Category Archives: Giveaway
CAGED by Shay Savage Release Blitz
Are you ready for Liam “Takedown” Teague?
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1HvHfGR
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1RzZXTw
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1HnHZ3T
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1CxUCKS
iBooks: http://apple.co/1TszIkO
Blurb
This is not made for TV. This is the raw, brutal underground of no-holds-barred combat. Inside the cage there is nothing but me and the pain I inflict on those who dare enter. In the cage, I never have to worry about anyone but myself. Yet, when she began standing outside of the cage, everything changed. I was no longer fighting for the money or the glory – I was fighting for her.
Excerpt #1
“Are you just stupid?” I probably would have gone on, but she wrapped her arms around herself and glared up at me.
“Stop yelling at me!” she screamed. She turned away, but I saw her reach up with the back of her hand to swoop underneath her eyes.
Shit.
I turned slightly away from her and practically bit down on my tongue to keep myself from saying anything else. I brought my fisted hands up against my stomach and tried to pull the tension inside of myself, work through it, and calm down. I could hear her crying combined with choked breaths and sniffles.
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. I was starting to come off the fighting high I had been on—the tears might have helped with that—and my stomach felt tight.
After three long, deep breaths, I looked back to the girl on the ground and saw her frantically rubbing at her eyes and cheeks. She didn’t look at me as she reached out and pulled her mostly empty bag close to her. She looked inside and then looked around her at all her things on the ground.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I wasn’t all that great at apologies, and I figured now wasn’t going to be much different. I’d obviously upset her with all my shitty comments, though. “I didn’t mean to…I just…”
I stopped talking. I didn’t know what to say, and I felt bad about yelling at her. She looked at me all red-eyed with tears staining her cheeks.
“Just don’t do that shit anymore.” I let out a big sigh.
She nodded once and then reached out to grab something off the ground near her and shoved it back into the bag. From the amount of stuff scattered all over the street, my estimate on the size of the so-called purse wasn’t too far off. There was an umbrella, a little flashlight, a bunch of tubes and bottles, and at least a half dozen pens. As I looked around some more, I saw a small notebook, a paperback book, keys, a bottle of hand lotion that was nowhere near travel sized, a stack of tissues wrapped up in a Ziploc bag, two sets of earbuds, and a checkbook. There was also a whole pile of ponytail holders, bobby pins, and those little hair-holder-things that looked like teeth.
There was shit from her bag from one side of the fucking street to the other.
She started crawling around, gathering it all up, and cramming it back inside, which gave me a fabulous view of her ass in the short-shorts style waitress uniform the place up the street usually demanded. I could kind of see how she might have thought she could use the bag as a weapon—there had been more stuff in there than really should have been able to fit. I looked around on the ground to see if there was an actual kitchen sink, or at least part of one, but I didn’t see anything metal. There was something that looked like a small rock, though.
“How do you even carry that thing around?” I asked.
“What?”
“That…that purse-bag-thingy there,” I said, pointing and shaking my finger at it. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but the whole idea of the thing scared me, and I wasn’t sure why. I felt like if I got too close to it I might get sucked in, never to be seen again. “It’s insane.”
Her eyes became little slits as she looked up to me.
“There is nothing wrong with my purse!” she growled.
“It’s huge,” I said.
“It has everything I need in it.”
“It has everything you and ten of your friends could need for a week,” I replied with a laugh. “I know there are people who carry Chihuahuas in their purse, but you could fit a Dane in there.”
Excerpt #2
When I got to the top of the stairs, I immediately saw a figure leaning against the outside of the fence and looking back and forth down the street quickly. Each time the head turned, a long brown pony tail bobbed around, and strands of hair got caught in the chain links. If the short-shorts and Fin’s logo on the shirt weren’t enough to go on, the gigantic, evil handbag gave her away.
“What the fuck?” I snarled through the fence.
Tria startled and looked at me, turning quickly on her heel and holding up her keys clenched in her fist. I tilted my head to one side and raised an eyebrow at her. What was she going to do, wave them around at me from the other side of the fence?
“I’m pretty sure that was not meant to take the place of a ride,” I said, nodding toward the keys in her hand.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Tria yelled. She adjusted the mega-monster purse on her shoulder and ran her hand through her hair. “The girl who was driving me got another job. She just walked out today, and there wasn’t anyone else on my shift with a car.”
