Monthly Archives: July 2015

BLOG TOUR ~ Burn (Bayonet Scars #5) by JC Emery

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BURN Blurb:BURNsmall

Tragedy cuts deep. Revenge burns deeper.

The blood of their enemies coats the leather of their cuts and a trail of bodies lie in their wake, but the Forsaken Motorcycle Club isn’t done yet. Carlo Mancuso still needs to pay for his sins. Nobody knows that more than Ian Buckley, the Treasurer for Forsaken.
Ian prefers his pleasure mixed with pain and he’s only ever at peace when he’s doling out justice. Convinced that he’s too unstable and sadistic to take an old lady, he keeps his trysts, like all of his relationships, brief and anonymous. But with his club at war, and the stakes being so personal, Ian’s feeling the events around him more deeply than he expects.

Mindy Mercer is the sweet daughter of Fort Bragg’s most respectable cop. At least that’s how the town sees her. Very few people know the Mindy who hides her tracks and battles her cravings by lying to everyone around her. She thinks she has control of her addiction until she suffers an attack that leaves her searching for a way out of her own personal hell.
Mindy has never been more desperately in need of a savior and Ian has never seen a more beautifully destroyed creature in his life. Their attraction is intense, but their damage is extreme. Some scars never heal, and some people never get better.

Love is never more painful than when it can kill you.


young woman is pulling her boyfriend to her by his hair, man standing with his back at the camera while embracing his lover


EXCERPTS:

Excerpt 1:

“You ride?”
I shake my head. He turns his face toward mine and waits as though I haven’t answered him. Maybe he thinks I haven’t. I guess I’ve been silent too long because he squeezes my hand and continues to stare at me with searching eyes. I shake my head again and this time he sees it and nods his head in return. He drops my hand and climbs on his bike. He nudges the kickstand up and holds the bike upright. He has a helmet in his outstretched hand.
“Wear this, then climb on like I did and place your feet here,” he says and points to a cylindrical black peg that juts out of the bike. “Don’t drop your feet and let your body lean into the turns.”
He’s patient with me as I stand here and psych myself up. I’ve had maybe a fantasy or two about a sexy man on a motorcycle, but until Ian it was just that—a passing fantasy that went as quickly as it came.
With his pointer finger, he summons me forward and sets the helmet on the tank between his legs. His eyes aren’t kind exactly and they’re not dark and sexy. They’re something else that I’m desperate to place, but can’t. I close the distance between us and stand before him. Slowly, he reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“Tell me where you’re at,” he says quietly. He tucks my hair behind my other ear as well. I let out a soft, unintentional sigh. I barely hear the question—or order rather—and instead have all my attention focused on his touch. Being able, and even wanting, to be touched is such a wonder. “Tell me I help.”
There’s such a vulnerability about him in this moment as his fingers lightly weave through my messy hair and he’s asking for reassurance. My breath halts in my lungs. I both loathe and love the sound of his plea. I didn’t even know he was capable of this. Ian is always so strong for me that I think I sometimes forget that he’s human.
“I need you.”

in love casual couple hugging with passion, studio shot on gray background

Excerpt 2:

“I like talking to you. I want to get to know you.”
“What’s the point in getting to know me when you’re just going to end up hating me eventually, anyway?” This is why I don’t want to bond with her. I don’t want to let her in and to love her the way Ma does, the way Michael does. Even Ryan loves her and I’ll be damned if Pop doesn’t love her too. She’s squirrelly like that.
“I can’t hate you. If I can’t hate my father, then I can’t hate you either. I won’t ask you not to hurt him, and I can’t tell you how I’ll feel when he dies because I don’t know how I’ll feel. But I can tell you this— he stole you and my mother from me. My father hurt you, and he hurt me in a different way. He hurt Michael too, but he might be too proud to admit that just yet. Carlo Mancuso has his family and I have mine.”
She takes a step closer and reaches out, grabbing my arm. The tears she was holding back slide down her cheeks as she stares up at me.
“I don’t like violence and I hate to see people get hurt, but no matter who I am today, I was a principessa, a Mancuso. I understand the need for justice and deep down I know that this war goes back further than last year and that it was only a matter of time for my father to get what’s coming to him.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I find myself saying. My chest aches and my jaw is tight. I reject the emotions that make me weak and force myself to think about anything but how good it feels to get this gift from her. “Every year on your birthday, we have a party. It used to be just me and Ma, and then when Pop and Ryan came around, they’d join in. It was always just something we did. Ma never wanted to forget either of you, and she made sure I never could. I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to make this better for her.”

A silhouette of a woman sitting on a motorbike leaning back while her man holds her.


BLP REVIEW ~ Rebecca


RIDE Blurb:18462806

Death comes in Armani. Salvation comes in leather.

Principessa to the Mancuso crime family, Alexandra knows a thing or two about living outside the bounds of the law. Suffocated by the future her father has laid out for her, she makes a choice she can’t take back, changing the entire trajectory of her life.

Thrust into the dark and dangerous world of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club for her own protection, Alex finds herself faced with the last thing she needs right now: the man of her dreams. He’s sex in leather, the devil incarnate, and one hell of a kisser. But he’s also off-limits. Ryan Stone can be her friend, but he’s forbidden to be her lover.

Third-generation Forsaken, Ryan knows nothing other than life on two wheels, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He enjoys the many privileges that come with the patch, and the only laws he recognizes are the ones set-forth by his club. That is, until who he wants more than anything isn’t allowed on the back of his bike —or in his bed. Balancing his desire for her body, and need to keep her safe, Ryan tries to keep Alex at a distance. Finally having made a choice for herself, she’s done hearing the word “no” and will push boundaries even Ryan himself doesn’t dare cross.

Love is never more tempting than when it’s forbidden.

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THRASH Blurb:Thrash (Bayonet Scars, #2)

Loneliness suffocates the heart. Acceptance breaks down walls.

As a Lost Girl to the Forsaken Motorcycle Club, Nicole Whelan knows how to party. She’s not cut-out for relationships and her life is way too complicated for anything more than casual encounters. But one night when she falls into Duke’s bed at the clubhouse, he sees something in her that he can’t let go of—no matter how many times she tries to run.

Having been left to raise her teenage brother, Jeremy, she’s already got her hands full and isn’t looking for anymore complications. But Duke’s just watched his best friend fall for the only girl he couldn’t have, and then almost lose her so shortly after, shaking him to his core. Faced with his own loneliness, he’s more determined than ever to break down Nic’s walls and show her that he can be good for her; but he’s got a bad track record and she’s got a bad temper. Changing his ways isn’t easy when he’s not sure what he’s even changing for.

The violence and turmoil are at an all-time high, and Forsaken is in a vulnerable place when a twist of fate breathes new life into the club. It’s a much-needed beacon of hope for the embattled biker family, even if everyone’s not exactly on board. With Duke and Nic’s relationship already on shaky ground, and something even more important at stake, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club will fight like hell to keep their family together and whole.

Love is never more precious than when it’s new.

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REV Blurb:21528220

Everyone belongs somewhere. Even the misfits.

With the looming threat from the Mancuso Crime Family, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club is preparing for a war that could destroy them. Grady, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, knows that love makes you weak, and he has zero interest in adding to his liabilities– especially now. He’s already got his teenage daughter who keeps him on his toes and a beef within the club that could fracture his relationship with a fellow brother for good.

For Holly Mercer, her life is finally getting on track and the last thing she wants is trouble from her hometown’s resident outlaws. Keeping her nose clean is easier said than done, when suddenly she finds herself embroiled in club business. Holly might like the idea of being with a real-life bad boy, but even being in the same room with tough-as-nails Grady flusters her.

When Holly inadvertently finds herself on Mancuso’s radar, she has two choices: trust that Grady will protect her, or continue to refuse the club’s help. Both roads are dangerous, but only one has the chance to damage her beyond repair.

Love is never more dangerous than when it can destroy you.

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CRUSH Blurb:Crush (Bayonet Scars, #4)

Young love is always perfect. Until it’s not.

