Daily Archives: 19/12/2014
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Three days …
That’s how long I was married to Charlie. Her death on our third day of marriage still haunts me, the part I played in her asthma attack will be with me forever. I loved her, but just couldn’t let go of the past.
Three days …
How long I held Rowan captive, trying to convince her that she needed to be with me. I never stood a chance. She’d turned her back on me once I chose Charlie and moved on with someone else. In my grief and stupidity, I lost any chance of her friendship.
Three days …
I’ve done prison time, and now I need to start again. I’m not looking for any relationship right now, the thought of love is simply too painful. And yet, it’s been three days since I met Maddy, and already she’s brought more laughter to my life than I have had in so very long. She’s been through a lot too, so now I wonder if we can make a fresh start together.
Authors Note: There is a scene that might be upsetting for those who have triggers around domestic violence. This is not a theme of the book, it’s a small scene, but as I realise some people may have sensitivities around this, I wanted to make sure there was a warning.
In celebration of the birth of her baby girl and for the first time ever, J.C. Reed is offering ALL THREE books in the ‘Surrender Your Love’ series as a TRILOGY package for only $0.99 for three days in all major eBook stores
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Keaton Mara ran away from a life that had become a nightmare to live on the streets.
While the location she now calls home is a dangerous place, she is protected by an unlikely friendship.The streets provided her with the education she could’ve never earned from the prestigious university she attended. Regrettably, the term ‘educated fool’ becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Due to meeting a man with whom she shares a captivating chemistry with, her judgment is clouded, resulting in a fateful decision.The consequence of trusting the prepossessing stranger results in her being stolen away to a place unknown. Her deceptive new surroundings are just as beautiful as the people who reside there. She discovers that it’s a place where the culture of sex without limits or morals is their religion.Keaton quickly begins to realize that the beautiful scenery serves to hide a very dark truth. The seductive and enigmatic man—who lured her there—desires to save her soul. His intentions are sinister, because saving her soul is synonymous with breaking her.Because Keaton believes her soul was brutally stolen from her many years ago, she thinks he can’t save (or destroy) something she no longer has.She…was…wrong.
“Aren’t you curious as to how I knew your name?”
I shook my head, remaining silent.
It was obvious that he, like Noah, had caught sight of the dozens of posters I hadn’t yet taken down.
I needed to assure myself of that to prevent running and screaming as I’d initially planned.
As for why he isolated me and offered me a golden ticket—to a place I assumed
was a myth—I wasn’t completely sure if I wanted to know.
Nothing offered to me at this point in my life would’ve come without expectations.
keeping his eyes on the pulpit.
succeeding in matching the emptiness that seemed permanently held behind his eyes.
of things you will be required to do, nowhere is it necessary for you to speak.”
from. I can offer you a way in which she’ll never find you. I can offer you true freedom.” With a nod, he began to recite the holy sacrament. The pastor of the church appeared from the choir room adjacent to the inner sanctuary. I had recognized him as the one who often opened the doors to the church and
sometimes served food in the kitchen. I was told, by the others, the only time he would speak was the moment he reached the pulpit, and his sermons moved many.
The pastor handed me a communion cracker from the silver tray he carried, and a small sampling of grape juice in a plastic flask. I took both down before standing, ready to return to Jeff and vow never to visit another soup kitchen again.
Watching him rise to meet me, I shrugged. “I’ve lived through hell. Living on the street is
paradise compared to what I’ve been through. Thank you, but no. I can’t leave Jeff. I’ve never heard of him
having anyone else to look out for him. I just…want to be there for him. We…need each other.”
over my feet and nearly fell. Before I slipped down, I was caught and guided by a set of strong hands.
Blue eyes shrouded in hazel met mine, staring down at me with impassivity.
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Carrying me as though I was weightless, he transported me to the back of the church
where the pastor held the door leading to the access alley open.
When I was eight years old, I began to bring those worlds to life with pen and paper.