“So you’re walking down this street again?” I yelled. I slammed my palms into the chain links, making the whole side of metal rattle. She jumped away, stammering.
“I…I…”
I didn’t give her much chance to finish. I was livid.
“After what happened the last time? Seriously, Tria?” I paced over to the edge of the building and back to the fence again. My fingers wrapped around the links and yanked. “You do have a fucking death wish, don’t you?”
“I do not!”
“Then why are you being so stupid?” I screamed. I planted my feet right where they were, and my heart thumped audibly in my chest.
“I was trying to find you!” she yelled back.
“Well, why didn’t you come in the fucking bar?” I tossed my hands up into the air. “Is there not a big ass poster right there in your face saying exactly where I am on Friday nights?”
“I tried,” Tria said with a glare. “The bouncer wouldn’t let me in.”
“Why not?”
“I’m only twenty,” she said with a shrug.
There was something about that news that flipped a switch in my head. I knew she looked young, but I didn’t realize how young. The idea that she was out here on her own, trying to make a go in this place without even being old enough to get into a bar killed my anger and made me feel something a little odd as well. Respect? Maybe even pride?
Whatever it was, it also hardened my dick.
Want more of this fantastic series?
Pre-order Trapped releasing August 4th!
Trapped (Book Two) Caged Series
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Sghf8B
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1dONldL
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1MnJZdI
About the Author:
Shay Savage lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her family and a variety of household pets. She is an accomplished public speaker, and holds the rank of Distinguished Toastmaster from Toastmasters International. When not writing, she enjoys science fiction movies, masquerading as a zombie, is a HUGE Star Wars fan, and member of the 501st Legion of Stormtroopers. When the geek fun runs out, she also loves soccer in any and all forms – especially the Columbus Crew, Arsenal and Bayern Munich – and anxiously awaits the 2014 World Cup. Savage holds a degree in psychology, and she brings a lot of that knowledge into the characters within her stories.
Stalk Shay Here: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Signed Paperback of Caged (pending delivery) (1 winner)
Ebook of Caged (3 copies, 3 winners)
Swag pack (1 Winner)
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Cover Reveal of ACE: a Band of Brothers Novel
ACE a Band of Brothers novel by Lyra Parish
Coming September 1, 2015
Cover created by Letitia at RBA Designs
Synopsis
My name is Ace and I’m the Ace of Spades.
I’m not nice and I misbehave.
I will be your nightmare.
I will be your dream.
I will have you begging for more of me with each scream.
The truth is in my lyrics.
Uncontrollably controlled.
I bleed many things one being Rock & Roll.
I don’t date or make love, I fuck real hard.
Did you know the ace of spades is considered the death card?
Love doesn’t exist in my world, it never did.
Love won’t exist in my world; it’s something I forbid.
My name is Ace and I’m the Ace of Spades.
Proceed with caution, because I’m sharp like a blade.
The Band of Brothers novels are full length and will follow each brother in the band. They can be read together or separately.
If you would like a one-time email when ACE is live on all platforms, please sign up for this email notification:
Except of Chapter 1:
Disclaimer: this is subject to change.
Tonight I would fuck the blonde in the front row. The set was nearing the end and I could feel her gaze peeling off every piece of my clothing. I liked when a woman knew what she wanted.
Blue and green lights flashed over the stage then washed across the crowd. When we made eye contact again, her tongue traced the outside of her plump bottom lip and at that moment I knew she was DTF. Her being down to fuck made this so much easier but then again, being the lead singer of the Band of Brothers made panties magically melt. I’d be her fantasy for the night.
This tour wasn’t like the others because this time everyone wanted a piece of us as if our success happened overnight. But we earned every fucking opportunity we had. I would say given but that’s bullshit. My brothers and I worked hard for every small and large success we had because that’s our nature. We were raised to not take shit for granted and to work hard. Being assholes just came naturally but we knew to give respect where respect was due.
Each show from Florida to California, all the way to New York was sold out and that felt incredible.
The drums beat on as I screamed out the next few lyrics. “I won’t let the world decide. I’ll die before that happens.” The drums stopped and the distortion was cut leaving a melodic strum of Nicolas’s guitar.