Cheyenne Grady is a total daddy’s girl to her bad-ass father, the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club. She’s funny, and kind, and she just wants that deep, earth-shattering love like her dad has with her school secretary, Holly. But Cheyenne’s been looking in the wrong direction, because the only good that can come from the way she looks at Jeremy Whelan is a lesson in heartbreak.
Jeremy always wanted to prospect for the Forsaken Motorcycle Club and wear the same patch as his father. When a life-long dream becomes reality, Jeremy realizes that the outlaw lifestyle is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it easy on relationships.  He wants to be a good man, but temptation is everywhere.
Cheyenne is beautiful, and strong, and exactly what Jeremy could have forever. As long as he doesn’t screw it up.

Love is never more powerful than the first time.

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About the author:
  jcemery

As a child, JC was fascinated by things that went bump in the night. As they say, some things never change. Now, as an adult, she divides her time between the sexy law men, mythical creatures, and kick-ass heroines that live inside her head and pursuing her bachelor’s degree in English. JC is a San Francisco Bay Area native, but has also called both Texas and Louisiana home. These days she rocks her flip flops year round in Northern California and can’t imagine a climate more beautiful.

JC writes adult, new adult, and young adult fiction. She dabbles in many different genres including science fiction, horror, chick lit, and murder mysteries, yet she is most enthralled by supernatural stories– and everything has at least a splash of romance.



Author Links:

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Amazon Author Page

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BOOK TOUR ~ Out of Time by Beth Flynn

 
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OUT OF TIME is the HIGHLY ANTICIPATED sequel to NINE MINUTES where Grizz, Kit & Grunt’s gritty tale continues!

You aren’t going to want to miss this!

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NOW AVAILABLE
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 Blurb

RECOMMENDED FOR READERS 18 AND OLDER DUE TO STRONG LANGUAGE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS AND VIOLENCE

Out of Time is book two in a series. It is not a standalone novel. I highly recommend that you read my first novel, Nine Minutes, to be able to understand the background stories of the main characters. There are many twists and turns in both stories that can best be connected if read consecutively.
Although I do answer all of the outstanding questions from Nine Minutes, there is more to this story, and some readers may consider it a cliffhanger. If you do not like cliffhangers, you may want to wait until the third novel is released in 2016.

They thought with his execution it would all be over.
They were wrong.

The leader of one of South Florida’s most notorious and brutal motorcycle gangs has been put to death by lethal injection. Days later, his family and friends should have been picking up the pieces, moving on. Instead, they’ve been catapulted into a world so twisted and dangerous even the most ruthless among them would be stunned to discover the tangled web of deception, not only on the dangerous streets of South Florida but all the way to the top.

In this gripping follow-up novel to Nine Minutes, Out of Time takes readers from the sun-drenched flatlands of 1950s Central Florida to the vivid tropical heat of Fort Lauderdale to the halls of Florida’s Death Row as we finally learn the gritty backstory of Jason “Grizz” Talbot and the secret he spent his life trying to conceal.

Not even Grizz’s inner circle knows his full story—the tragedy that enveloped his early life, the surprise discovery that made him the government’s most wanted and most feared, and the depths of his love for Ginny, the tenderhearted innocent he’d once abducted and later made his wife.

Once Grizz’s obsession and now the mother of his child, Ginny has spent years grieving the man she’d first resisted and then came to love. Now remarried to Tommy, a former member of the gang, the pair have spent more than a decade trying desperately to live a normal existence far from the violent, crime-ridden world they’d once carved out on the edge of the Florida Everglades. For Tommy, especially, the stakes are high. Desperately in love with Ginny for years, he’s finally living his dream: married to the woman he never thought he could have. But even with the façade of normalcy—thriving careers, two beautiful children, and a genuinely happy and loving marriage—they can’t seem to put the past behind them. Every time they turn around, another secret is revealed, unraveling the very bonds that hold them together.

And with Grizz finally put to death, now Ginny has learned secrets so dark, so evil she’s not even sure she can go on.

Will these secrets tear their love to pieces? And how far will Grizz go to protect what he still considers his, even from beyond the grave?