Are you ready for the conclusion to
The Gypsy Brother’s Series?
ONE LOVE IS LIVE!
*The final book in the #1 iBooks bestselling Gypsy Brothers series*
Will Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers? Or is Dornan still one step ahead?
More shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.
By Lili St. Germain
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.
“I want my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
There are two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very cheesy rendition of good cop / bad cop.
We’ve been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since told me — on one side, and her completely dumb but cute male offsider, Agent Brennan, on the other. In my head, to pass the hours, I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent Dumbass. I sit across from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing them down.
My throat is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of Coke in front of him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation running down the sides. I want it. I want to reach over and grab the can. I don’t even need to drink what’s inside. I’ll settle for the condensation making its lazy descent down the side of the bright red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates me from them.
“Let’s try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a matronly grandmother, even though this woman only looks about thirty. She’s got a slight southern inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s grandma.
I don’t reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next. Her next big thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and convince me that I should spill all of my dirty secrets onto this table between us. So far she’s used threats against Jase, a plea deal that would grant me immunity, and long stretches of silence.
None of that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross. This woman’s going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out some pliers and start yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll give her a single damned thing.
She snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her male offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves slowly, ripping a section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the stuff that must live permanently on the wall to my left. I watch, just slightly interested as to what they’re going to try and scare me with.
They don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5×7 photographs to the wall, I can’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that ended at my hands. I have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down the gloating grin that wants to spread across my face and settle for my resting bitch face instead.
Dunn peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze impassively. She might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up in the Gypsy Brothers MC for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in front of a cop.
“Chad Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles the table, coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is sticking up in a haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and straighten them. Boom. Three seconds later, she does just that, making sure all of the photos line up.
“Chad Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail against the photo of his bloated death face.
“Looks nasty,” I reply.
“It’s a nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added pure methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”
He wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.
“And you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten down to the quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep your nails tidy when you’re constantly trying to claw your way back from death.
Dunn looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the second photo. Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His face is a mess from the coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke laced with strychnine that made blood gush from his nose like warm water from a faucet. I still remember the way his blood felt on my hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my skull burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.
How I’d nearly died in my quest to kill him.
How it was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face, when I whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap to watch the fury rise in his cheeks.
As he realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last meal of poison and cocaine.
I glance at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look bored.
“Strychnine-laced cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to hospital for that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency room. They said you almost died.”
“It was a hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds just thinking about it.”
She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt that she’s cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say suddenly.
“Shoot,” Dunn responds.
I reach my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move. She could pepper spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch the interrogators. But she’s ballsy enough that she doesn’t want to take her hand away, even as I watch her flinch minutely.
“How do you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in my voice not reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my other hand. “Mine are hopeless. You spend much time in the field, Agent Dunn?”
She takes her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my lap. I know her skin must be crawling from my touch.
I hope the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have fucked with me.
“I take good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
“My child died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the top of my priority list right now.”
She bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says finally.
I sit back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.
She points to the third photograph, which is… hell, I’ve got no idea what that is. I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m looking at.
“It’s a leg,” Dunn supplies.
“Ohhh,” I say, nodding. “Thanks.”
It is indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with spots of unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections. Huh. I wonder who it belonged to.
“Two Ross brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade bombs in their fuel tanks, can you believe that?”
I shrug. “Sounds like they must have had it coming.”
Dunn points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and neck as I remember those three months of horror and torture I endured at Dornan’s hands before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s father Emilio flew backwards with a meaty thump as the top of his head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying everywhere. Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was that their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more satisfying it would have been to hang them by their feet and burn their eyes out with cigarettes and blowtorches, or pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, one by one.
That would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy me, the same men who murdered my father.
Still… they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.
“That’s got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two pictures. The blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made of iron after the atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve endured. If this bitch wants to rattle my cage, she’s going to have to try harder.
