no one can do that), agree to work as an assassin for 5 days (like she's doing), or be killed by Patsy (something she won't hesitate to do). The reactions varied from believable to not believable. The people who didn't want to take the deal were believable mad at Patsy. Some fought for their lives, some just said hateful things. The people who took the deal and agreed to kill other people were a little unbelievable in that there was no anger towards Patsy. They accepted her unfortunate position right away. Even Wyatt. I enjoyed the sidekick / love interest portion of the plot. But it was kind of hard for me to accept that Wyatt didn't hate Patsy for killing his father and going after his brother. After one moment of hatred, he willingly helps her kill other people and falls in love with her. There is also a moment when Wyatt talks to Patsy about not feeling guilty for what she's doing. And immediately after that conversation she changes and truly doesn't seem to care anymore. Seriously?! Nothing resolves that easily. That said. I did enjoy reading the book. It got very interesting about three quarters of the way into the story. It definitely sets up well for the sequel, which I will read when it comes out. http://momsradius.blogspot.com/2015/07/book-review-hit-ya.html
This book is amazing. Like, substantive addition to the canon of dystopian literature amazing. Low-tech cyberpunk late capitalist debt-and-credit-based toxic consumerist corporatist society amazing. When I first heard about the idea I was excited, but the way HIT fleshed out the emotional journey and personalized the abstract is truly impressive. One of my favorite books of the last few years.
I liked this book. It was very intriguing. I liked and was scared how this very well could be a possibility of our future. It kinda makes you think about it. I liked Patsy. She was simply a girl that must do bad things to survive. I felt bad for her for being forced into what she had to do. I honesty don't think it would be something I could do. I liked Wyatt also. He wasn't very complex but I knew early on that he was hiding something. I did think it was weird how they came together but it end up working out for them. That was some crazy ending. I can't wait to find out more of their discovery in the future books.
**Thank you so much to Simon Pulse for providing me with a copy to read in exchange for an honest review!** This book immediately starts off with a bang. We find out that the United States has been taken over by a bank called Valor National and that the government is no longer. Patsy, the protagonist, has been chosen to go after ten different people who are in extreme debt to this bank. Each of these ten people has to choose one of three things: pay off the debt now in full, become a bounty hunter like Patsy, or be shot right on the spot. Patsy was one of the people who chose to become a bounty hunter for her mother's debt. If Patsy doesn't do her job, her mother is going to be killed and that's definitely not something that she's okay with. Hit was extremely suspenseful, especially because of the way that it started. It's never slow at all; it's always very fast-moving which I absolutely adored. Nobody likes to read a slow book! Throughout the entire book, I felt so sympathetic towards Patsy. I don't know how she manages to kill people and live with that blood on her hands. She freaks out about it a few times, but she always keeps moving forward because she wants to save her mothers life. One of my favorite things about this book was Wyatt, the side character who was always there for Patsy. Wyatt's father was the very first name on Patsy's list, so she killed him immediately because he couldn't pay the debt in full. Wyatt ends up being Patsy's sidekick, even though his brother is #10 on the list. Wyatt was super funny and caring, though he seemed to have some anger issues at times when Patsy didn't realize the smallest things. I did like how he was willing to do anything for her though. However, I don't know how Wyatt managed to not cry and freak out over the loss of his father. I mean, his father just died yet he's willing to road trip everywhere with this girl whom he has just met! He doesn't seem to shed a tear even once. I blame it on love for Patsy. When I first finished this book, I was mentally screaming inside because of that ending! I had no idea that it was part of a series, though I'm glad that it is because after you finish reading Hit, you'll be itching for more suspense-ridden scenes with Wyatt and Patsy. I have so many questions that I hope the next book answers! I'd definitely suggest giving this one a read!
Reviewed by Suzanne and posted at Under The Covers Book Blog The US has been conquered and no one seems to know it. Apart from Patsy. A man in a black suit arrives on her door with not only the news that Valor National Bank has bought America, but with a choice; kill the ten debtors on her list or watch him shot her mother and burn the house down. Not much of a choice. Becoming the Valor’s hitman Patsy starts working her way down the list, which takes her on an unexpected journey through her past and brings her face to face with Wyatt, a boy who should hate her…but instead seems to be helping. But in the strange new world where debt is now deadly, people aren’t always what they appear and Wyatt could be playing games of his own. I am not normally a fan of Young Adult but this book had my interest from the blurb and continued to keep me hooked throughout the whole book. This was the beginning of a dystopian world where the banks now rule America and using a credit card could potentially spell your death. It was a bleak prospect, and Hit is unexpected its dark subject matter of death and debt and yet it doesn’t leave you feeling as gloomy, however, it may make you hesitate to sign something before thoroughly reading the terms and condition, just in case of unexpected slavery. What I liked about Hit was Patsy, the heroine of the story, she and her mother has slowly descended into poverty as bad luck has hit their small family of two, meaning Patsy has had to grow up fast. Her streak of almost ruthless practicality tempered with compassion and a determination to save her mother made her a likable character, despite the horrible things that she had to do. The violence in this book was also a surprise, Dawson doesn’t seem to hold back and although there is graphic descriptions of entrails spilling out and brains leaking through ears, there is a lot of death and hard decisions in this book. There is also a hint of romance, which is all part of the overall intrigue of the book, however, if you are looking for a YA read heavy on the romance, this probably isn’t the book for you. It focuses on Patsy and her emotions and actions whilst she tries to do the best she can in a nightmarish situation. A dark and emotional read that I really enjoyed and will leave you looking suspiciously at your credit cards for weeks to come! This may be my first read from Delilah S. Dawson, but it won’t be my last. *ARC provided by publisher
I LIKED IT