Young couple makes love to the wall


PROLOGUE

1950s, Central Florida

The slap was hard and almost knocked him to his knees. They wobbled for a split second, but he managed to regain his stance and glared hard at his father.
“Your mother said you missed the bus and had to hitchhike home.”
He tasted blood in his mouth where the slap had caused him to bite the inside of his cheek. He knew his next comment would bring another blow. He braced himself.
“Ida is not my mother.”
Another hard one, this time to the side of his head, which caused a ringing in his ear. This was nothing. He’d endured worse. He didn’t know why it bothered his father so much when he said this. Ida herself was the first to remind him that she wasn’t his mother.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. Where were you?”
“It’s the last day of school. Some of us had to stay after to help the teachers clean out their classrooms.” This was a lie. He’d gotten in a fight that day. He’d snapped when a snooty rich kid made fun of him.
The kid was new and had only been enrolled for the last two weeks before school let out for the summer. He was too new to have been warned. The new kid had asked him in the boy’s room if he picked his clothes out of the garbage can that morning. He’d left the idiot dazed and bloody on the bathroom floor, then calmly washed his hands and went back to his classroom. He’d looked at the big clock over the blackboard. Less than fifteen minutes until summer started. Hopefully, his dad wouldn’t work him to death and he’d be able to keep an eye out for her. For Ruthie.
He’d been on the loaded school bus, ready to pull away, when the driver reached over and opened the door. The substitute principal stood at the front of the bus and quietly perused the group of kids. When he saw who he was looking for, he pointed and indicated with his finger. Follow.
Damn. He’d almost made it out of there.
They never discussed the alleged crime as they made their way back into the school and to the principal’s office. He simply bent over the desk and endured the paddling. It wasn’t so bad and didn’t even compare to the beatings he’d received from his father. Beatings that had left permanent scars on his back and other parts of his body. He may have been young, but he knew this fucker, a temporary replacement for the school’s regular principal who was out recovering from surgery, was enjoying this way too much. Would probably lock his office door and jerk off after sending him to find his own way home. Fucking pervert. The world was foul.
So, he’d hitchhiked and ended up walking the last seven miles to get home and now stood there, facing the wrath of his father. His stepmother stood off to the side leaning back against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed and a smug look on her face. A hot, stale breeze floated in from the window above the kitchen sink.
His stepmother. Ida. He’d hated her for as long as he could remember. He had no memory of his real mother. He was told she’d died in this house giving birth to him. It wasn’t really a house so much as a shack in the middle of nowhere. A two-bedroom hovel situated on several acres surrounded by orange groves as far as the eye could see. His father was a skilled carpenter by trade, but for reasons that made no sense to his son, he preferred this destitute existence. He could have made a decent living, could’ve lived in a home not so far from the modern world—as modern as you could get in the fifties. He chose instead to live in a dilapidated old house that had been passed down for generations. He never once used his carpentry skills to make it into a real home. He’d slap some tar on the roof if it leaked or replace a busted pipe, but other than some hodgepodge repairs, he never lifted a finger. It was crumbling around them.
Maybe it was because his father considered himself the king of his castle and he could hold reign over his unworthy subjects. Maybe the brutality he unleashed here made him feel an iota of power that he didn’t feel in the real world. Maybe knowing that he could provide a nice and safe environment, but purposely chose not to, was part of the psychotic seed that had been implanted in his personality. He wasn’t just a bad man. He was worse than that. He prided himself too much on withholding any good he could do for his family.
That made him pure evil in his son’s eyes.
Before she’d married, Ida had worked as a maid for a wealthy family in West Palm Beach. His father had met up with a couple of other laborers to make the long drive down to a mansion situated on the beach to spend a few days doing carpentry work and repairs. He returned with his three comrades and a glowing Ida, who had finally, finally snagged herself a man. She had become tired of being someone’s maid, and when a hardworking, widowed family man came along and showed a hint of interest, she jumped. Unfortunately for her, she jumped too quickly and without hesitation. She hadn’t realized then that she was jumping from the frying pan right into a fire that was even worse. Overnight, she went from being a lonely, overworked maid to a lonely, overworked, and abused housewife.
No, he had no good memories of Ida. Maybe she’d started out trying to do her best. To make their shack a home, to be a mother to her new husband’s young son. But if she had started out that way, he had no recollection of it. Maybe she wasn’t always the horrible person he knew. Maybe his father made her that way. It didn’t matter. He hated her no matter what. He hated her because he knew what she was doing to her own daughter. His half-sister, Ruthie.
Ruthie was a sweet and trusting child who’d captured his heart since the day she was born. She was a happy little girl who was always smiling in spite of the mistreatment her mother inflicted. He spent every second that he wasn’t at school or working caring for his little sister. He adored her and did everything he could to protect her from his parents, especially Ida. He made sure she ate when she was sent to bed without supper. He made sure she was bathed. He couldn’t do it every day, but he did it as often as he could manage. He erased evidence of her bathroom accidents, making sure to wash out her clothes in the creek and let them dry before returning them to her dresser. He wiped away her tears and kissed her boo-boos.
Unfortunately, there were too many even for him to kiss away.
Every night she’d say, “Brother, tell me a story. Tell me a happy story where things don’t hurt and everybody is nice.”
He would pull her close in the bed they’d shared ever since she was a baby and, ignoring the stench of their unwashed bodies, he would make up happy stories to tell her. Anything to make her forget, just for a little while. They would watch the stars from their bedroom window and sometimes he‘d even use them in his stories.
“See the brightest star, Ruthie?” he’d tell her as they gazed out their window. “That’s you. You’re the brightest, most beautiful star in the sky.”
“Where are you, Brother? Are you there, too?” she asked him once.
“I’ll always be the one that’s closest to you.”
He didn’t know if the stories he made up were happy ones. He didn’t know what happiness was himself, so how could he tell a four-year old? But he tried.
Once in a while, after he was certain his father and Ida were asleep, he’d go to the back screen door and let Razor in to sleep with them, too. Razor was a big black Rottweiler that had wandered up to their house one day and never left. His father refused to let the dog stay and insisted he didn’t need another mouth to feed, that he’d shoot the dog if it didn’t leave on its own. The dog was smart. Sensing the father’s animosity, it would come around only at night and wait for the handout left for him on the far side of the barn. His father finally relented; he decided maybe the dog wasn’t so bad after all when his barking woke them up one night to warn them that a wild animal was trying to get into the chicken coop. The hen’s squawking never reached their sleeping ears, but the stray dog’s barking and pawing at their back door did. His father let Razor stay, but he had to be kept outside.
Now, the beating done for the day, his father stared at him for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “Get your fucking chores started. Don’t come back in until they’re all finished. You don’t get done before supper and you don’t eat.”
The boy didn’t need to glance at his stepmother to know she would purposely serve a very early supper that day. He headed out the back screen door and let it slam behind him.
“C’mon, Razor,” he said as he headed for the ramshackle barn.
It was dark outside when he finally finished his chores. He found some food he’d stashed in the barn and silently ate, sharing half with his dog. After washing up in the rain barrel, he headed into the house and crawled into bed with Ruthie, pulling her close. She moaned.
“Brother is here, Ruthie. Do you want a story?” He was exhausted, but couldn’t fall asleep thinking he would let her down without a story.
“My stomach hurts,” she whispered.
“Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?” he whispered back.
“No. It’s not that kind of hurt.”
“What kind of hurt is it? Are you hungry?
“Mommy stepped on it.”
He stiffened, then squeezed his eyes shut. He was glad she didn’t want a happy story tonight because the only one he could think of was one where he strangled Ida with his bare hands.
The next day, he was walking back from the groves carrying the three squirrels he’d killed with his slingshot. Ida could make a decent stew out of these. He’d watched Ruthie that morning at the table as she slowly ate her breakfast. She seemed okay, and he’d left to hunt before she finished. He shouldered the squirrels and imagined the look on Ruthie’s face when she saw what he’d caught.
That’s when he heard it. A shotgun blast coming from the direction of the house.
He’d heard the shotgun before, when his father caught rare sight of a deer or other animal that was either a predator or something that would end up on their dinner table. But his gut told him this was different.
He broke into a full run, then came upon a scene that brought him up short. He tensed as his mind started to grasp what had happened.
There, right beside the clothesline. His father holding the shotgun. Ida cradling a bleeding arm. Razor on his side and lying in a puddle of blood.
And Ruthie, on the ground and flat on her back, her arms at her sides. Ruthie.
He broke into another run.
“Your fucking dog was attacking your sister, and when Ida tried to stop him, he went after her, too,” his father said coldly, a finger still resting on the trigger. “I had to kill him.”
Razor attacked Ruthie and then Ida for trying to stop him? Impossible. Razor would never hurt Ruthie.
Ida held her arm up for him to see. She didn’t have to. He had already seen it and there was no doubt it was a bite from Razor. More like a mauling. Like he’d grabbed on and was wrestling with her.
He dropped his dead squirrels and knelt at Ruthie’s side. And then he knew for certain the concocted story wasn’t true. His sister was lying on her back, her eyes closed. Soft blonde curls framed her face. She looked more peaceful and beautiful than he had ever seen her. A tiny smile curved her sweet, innocent mouth.
Of course she was smiling. She had just escaped from hell.
He knew she was dead. He also saw nothing on her body that indicated Razor had attacked her.
They were lying. But he’d already known that.
He couldn’t stop himself. The words were out of his mouth before he could think.
“Doesn’t look like Razor attacked Ruthie. No bites or anything. Just Ida’s bruises.”
The blow was hard, but not unexpected.
“Get the shovel,” his father ordered. “Pick a place way out past the house and bury your sister. Don’t care what you do with your dog. You can drag its lousy ass out to the groves if you want and give the vultures some supper.” Scooping up the three squirrels that had been dropped, he grabbed his wife by the uninjured arm. “You ain’t hurt so bad you can’t make supper.”
As he headed back to the house with Ida and the dead squirrels, he yelled over his shoulder, “And when you’re done you get your sorry ass back here and put out the rat poison like you were supposed to do yesterday.”
He stared after them as they made their way back to the house and tried to imagine a world without Ruthie.
A world without light.
Two weeks later, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a strange man’s car. The man had introduced himself when he picked up the young hitchhiker, and he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that the boy just stared at him and refused to say anything. The boy now turned to gaze out the car window as he reflected on what he’d done.
He’d buried his sister like his father had told him to, taken his shirt off and covered her body with it before retrieving a shovel and heading way out on their property where he dug one large grave.
Leaving the shovel at the gravesite, he’d headed back to the house. He went into the barn and retrieved the rat poison, shoved it down into his pants.
He’d gone into the house, noticed that Ida had cleaned up and was working on their squirrel stew. He could tell by her movements she was in a lot of pain. Razor had done a decent job of tearing up her arm. She probably needed to go to the hospital, but his father would never take her, nor would he allow her the use of their one vehicle. It wasn’t at the house anyway. He must’ve gone somewhere.
It was obvious what had happened. Ida had been giving Ruthie another beating and Razor had stopped her. Unfortunately, Razor hadn’t stopped her in time.
The boy had no way of knowing that Ruthie had been slowly dying of internal injuries sustained from her mother’s brutal beatings, culminating in the final stomp to her tiny stomach the day before. He was certain Ida had always inflicted her brutality on Ruthie inside the house, where Razor wasn’t allowed. That day must’ve been different. She was probably dragging a crying Ruthie out to the yard to help her with some chore and started whaling on her when the little girl wouldn’t, or most likely couldn’t, do as she was told. There was no doubt Razor had been trying to defend Ruthie by grabbing Ida by the right arm. Ida was right-handed.