“And then we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the wall. Jimmy’s face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from his temple where Jase shot him barely noticeable in the extreme close-up.
“He looks unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why you’re showing me all of this.”
Dunn frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“Here’s the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of me. “We’ve got you. We have your DNA on the first two victims, and motive. We’ve got probable cause to take you to trial.”
I sift through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened to Jazz and Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their motorcycle fuel tanks exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t pretty, what became of them. But to me, it’s beautiful.
I drop the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal chair I’ve been sitting on for the past five hours.
“These people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these boys. They were like brothers to me.”
Agent Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk somewhere in there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got more motive than anyone else, and no alibi for any of these murders.”
“Motive?” I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”
Agent Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think. Say it. They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father, and you want to arrest me? Say it.
“I’m not authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,” Dunn says finally. “But I really think you should start talking, Miss Portland.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me. I’ll tell you something. Let me write it down.”
Dunn’s beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a moment, probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right back at her. If she wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor, she arrested the wrong girl.
After a beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my attention to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep in his chair.
“I’ll make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point to the coke can and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides the can over to me with one finger. With a smile, I pick up the can between my cuffed hands and take a long drink.
The fizzy liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I drink as much as I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back down on the table and smiling at Dumbass. I slide the can back towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re friends. Let him think I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. He looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into the room.
She looks between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s face and shakes her head.
Sliding into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us as she addresses Dumbass.
“She killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to her partner. “You sure you want that back?”
“Allegedly,” I add.
The oaf stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back in my direction with an embarrassed look.
In the past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this interrogation room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions. Fear. Shock. Despair. Now, I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within me. Anger that is thinly disguised as apathy to these two morons.
Dunn drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I hold up my cuffed wrists helplessly.
“I can’t write with these things on,” I say.
Dunn gives me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and circles around to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.
I WANT A LAWYER. I write it as obnoxiously large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER three times.
Agent Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at her mouth. I grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me, motherfucker. I sit back in my seat and snatch up the Coke, draining the rest of the can before they think to take it from me.
“We can play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she says curtly, fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in front of her. I smile.
“I’ve got all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t. Dornan has Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot himself, and Jase and I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get the girls out of danger before he kills them. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t even comprehend what else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get back at us.
Agent Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and stalking towards the door. “I’ll give you some time to think about your position,” she says.
“Isn’t this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I have the right to an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”
Really, I just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here. Not that I’m sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need something, and talking to these two is proving fruitless. A cold panic is building up inside my stomach, in the hollow space where my baby once lived and died.
God, it’s still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little baby takes hold and squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could forget about her, because losing her has cursed me with more pain than I could ever imagine.
If I had any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re gone, bled from me in the moments after our daughter was born, still and dead, in the early hours of the morning when the world was still dark.
He took her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and buried, a rotting corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing more.
Dornan Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.
Agent Dumbass follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut. I immediately stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked from the outside. Of course. I go back to my chair, collecting the pen someone so thoughtfully left for me and shoving it into my pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody sometime soon.
Which, as it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.
About an hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your lawyer’s on the way,” she says, closing the door behind her again.
This could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on tape. A hit man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like a sitting duck in here, and I don’t like it one tiny bit.
But what greets me isn’t any of those things.
It’s so much worse.
I don’t move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the room. Dressed in a suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather briefcase by his side. He looks positively fucking amused.
“Well,” I say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these days, won’t they?”
Gypsy Brothers Series by Lili Saint Germain
About the Author:
Lili Saint Germain
Lili writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.
Meet Lila & Blake in this unexpected love story!
LIES UNSPOKEN IS LIVE!
RELEASE DATE: December 14th, 2014
“I don’t understand,” I finally say, my voice shaky.
His hands still cupping my face, he walks me back until I’m against the wall. His gaze is powerful, paralyzing me. No one’s ever looked at me like that. Not Derek, not anyone. “I want to fuck you so good that you’ll be begging me to fuck you again. Then tomorrow, I’ll do it all over so you don’t forget how good my cock feels buried inside of you.”