Leaning back from her spot at the stove, Ida looked out the back window and spied the little girl’s body in the yard. She gave her stepson a level look. “You’re not finished. What are you doing in here?”
Her voice was steady and without emotion. She could’ve been asking him if he’d fed the chickens or painted the fence. It revolted him to think that this was how she thought of her daughter’s burial: a chore. She was more of a monster than his own father. She had given birth to Ruthie. She had shared the same body with her only child for nine months. He didn’t know anything about mothering, but even he could see how there could be, should be, a special bond between a mother and her child.
Without looking at her he answered. “Hole’s dug. Came back in for something to wrap her in. Was gonna take my bed sheet.”
They’d always shared a bed and it had only ever known one sheet. He would use it to wrap Ruthie’s tiny body.
He didn’t know what caused Ida to say the next thing. She countered with an offer that surprised him but also provided him with an opportunity.
“I have something you can use. Got it as a going away gift from where I used to work.”
She took the big spoon she had been stirring with, tapped the side of the pot and laid it down. Cradling her sore arm against her chest, she headed back toward the bedroom she shared with her husband. He knew her arm was hurting, knew it would take a few minutes to dig out whatever it was that she was going to get. He could hear her clumsily rustling around for something.
He seized the chance to retrieve the poison from his pants and dump the entire contents of the container in the stew. He hastily stirred it, grateful that it seemed to quickly dissolve, and returned the spoon back to its place. He was standing by the back door when she returned with a blue piece of fabric draped over her good arm. He realized that it was a bathrobe of some type. It was thin and he didn’t need to be educated to know that it was high-quality and expensive. Going away gift my ass, he frowned. She stole this. She held it out to him while avoiding his penetrating green eyes. They’d always unnerved her, at least that’s what he’d heard her tell his father, and for a split second she seemed to hesitate, to waver.
She must have regained her bravado and, without waiting for him to take the robe, snapped, “Wrap her in this.” She tossed it at him and headed back over to the stove to stir her stew.
At the freshly dug grave, he gently cloaked Ruthie’s little body in his own shirt. “Brother is always with you, Ruthie,” he said quietly. He then wrapped Razor in Ida’s expensive bathrobe and snorted to himself as it occurred to him that even his dog was too good for Ida’s supposed going away gift. He gently laid his little sister in the very deep hole and placed Razor next to her.
“You were a good boy, Razor. You did the right thing trying to protect her. Now you can always protect her.”
He knew he wasn’t going to mark her grave for anyone to know where she was. Only him. He knew nobody would be looking anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to be missed. Like him, she hadn’t been born in a hospital. He doubted she even had a birth certificate. He wasn’t sure if he had one himself, though he guessed there was one somewhere, since he’d been enrolled in school. Do you need a birth certificate to go to school, he wondered? He didn’t know.
He stood over his sister’s grave and stared at the freshly compacted earth. It was missing something. He wandered off and soon came back with an oversized rock. The stone was heavy, massive really, and he had exerted an enormous amount of energy to carry it to her gravesite. He dropped it with a thud. He had chosen it because of its size and unique shape. He would remember it.
Falling to his knees, he began to weep. He never remembered crying even once in his life. Not even as a child, enduring horrific abuse that was tantamount to torture. He couldn’t comment on why his father hated him. He couldn’t figure why his stepmother hated Ruthie. He didn’t want to think about them, anyway. After he was finished, he’d never think of them again.
A low wail that didn’t sound human began to build, a cry that came straight from the pit of his empty stomach and found its way up his chest, through his throat and out his mouth, taking his soul and any semblance of light with it. The light that had been Ruthie.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d knelt sobbing at Ruthie and Razor’s grave. His eyes stung and he had a combination of dry and wet snot all over his bare arms as he tried to swipe away the grief. His sore back eventually brought him out of his mourning, the pulse of the sun reminding him of the lashes his father had inflicted a few nights earlier. He was physically and mentally exhausted, but his job wasn’t finished yet.
He was worn out, but somehow he gathered the strength he needed and headed out further to an even more remote location.
He had one more grave to dig.
He would bury them together, not for the same reason that he buried Ruthie and Razor together: to offer protection and comfort to one another. No, he dug one mass grave because they deserved to be dumped like garbage.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
“Kid? Kid, you need anything or have to use the bathroom?”
He’d fallen asleep and jumped when he was touched. It took him a split second to remember where he was. A car, now parked. The man who’d picked him up was looking at him, waiting.
The man nodded out the window. “I’m getting gas. You need to use the john or something?”
“Where are we?”
“Fort Lauderdale. Getting some gas and heading to Miami.”
He nodded his head, starting to sit up. He was sore. The last few days had taken a toll on him physically and he was feeling it.
“Yeah, I gotta go.”
He went around the side of the little gas station and let himself into the restroom. It smelled like crap but was surprisingly clean. His mind wandered as he relieved himself, memories rolling over him.
He’d returned to the house that night to find his father and Ida sitting at the dinner table eating stew. He reached up on the shelf and took down an old jelly jar, using the kitchen tap to fill it up. Leaning back against the counter, he drank his water as he watched them eat their dinner. Nobody bothered to offer him any. That was okay. He would’ve refused it anyway.
“Tastes like shit! How the fuck can you mess up squirrel stew?” When Ida didn’t answer, his father backhanded her across the face.
Taking his glass of water, he’d gone to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He laid down on the bed that he’d shared with Ruthie, hugged the only pillow close to his chest, and fell immediately into a dead sleep.
He was awakened that night to the sound of violent vomiting and retching. The next couple of days were a blur as he tried to pretend to help his extremely sick parents. Keeping buckets by their bedside, bringing them liquids to drink. Liquids he had continued lacing with more poison from the barn.
He remembered the instant his father realized what was happening. He was trying to get out of his bed, insisting that his young son take him and his wife to the hospital. The boy wasn’t old enough to have a license, but he knew how to drive. He’d let his son drive their beat-up old station wagon to haul things around the property.
“You’re gonna drive us to the hospital, boy,” he said, voice laced with pain.
“No, I’m not.” He just looked at them, a small smile on his lips. “I’m going to watch you both die a slow and painful death. I’m kind of glad you never bought us a TV. This will definitely be much more entertaining.”
Bloodshot and pain-filled brown eyes met hard green ones as realization dawned. His father glanced around his bedroom and noticed his shotgun was not in the corner. It was gone. Even if it had been there, he wouldn’t have had the strength to get up and get it.
His father fell back onto the bed and turned to look at his wife. She was curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. She had heard the conversation and opened her eyes long enough to say to her husband, “We both deserve this.”
His father rolled onto his back and looked at his son, who stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, green eyes cold and staring.
“Shoulda known you were the devil’s seed.” Without waiting for the boy to comment, he added, “I loved your momma and thought I did the right thing by marrying her when she was pregnant by another man. Shoulda known you were evil when you killed your own mother, you no good piece of shit.”
Finally, an answer. Although it didn’t matter now. The man who’d raised him wasn’t his father. The man who’d raised him resented him for taking his mother’s life in childbirth. Another man’s bastard had killed the woman he loved and he was going to make that child pay. Had been making that child pay ever since.
In a way, he could kind of understand that. He almost allowed a stab of conscience in, telling him he should take them to the hospital. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
But then he remembered Ruthie. There was no excuse for what had happened to Ruthie. No excuse at all.
He stared coldly at the man he’d thought was his father. “I’m just sorry I didn’t do this before you let her kill Ruthie.”
Then he went to the kitchen and made himself something to eat.
After they were dead, he loaded them both in the back of the family car and drove them out to the second grave. He dumped their bodies with as much care as he’d show a pile of old chicken bones and flung the dirt back in. He hurled the shovel in the back of the station wagon and drove back to the house.
He wanted to draw as little attention to the shack as possible. He would not burn it down, but he would give careful thought as to what it should look like if a family just up and left, taking only things they could load in their one car. He went to work, packing up what few pictures they had, their personal papers and clothes. He sneered when he saw a picture of his father as a boy. He looked like a miserable piece of shit even back then. He tossed it in with the other things. He never came across a single picture of himself or his mother.
He carelessly threw everything he could into the old car, barely leaving room for himself to fit into the driver’s seat. He went into his bedroom and retrieved the brown bag that held the few things he’d set aside to take with him. It contained some clothes, along with thirty dollars and twenty-six cents that he’d scavenged from his father’s wallet and Ida’s money cup, which he’d found hidden behind some dishes in the kitchen. He reached into his pocket, retrieving something he hadn’t known existed until he’d started cleaning out their personal items. It was a picture of Ruthie and Razor. It had obviously been taken at their house, but he didn’t know when or by whom. He never found existence of a camera when he was going through their belongings. He had no way of knowing where the picture came from and he didn’t have time to ponder it.
He looked at it again. Ruthie was sitting down in the grass and looking up and smiling. She was leaning against Razor, who had himself wrapped around her like a cocoon. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she had her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her blonde curls were shorter then. The two of them looked happy. Like they had been romping in the tall grass and had taken a break to pose. He knew neither Ida nor his father had taken the picture. If that had been the case, he was certain his baby sister wouldn’t have been smiling. He carefully returned it to his back pocket and continued his cleanup.
Hours later he stood in the middle of the little house, surveying it. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty confident he’d loaded up the important stuff. It was the fourth of the month. The electric and water bills wouldn’t need to get paid again until the thirtieth. School was out, so he wouldn’t be missed until September. And even then, he was doubtful anybody would care. His father wasn’t regularly employed, so he wouldn’t be missed, either. They had no phone to worry about.
Yes, it looked like the family that lived here decided to move with their most personal possessions. The small amount of mail they got could stack up for months in their little slot at the post office. Nobody would notice. And by the time they did, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be long gone.
He headed out to the chicken coop to set them free when he noticed laundry on the clothesline. He would grab those clothes and toss them in the car before leaving. After retrieving his brown bag and canteen, he carefully drove the family’s car to the nearest, deepest canal he knew. It was off the beaten path and he didn’t have to pass any houses or civilization to get there. It would be a long, hot walk to hitch a ride somewhere, but he only had a brown bag to carry and his canteen, which he’d filled with water.
Now, in the gas station restroom, he splashed cold water on his face and dried off. He reached into his back pocket before leaving the restroom and took out the picture of Ruthie and Razor. He would never hold her again. He would never hear her voice asking for a story. He would never wrap his arms around Razor’s neck and nuzzle his short fur. He swiped away the tears that had started forming in his eyes and returned the picture to his back pocket.
He’d taken a vow that day at Ruthie’s grave. No more crying. Ever.
He was starting to get hungry and decided to go back to the car to get some money. He would see what the gas station had in the way of food. Hopefully, they had some candy bars and soda pop. He’d tasted soda only once and was looking forward to the sugary drink.
He made his way around the side of the gas station and stopped dead in his tracks. The car he had been riding in was gone. He blinked to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. They weren’t. That son-of-a-bitch drove off with his brown bag that contained his few items of clothing and all of his money. He had left his canteen on the front seat. Even that was gone.
The world was rotten and so was everybody in it.

out of time sequel


 

out of time teaser 4

 EXCERPT

1979

“Yes! There is something I want for my birthday. Something I really want! I’ve been thinking about our prom date last year.”
“You want another romantic night at Martin’s beach house?” He grinned, relieved. A night making love with Kit at the beach house. Ohhhhh yeahhhh.
“No. Not the beach house.” She was bouncing in her seat now. “I want you to take me out! Dancing. I want to go to a club and go dancing.”
His smile faded and he looked a little deflated. He wasn’t going to tell her his name. He wasn’t going to go to church with her. How could he tell her no to the third thing she’d asked for?
“Shit, baby. You have to know I’m not a dancer. I barely got by with the slow dancing in Martin’s gazebo.”
“I want to go dancing, Grizz. Please! The only time I ever get to dance is when I convince Axel to dance with me in number four. And you know that’s barely ever. He won’t do it if there are a lot of people at the motel. He doesn’t want to risk being seen.”
Grizz had to smile at this. He’d walked in more than once on Axel and Kit dancing to one of those groups that Kit loved. If you asked him, those guys’ voices sounded like someone had their balls in a vice. A high-pitched squeal is all he ever heard and he never stayed around long enough to listen to an entire song.
“Why do you dance to a song about a bald-headed woman?” He’d asked her once.
Axel and Kit had stopped and peered at him strangely. “What do you mean by bald headed woman?” Kit had asked as Grizz turned the stereo down.
“These guys, who sound like women, are singing about a bald-headed woman,” Grizz replied.
She’d started laughing. “The Bee Gees are saying ‘more than a woman,’ Grizz. Not bald-headed woman! The song is called More Than a Woman and I happen to love it.”
“Whatever it’s called, it still sucks. I’m outta here.”
Grizz appreciated that Axel danced with his wife. And yes, he knew Axel’s other secret, too. He honestly didn’t care. He didn’t care what any guy decided to do with his dick as long as it was never near his wife. But he also knew he had to keep Axel’s secret. As leader, he had final say as to who could be in the gang. Still, he knew not everyone would be tolerant of Axel’s lifestyle. It was just easier to let it stay a secret. And besides, he was certain nobody suspected a thing.
“I don’t dance, Kit.” Grizz said now, shaking his head.
“But I want to go dancing for my birthday.” She folded her arms and gave him an accusing look. “You asked!”
He shook his head slightly and looked at her. “Can’t I just buy you another car?”

out of time teaser 1

out of time teaser 3



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About the Author:beth flynn bio

Beth Flynn is a fiction writer who lives and works in Sapphire, North Carolina, deep within the southern Blue Ridge Mountains. Raised in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Beth and her husband, Jim, have spent the last 17 years in Sapphire, where they own a construction company. They have been married 31 years and have two daughters and two dogs. In her spare time, Beth enjoys writing, reading, gardening, church and motorcycles, especially taking rides on the back of her husband’s Harley. She is a five-year breast cancer survivor.

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RELEASE BOOST – The Truth of Tristan Lyons by L.B. Dunbar

Title: The Truth of Tristan Lyons
Series: Legendary Rock Stars #4
Author: L.B. Dunbar

Genre: Rock Star Romance
 Release Date: July 27, 2015

Blurb

 

Heartbreaker.

I understand why I have the nickname. Hey, what can I say? I like women. All women. It doesn’t matter what shape, size, or color. I’m even into sharing. I’ve done it all, seen it all, but I’m at an all-time low. Who wouldn’t be? My best friend is missing. My uncle’s an asshole. I don’t know who I am without The Nights. We are a band of brothers, soldiering through the world with our music. Only, our faithful leader is gone, and everyone else in the band is falling for the oldest trap: love. Love is a lie. It is painful. It is hurtful.

I need a break. I want to be alone. I’m not prepared to share the exclusive home on the Island. I’m not prepared for her. I don’t know who she is or why she’s here. She tells me to call her Ireland. I tell her my first name only. Originally, I don’t want to believe she doesn’t recognize me. Bass guitarist for The Nights, come on? After a while we both play the game. Secrets are another form of lies, aren’t they?

Our fantasy will crash to reality too soon. Secrets catch up to you. The truth has to be told. It confirms what I already know: love is a lie.

Until her.