He slides his fingers down around the base of my neck, then down my arms, letting his thumbs brush against my breasts. “The way your body curves into mine, the way you shudder under my touch; I feel it, Lila. You want this. I know I want this.”
If I could orgasm from words alone, I’d be clenching around every single syllable that just fell from his lips. He grips my hips pulling me into him. So big. I’m like an alcoholic that’s been given a sip; there’s no going back.
Lies Unspoken (Flawed Love #1)
I tried hard not to fall for the bad guy.
My new roommate, Blake, is a jerk—an unemployed artist with a chip on his shoulder. I can’t stand him unless his hands are on me. He makes me desperate for him, and everything he makes me feel.
And then there’s my new boss, Pierce–successful, charming, and extremely good-looking. He goes after what he wants, but what does he see in me?
I try to stay away, but I end up in the arms of exactly who I was hiding from. And when I find out what’s being hidden from me, my heart twists in ways it never should.
I thought I knew him.
The way he kissed me.
The way his hands traveled every inch of my skin.
I thought it meant something, but as it turns out, it was all lies unspoken.
Lisa De Jong is a wife, mother and full-time number cruncher who lives in the Midwest. Her writing journey involved insane amounts of coffee and many nights of very little sleep but she wouldn’t change a thing. She also enjoys reading, football and music.
$50 Gift Card (your choice of book retailer)
Title: Gibson’s Legacy
Author: K.L. Shandwick
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romance
Date of Publication: December 19, 2014
About Gibson’s Legacy
Gibson Barclay has been famous for almost seven years and he’s only twenty four.
Seldom does anyone pick up a magazine, newspaper or watch a television entertainment show, without seeing his image or reading about his promiscuous antics. He had no need to court publicity with his magnetic charm and charismatic ways; when he chooses to cooperate that is. Shrugging off the advice of publicists and image consultants, Gibson makes no excuses for who he is, and with no ties, he answers to no one about how he chooses to live his life.
From teenage musician to twenties mega rock star, Gibson has seen and done it all. Women fantasize about him and men envy his rock scene, womanizing lifestyle. Only one person ever made Gibson feel uncomfortable about the way he lived his life. No one ever said no to him that he can remember, although there was two minute events that he has never been able to shake from his mind. Both of those events involved the way Chloe Jenner looked at him. It was something and nothing, but for him, the impact haunted him. In the strangest twist of fate, something so wildly obscure occurred, that set his mind ablaze with the memory of that small encounter.
Like all women, Chloe found Gibson striking and had even shared with friends, her own guilty fantasy about him. Fantasy and reality were poles apart and Chloe believed that Gibson Barclay never even knew that she existed.
*Adult Contemporary Romance – Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen.*
Hands invaded my body space and ran up and across my pectorals, my head dropping to see what she was doing. She glided her palms around and under my arms, until they stopped on both scapula bones on my back.
Stroking me, she smiled suggestively and continued to trail downwards toward my ass, and by the time I made eye contact with her, she was so close her hot panting breaths were fanning over my face.
Groupies had no shame. Then again, I was so fucking wired after the gig, I needed something to bring me down, and an easy fuck meant I didn’t have to be charming or polite to anyone. This girl knew the score and she was begging for it.
©2014 K.L. Shandwick – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Connect with K.L. Shandwick
About the Author
K.L. Shandwick lives on the outskirts of London. She started writing after a challenge by a friend when she commented on a book she read. The result of this was “The Everything Trilogy.” Her background has been mainly in the health and social care sector in the U.K. She is still currently a freelance or self- employed professional in this field. Her books tend to focus on the relationships of the main characters. Writing is a form of escapism for her and she is just as excited to find out where her characters take her as she is when she reads another author’s work.
For more details, please visit K.L. Shandwick’s website.