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Excerpt


The Truth of Tristan Lyons
excerpt © L.B. Dunbar
I wanted to know who she was. Scratch that, I didn’t care who she was. I wanted to know how she got in the house. Damn these fangirls, sometimes.  They knew no shame. 
“Hey,” I said grabbing her upper arm. “How did you get in here?”
She seemed caught unaware of my approach and screamed loudly, pushing at my chest hard enough, the sheer surprise forced me to let go of her.
With her hand on her chest and her breasts rising and falling in great agitation, I was able to see her big blue eyes and the sprinkle of freckles across her nose.
Her chin length blonde hair fell forward as she bent to clasp her knees and catch her breath.
Standing up almost as quickly as she bent over, she spoke to me through delicious looking pink lips.
“Who the fuck are you?” she growled.
“Who the fuck, are you?” I returned.
“I’m…”
“You know what, never mind. You need to go,” I said, cutting her off and reaching for her upper arm again. “I don’t know how you got in here, where you came from, or how you found me, but you need to go.”
I began to tug her toward the front entry, her feet sliding in her flip-flops across the tile flooring. She pulled back, and the force made her skid on an angle across the slippery surface as I dragged her. She continued to glare at me quizzically, leaning away from me.
“I don’t know what you are talking about?”
“Did you follow me, is that it? See me in the airport?”
“What?”
“Okay, I love you too, now you need to go. Okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am?”
“I don’t.”
I stopped, still holding firmly to her arm. Something in her voice sounded like she was being serious.
“I’m Tristan.”
She blinked, confusion clearly on her face. I was thoughtful for a moment. It was the innocence in her blue eyes, and the fact she looked like she might cry. Something wasn’t right with this scenario.
“Trist – an,” I said slowly, as if she had some type of hearing impairment.
“Who?”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“What kind of music do you listen to?”
“Country,” she answered so quickly, she didn’t even blink an eye or stop for thought. On top of that, she said it in such a way that showed she was thoroughly confused, and almost disgusted with me, for even asking such a ridiculous question. She wrinkled her nose.
“Look, I know the owner, and you shouldn’t be here.”
“I know the owner,” I repeated, “and you shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said, pulling at her own arm again and sticking out a hand to press against my chest as leverage. I had tugged my shirt off at some point while I was passed out, and her warm hand felt good on my air-conditioned cool skin. Her hand was tiny, I noticed. All of her was thin.
“I’m supposed to be here. Alone,” I emphasized again.
She didn’t respond, so I added, “I think I’ll just call the owner myself, to see where the mix up is.”
“No,” she blurted, stopping in her physical struggle against me. Her eyes opened even wider, if that was possible, and her face was suddenly full of something I couldn’t read. Her blue eyes brightened in a frightening sort of way. Was that fear? Good, she should be afraid.
“Please. I swear. I’m allowed to be here. You don’t need to call Isa.” 
She had me. I didn’t really know who Isa was, and the girl sounded confident enough that I let her call my bluff.
“If there is a mistake, and you were scheduled to stay as well, I won’t complain. As a matter of fact, I won’t even be in your way. You won’t even know I’m here. I plan to keep to myself.”  Her eyes were glassy, and again I worried she was about to cry.
I released her arm and she pulled it back quickly. She fisted the hand of that arm, holding it against her chest. She began rubbing her upper arm with the opposite hand. I noticed again that she was thin, as were her breasts. I didn’t care for small chested girls. I didn’t care for her.
“Well, I’m Tristan, whom you claim to not know, and you are?”
“I’m…Ireland.”
“Ireland what?”
“Just…Ireland.”
I shook my head.
“So this is how we’re going to play it? Fine, my Irish Isle. What are you doing in the Caymans?”
She looked at me for a moment, then leaned toward me and sniffed. She held the disgusted expression on her face and wrinkled her nose as she pulled back.
“Probably the same thing as you.”
“Drinking myself into oblivion?” I laughed, crossing my arms over my bare chest defensively.
“Hiding,” she replied.

 


Author Bio

 

L.B. Dunbar loves to read to the point it might be classified as an addiction. The past few years especially she has relished the many fabulous YA authors, the new genre of New Adult, traditional romances, and historical romances. A romantic at heart, she’s been accused of having an overactive imagination, as if that was a bad thing. Author of the Sensations Collection, Sound Advice, Taste Test, Fragrance Free, Touch Screen, and Sight Words, she is also author of the Legendary Rock Star series, beginning with The Legend of Arturo King. She grew up in Michigan, but has lived in Chicago for longer, calling it home with her husband and four children.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I’d like to say I was always a writer. I’d also like to say that I wrote every day of my life since a child. That I took the teaching advice I give my former students because writing every day improves your writing. I’d like to say I have my ten-thousand hours that makes me a proficient writer. But I can’t say any of those things. I did dream of writing the “Great American Novel” until one day a friend said: Why does it have to be great? Why can’t it just be good and tell a story?

As a teenager, I wrote your typical love-angst poetry that did occasionally win me an award and honor me with addressing my senior high school class at our Baccalaureate Mass. I didn’t keep a journal because I was too afraid my mom would find it in the mattress where I kept my copy of Judy Blume’s Forever that I wasn’t allowed to read as a twelve year old.

I can say that books have been my life. I’m a reader. I loved to read the day I discovered “The Three Bears” as a first grader, and ever since then, the written word has been my friend. Books were an escape for me. An adventure to the unknown. A love affair I’d never know. I could be lost for hours in a book.

So why writing now? I had a story to tell. It haunted me from the moment I decided if I just wrote it down it would go away. But it didn’t. Three years after writing the first draft, a sign (yes, I believe in them) told me to fix up that draft and work the process to have it published. That’s what I did. But one story let to another, and another, and another. Then a new idea came into my head and a new storyline was created.

I was accused (that’s the correct word) of having an overactive imagination as a child, as if that was a bad thing. I’ve also been accused of having the personality of a Jack Russell terrier, full of energy, unable to relax, and always one step ahead. What can I say other than I have stories to tell and I think you’ll like them. If you don’t, that’s okay. We all have our book boyfriends. We all have our favorites. Whatever you do, though, take time for yourself and read a book. 

L.B. Dunbar

 


 

Author Links

COVER REVEAL – Letting Go by Holly Renee

 
 
 
 
Title: Letting Go
Series: The Garage Series #1
Author: Holly Renee

Genre: Contemporary Romance
 
 

Blurb
 
 
When Kat was forced to leave the only home she had ever known due to her brother’s secrets, she wasn’t prepared for what was waiting for her in Tennessee or the choices it would force her to make.Kat instantly knew she didn’t like Blake Reagan. He was cocky, stubborn, and infuriating. What Kat didn’t understand was why she couldn’t stop thinking about him or the way he made her feel.

The last thing Blake expected was for Kat Archer to storm into his world and turn it upside down. He thought he had her pegged from the beginning, but she destroyed everything he thought he knew. Blake was willing to fight to push his way into Kat’s heart, but she put up a wall at every turn as she clung to her past.

If she stayed, she’d risk the only family she had left. If she left, she’d lose Blake and every piece of her heart that he’d managed to steal.

 

 

 
 
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AMAZON: US / UK

 

 


Author Bio

 

Bookaholic, firm believer in grand gestures, and obsessed with happily ever afters.

Holly Renee is from the small town of Maryville, TN where she was born and raised. She currently lives with her husband and fur baby, Luna. (Yes. She was named after Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter.)

Holly Renee is the author of her debut novel Letting Go.

During the day, Holly spends her time as a nurse, but once her shift ends, she falls deep into her passion of reading and writing.

 
 
 
 
 


 
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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Midnight Moonrising by K.S Haigwood & Anne Conley


Title: Midnight Moonrising
Series: Moonrising #1
Author: K.S. Haigwood & Anne Conley

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
 Release Date: July 31, 2015
 

 


Blurb

Mena wants the Master Vampire of Montgomery, Alabama, but the wolf inside her wants the homicide detective working the case of the man she murdered.
 
 

 


Links to Buy
 
AMAZON: US / UK / CA / AU
 
 

 

Excerpt
 
 

With everyone thinking I was angry, I was taking a wild guess that it would be at least thirty minutes before anyone realized I was gone. That was a good head start. From the vague vibe I was feeling from Jess and the other traitors, I was looking at covering a distance of about four miles. I ran that nearly every morning, and the time it took to get there would allow my wolf and me time to figure out what we were going to do when we got there. Cutting the bitch was what my wolf wanted to do, and I couldn’t honestly say that I wasn’t on board with that plan, but I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t take on eight werewolves on my own. I would have to find their hideout and come back with my pack. Bringing Phoenix and his clan to watch my back in case any of my wolves were really on Jessica’s side was a smart thing to do, so I would let them come, too, not that I would really get a choice in the matter; I doubted he would stay behind even if I begged him to.

A loud clatter had my head whipping around to look behind me again. An aluminum trash can lay on its side, its contents spilling into the street. A tabby cat peeked around the edge of the torn trash bag and I exhaled in relief. I was a sad case, indeed. I laughed at myself. I was not used to being the monster.

“I aim to change that, Mena.”

I rolled my eyes at my wolf. “You just be you and let me be me and we’ll get along just fine.”

Soft laughter filled my head and I had to smile. I had to admit that I liked her, regardless of how much trouble she was causing me with Phoenix. At least we had come to a compromise. I didn’t know how well said compromise was going to work out, or even if it would at all, but I was willing to try. Everyone deserved a shot at happiness, even with as insane as our case may be.

As I turned my head back around to continue on my journey, I ran smack-dab into the hard chest of a man. He was in shadow, so I couldn’t see his face. Stumbling back, I attempted to get my balance, but his arms closed tightly around my body, jerking me to him and trapping my arms down at my sides so I couldn’t move.

Struggling against his solid hold on me, I opened my mouth to let out a scream, but he twisted me around and clamped a hand over my mouth so fast that I didn’t know what was happening until I was being pulled backward, away from the security of the streetlights that lined the suburban road.

I raised my knee up then brought my foot down hard on the toe of his shoe. He let out a muffled grunt, but continued to drag me into the shadows.

This had to be one of the werewolves. The strength alone told me that. They had to have been watching my house, just waiting for me to leave. This bastard was going to kill me if I didn’t do something.

My wolf stirred under my skin. She wanted out and it was the first time since I’d been bitten that I agreed with that plan. With only a little more than human strength and quick reflexes, it wasn’t possible for me to handle a grown male werewolf on my own.

My final option, before letting my wolf free, was try to at least injure him. I hoped that would be enough to make him loosen his grip on me enough so I could run. If he gave chase, I would have to concede and let my wolf take over.

Gripping the dagger tighter in my palm, I rotated my wrist and drove the blade into his side as hard as I could. An ear-piercing ululation erupted from his throat and he let go of me. I didn’t wait or look back. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, adrenaline and my wolf giving me the speed and strength to push my muscles past what a human would be able to endure.

“Mena… Mena!” I heard the cry behind me, but my mind wasn’t registering anything except panic and the need to get as far away from my attacker as possible. “Mena—wait! It’s me…” A strangled groan had me slowing. “…it’s… it’s Phoenix. I—I’m so sorry, Mena.”

I froze, not wanting to look back at the man, terrified that what he’d spoken was true. If it was—if I turned and saw those ice-blue eyes staring back at me, it would destroy any trust I had ever had in him.

“Please, Mena, I never meant to hurt you. I was only trying to scare you so you would realize what a stupid stunt going off on your own to find the killers was. What were you thinking?”

The blood rushed through my veins at an impossible speed, and fury washed over me in waves as I stood there trying to decide whether to walk away or allow my wolf to rip Phoenix’s head off. She was all for the second option.

I heard him cough, and then groan in agony. I imagined he was pulling the dagger out of whatever organ I had been lucky enough to hit. There was a lot of heavy, ragged breathing and two more guttural-sounding coughs. It appeared as though I had hit a lung. Too bad it wasn’t his heart! I wasn’t sure stabbing him in the heart with a silver blade would kill him, but I would have put money on a bet that it would have been a hell of a lot more painful.

I turned my head to glare at him, but the hatred I had expected to feel wasn’t there. He had fallen to his knees, and his head was bent, his eyes focused on the bright red stain spreading across his new shirt.

Shaking my head, I looked up to the sky and asked, “Why me?” After receiving no answer, I sighed and began the one-hundred-meter walk back to Phoenix.

 
 
 
 

 

K.S. Haigwood
 
 
Kristie Haigwood (a.k.a. K.S. Haigwood) is currently writing her 10th novel. She lives in Arkansas, US. She is the mother of 2 awesome kids and 2 great dogs. She is happily married to her soulmate who thinks reading is a solid waste of time. Opposites attract. Kristie’s works include ‘Save My Soul’, ‘Hell’s Gift’, ‘Good Side of Sin’, ‘Eternal Island’, ‘Eternal Immortality’ ‘Eternal Illusion’ ‘Accepting the Moon’ and ‘Midnight Moonrising’. ‘My Sweet Purgatory’ and ‘Andromeda’s Reign are releasing soon. 
 
 
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Anne Conley

 

Anne has written her entire life and has the boxes of angst-filled journals and poetry to prove it. She’s been writing for public consumption for the last four years. Currently she is writing three romance series. In Stories of Serendipity, she explores real people living real lives in small town Texas in a contemporary romance setting. In The Four Winds, she chronicles God’s four closest archangels, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, falling in love and becoming human. In Pierce Securities, she gives us Ryan, Evan, Miriam, Zack, Quinten, and Simon. She lives in rural East Texas with her husband and children in her own private oasis, where she prides herself in her complete lack of social skills, choosing instead to live with the people inside her head.
 

 

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RELEASE BLITZ ~ He Found Me Series (Bks 1 & 2) by Whitney Barbetti

 
He Found Me: 
 
When I was seventeen, I disappeared. I walked out the door of my apartment with a backpack and never looked back. I left the life of Cora Mitchell behind, seeking freedom from my real-life nightmare. But my freedom came with a cost. I lived a fictitious life for the next six years, never letting anyone close enough to see underneath the facade that was Andra Walker. I was content with my simple little life. Until I met Julian. And the moment I started allowing myself to open up, allowing someone to see through the superficial, was the very same moment the Monster from my past would return to find me.

He Saved Me: 
 
Julian
I’ve come to understand that I’ll always find her. She’s my north star, my sense of direction. In her, I’ve found my home. She tells me I saved her. But the truth is, she saved me.
 
But nothing good can ever last. Andra’s keeping secrets. She’s holding something back. I’m trying, desperately, to anchor her. To let me in, to let me help.
 
But will all my efforts end up with a ghost of a girl I love?
 
Other
I’m used to disappearing. Vanishing into thin air, without a trace of who I’ve been or where I’ve gone.
 
But it’s so much harder to do with a broken heart and no hope for a happy ending. Sometimes the only people who can put all the pieces of us back together are the ones we least expect to. That’s what Julian did for me.
 
Julian found me. But now, all Six wants is to keep me locked up, away from the world, away from the Monster. I can’t live like that. It’s not living at all. Because I still have unfinished business.
 
And I’m going to make sure the Monster gets what’s coming to him 





 


I like nachos and champagne and clean sheets. I spend far too much time at Starbucks. I wrote a couple books
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RELEASE BLITZ – Cowboy Redemption by Kasey Millstead

 

 

Title: Cowboy Redemption
Series: Down Under Cowboy #6
Author: Kasey Millstead
 
 Release Date: July 31, 2015

 


 

Blurb
 
‘Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.’ – Bruce Lee

Kennedy:

If you learn from your mistakes, you’ll be a better person.

Life is all about making mistakes. I’ve made a lot of them in life, and learned from none of them. Until now. My biggest mistake of all, was letting him go.

Kye:

I had it all. Money. Fame. Success.

Then I lost it.

I thought I finally had my life back on track when I found her.

But one slip up and I lost everything. Again.

Kennedy Crawley spends her days helping others conquer their demons at Hope and Chance Retreat, in Australia’s Northern Territory. After spending her life being someone even she didn’t like, she finally sought the courage to overhaul her life, dreams and aspirations. Now, she’s determined to stay on track and be a better person.

Kye Austin was living his dream life as a professional football player. Until the day his sins caught up with him. He was sent to Hope and Chance Retreat to get his life back on track. After winning his battle, he decides to stay in the area and try to win the affections of Kennedy. There’s just one problem: she’s not interested.

 
 
 
 
 
Links to Buy
 
For your chance to win a $200 gift card, purchase Cowboy Redemption and enter on Kasey Millstead’s Facebook page HERE
 
AMAZON: US / UK / AU
 

 

Also Available
 
 
AMAZON: US / UK / AU
 
 
 
 
AMAZON: US / UK / AU
 
 
 
 
 



Author Bio

 

 

Kasey Millstead lives a quiet life in country New South Wales, Australia, with her husband and their four young children. She enjoys baking, singing (ridiculously out of tune) & spending time with friends and family. Kasey has always harboured a deep love for reading and writing, and she is now lucky enough to be living her dream of being an Author.



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BOOK BLITZ ~ Behind the Tears by Marita A. Hansen

Behind the Tears
Behind the Lives Series #2
by Marita A. Hansen

Publication Date: December 24, 2012


Synopsis

To trust is to get hurt, to be loved could end in death.

Everyone sees Ash as the toughest of the Rata brothers, the tall, tattooed man who is untouchable. But not many know of his past, of a tormented youth, which almost saw him take his own life. For ten years he’s lived with the nightmares of his stepfather raping him, and how it destroyed his family. Further tormented by his first love leaving him, he tries to move forward with his new partner Beth, but is unable to open up to her, his past continuing to eat away at his soul.

Beth knows Ash is keeping her in the dark, and every word he doesn’t say, every secret he keeps, pushes her further into his brother’s arms, someone who doesn’t understand boundaries, a trait that has given Dante a wild reputation: the man every woman wants to bed. Hedonistic and uncontrollable, Dante desires Beth to the point of madness, his bipolar condition worsening with the stress of his hidden desires. He wants to control her, to take her, but he is deeply reliant on Ash, and like his brother, he hides his true nature. On the outside he shows a confident swagger that gets him the attention of both sexes, but on the inside all he wants is one woman who sees him as more than a sexual object.

Sledge, the youngest of the three Rata brothers, finds himself in a different situation, dealing with the affections of his best friend: Beth’s brother Corey. Diagnosed with cancer, Corey wants Sledge more than life itself, even though he believes Sledge is homophobic and would find him disgusting if he confessed his love. But when another man shows interest in Corey, Sledge’s jealousy eats away at him, and makes him reassess his sexuality, and whether he could be more than a friend to Corey – whether he could be his lover.

As the Rata family’s love life is thrown into tangles, the brothers’ stepfather escapes from prison with one thing on his mind: To get Ash once again. Someone he will kill for – and has killed for.

(R18)

Author’s Note: Book 2 has different main characters from book 1. Due to this, you don’t need to read book 1 to understand this story. Book 2 is more dark romance and family drama, while book one is street lit and social realism. Book 3 continues directly on from Book 2.



Purchase Links – Only $.99

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US
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CA
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Other Books in the Series

PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY NOW!!
Behind the Lives #4 – Behind the Secrets
Amazon US / UK
Releasing – August 11, 2015

Synopsis

Too many secrets…

When Beth receives potentially life-changing news that could ruin her future, she decides to keep it a secret from Dante, the man she hopes to marry.

But Dante has his own problems as his deepest and darkest secret is revealed when someone from his childhood reappears, a secret so disturbing that it could unravel what’s left of his already unstable mind.

Beth’s brother Corey struggles to keep his relationship with Dante’s brother a secret, scared his father will split them apart. But it’s his sister he has the most to fear from, when Beth takes advantage of his boyfriend’s vulnerable condition.

Good cop or bad cop? Saul is eaten away by guilt over what he did to Beth while undercover. No longer willing to keep the assault a secret, he heads down a destructive path that turns him into something far worse than an abuser.


Behind the Lives #3 – Behind the Lens
Amazon US / UK

Synopsis

WARNING: Rated R18. Contains sexually explicit content, both M/F & M/M.

Dante Rata learns what’s Behind the Lens in this explosive sequel to Behind the Tears.

Dante has a problem with sex – he gets way too much of it. Women want him, force themselves upon him, fight each other to get into his bed, and this ripped to the bones sex god even attracts male admirers. But when Dante discovers hidden cameras in his bedroom, he soon learns his sexual prowess is famous and the women who have been throwing themselves at him are porn actresses, paid to trick him into performing for the financial gain of an underground pornography ring – an organisation who forces people into sexual slavery. Dante’s efforts to outwit Ant Torres, the porn-ring’s instigator, ends with Dante trapped into performing live for his fans; with the threat of death to his loved ones if he doesn’t.

Dante’s brother, Sledge, also has a problem with sex – but with the same-sex. He finds himself attracted to Corey, his best mate. After Sledge is told devastating news about his family, he falls into Corey’s bed, taking him as a lover. Ashamed of what he has done, Sledge tries to hide the relationship from his family and friends, something which makes Corey feel like a dirty little secret. When he finds Sledge talking to a pair of females at a party, he flies into a jealous rage, outing Sledge in front of everyone. Humiliated, Sledge runs out on Corey, which inadvertently leads Corey to Torres’s bed, where he is made to perform for the camera.

When Corey is dropped off at home, drugged and traumatised, Sledge learns about the pornography ring and the danger his brother is in. Intent on revenge as well as saving his brother, he sets out to bring down Torres, along with his crime syndicate anyway he can – whether it takes him with it or not.


About the Author

NATIONALITY AND CULTURAL CONNECTIONS: I’m a true blue Aucklander, born and bred in New Zealand. I tend to write about cultures I have connections to, such as Croatian and Maori. I would love to visit Croatia again as I have family there. However, in My Masters’ Nightmare, I have started writing about Italians. My husband is part Italian and I also have a degree in Italian.

SPORTS: As a teen my favorite sports were karate, badminton, and running. I also did unarmed combat and played in a touch rugby team (my gym teacher made me do the last one!) Now, I stick to coaching soccer and running. I have completed two marathons, numerous half-marathons and one 30K run.


CAREER PATH: I started off as a Graphic Designer, then went to Auckland University, where I got a BA degree in Art History and Italian Studies and a post-graduate Honors degree in Art History. I worked in the Art History field, then became a full-time artist, doing commissions. I eventually lost all of my senses and gave it up to be a poor, starving writer, smh.

FAVORITE FOODS: I’m vegetarian. I love pasta based foods, tofu, chocolate mousse and golden queen peaches.

BAD HABITS: I’m a major procrastinator that can’t seem to earn money to save myself!

STATUS: Married to my high school sweetheart (which he hates me calling him). We have two kids.

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COVER REVEAL ~ Desolate Souls by Kira Johns

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Desolate Souls

By: Kira Johns

Release Date: TBA

Cover Design: Monica Holloway

Cover Photo – Stock Photo

Goodreads:

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Synopsis:

Love means loss.

Alana Jacobs knows that better than anyone. After witnessing an unspeakable act of violence, she is left alone and afraid in a group home in Langley. Then she meets Jackson “Jax” Cade. In each other, they find a purpose in life, an unbreakable bond that will withstand the test of time… until that tie is severed.

Some secrets are never meant to be kept.

Jax is willing to do anything to protect his best friend, no matter the cost. What he doesn’t realize is that Alana is willing to do the same. When the truth comes out, devastation follows. Leaving Alana wasn’t Jax’s decision, but saving her was.

Manipulation and deception go hand in hand.

Paul Randall is the master of exploitation, capable of crawling inside the mind of his victims with ease. He will go to any lengths to get what he wants, and what he wants is Alana Jacobs. Falling in love with your prey is a game changer, but old habits are hard to break.

Happiness always comes at a price.

Hearts will be broken and pain will be inevitable, but losing yourself is irreparable.

*WARNING: This book is intended for readers 18 years of age or older and not for the faint at heart. It contains graphic content including language, abuse, sexual situations, and violence that some readers may find disturbing


 

b

Kira Johns was born and raised in the southeastern US, where she works during the day as a paralegal in the criminal defense field. When she’s not working or writing, Kira spends her free with her husband, children and pets. She enjoys spending time outdoors, whether on a boat or on the back of a bike. Kira, her husband and children are all avid competition shooters.

She is also a huge supporter of Feathered Friends Forever, the Nation’s Largest Non-Profit Tropical Parrot Rescue and Sanctuary located in Harlem, GA. Not only does Kira donate a portion of all her sales to this worthy organization, she also dedicates her time to helping the many birds at the facility.

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COVER/RELEASE BLITZ : Torn Hearts by Claire Contreras

torn hearts free

 

torn hearts live

Free, free, FREE!
 Torn Hearts follows Mia and Jensen’s story in the beginning. Like many of our own stories, theirs is not complete.  Their story will continue in Paper Hearts releasing September 10th!

Start Mia & Jensen’s Story for FREE  at the following retailers:

torn hearts

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

iBooks:

Goodreads Link:


Blurb

I met a boy once.

He made my heart go into a frenzy every time he looked at me, and my knees go weak whenever he touched me. Our love was so beautiful that even its demise was bittersweet.

I met a girl once.

Her world, full of possibilities, made me feel like even I had a chance at being someone. She believed in me. She loved me. We were so secure, that even our breaking point seemed hazy.

Until we reached it.

torn hearts full


Author Information

claire contreras

Claire Contreras graduated with her BA in Psychology from Florida International University. She lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, two little boys, and three dogs.

Her favorite past times are: daydreaming, writing, and reading.

She has been described as a random, sarcastic, crazy girl with no filter.

Life is short, and it’s more bitter than sweet, so she tries to smile as often as her face allows. She enjoys stories with happy endings, because life is full of way too many unhappy ones.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter


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