The lights faded when walked off stage leaving the crowd to themselves. Ian, Nicolas, and Liam had huge smiles covering their faces as they chugged the water the technicians handed us. This would never get old. Moments like this were the ones we lived and worked for. Once the chanting and clapping started, the four of us walked back onstage and gave the fans what they wanted, an encore.
Green and yellow lights flashed over the crowd and smoke hovered at the bottom of the stage. We played three more songs and the people sang and swayed to the lyrics and music. Some jumped up and down, feeling the full beat of the drums while others banged their heads. The feeling of having thousands of people chanting my words would never become real. More often than not, I felt like I was in a dream, one that I never wanted to wake from.
During the last song, I pointed to the blonde who continued to visually rip my clothes off with every little blink she took. By the way she was dressed in a tight pink shirt and little bitty skirt, I knew she wanted to be seen. She could have possibly had this night planned from the beginning. Randomly, I chose a few others from the crowd to join us, to dance in front of our audience, to feel the temporary power. It was something I did every show, every tour. It was a habit of sorts.
Security helped the girls climb on the stage and they shook their asses in those little pieces of material that were supposed to be skirts. It always made women feel special when they were with the band, and I loved giving them just a little taste.
A person doesn’t fully understand performing live until they have had the opportunity to look out past the stage lights and see the people. Before the song ended, the technicians led the girls’ side stage as cannons of confetti shot from the floor. Different colored pieces of paper glittered everywhere. When the final song ended, my brothers and I walked side stage where girls anxiously waited us. I smiled, popping an eyebrow at my chosen woman for the night, and she instantly came to me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and hers hung on my waist. My brothers stopped in the green room with the other girls, but Blondie and I walked to the bus.
“I’m Lindsey,” she whispered in my ear before we reached the end of the hallway. I smiled at her and pushed open the exit door. Groupies and fans waited near the bus and as soon as we walked up they rushed it.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” I said, smiling at them with pearly whites. “My brothers are coming out that door over there. Really soon.”
I hated to out their exit strategy, but I wanted to take my time burying my dick deep inside Misty or Christy or whatever the fuck her name was. It didn’t matter. Names never did.
Author Bio
Lyra Parish loves to write, glamp, and sing obnoxiously loud at the top of her lungs in the shower. Sweet love stories (along with the dirty ones) make her gush. She is a firm believer that a person can never have too many cups of coffee, cats, or happily ever afters. When she isn’t busy writing, she can be found sipping various beverages from her non-alcoholic drink buffet, pimp slapping excel spreadsheets, or riding her bike. Lyra lives in Texas with her glassblowing, guitar-playing hubby and black cat named Nibbler.
Lyra’s Links
Mailing List: http://bit.ly/lyranewsletter
Facebook: http://bit.ly/lyrafacebook
Twitter: http://bit.ly/lyratwitter
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/lyragoodreads
Amazon: http://bit.ly/LyraAmazon
Giveaway
Sign up to receive an ADVANCED review copy of ACE. These will be only be sent to kindle addresses. Several random people will receive them close to release date.
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Release Day Blitz for REVIVED by Samantha Towle
Happy Release Day to Samantha Towle and her new book REVIVED! This is Leandro’s story! Read a sneak peek below and make sure to enter the giveaway! Good luck!
India Harris didn’t have the best start in life. Abandoned as a baby, she and her twin brother, Kit, spent their lives in foster care, only having each other to rely on. Then, at a young age, a relationship with the wrong man left India pregnant. Wanting to give her son the life she never had, she put herself through school and graduated with honors.
Now, at the age of thirty, she’s a highly respected therapist.
At the top of his game as a Formula One driver, Leandro Silva had everything—until an accident on the track left him staring death in the face. After enduring twelve months of physical therapy, Leandro is now physically able to race, but his mind is keeping him from the track. Frustrated and angry, Leandro’s days and nights are filled with limitless alcohol and faceless women.
Entering the last year of his contract, he knows he has to race again, or he’ll lose everything he spent his life working for. Forced into therapy to get his life back, Leandro finds himself in the office of Dr. India Harris.
Falling for his uptight therapist is not part of Leandro’s plan.
Having unethical feelings for her patient, the angry Brazilian race car driver, is not part of India’s plan.
But what if the wrong person is the only person who is right?
My eyes move to the magazines on the table. A sports mag is peeking out from under the fashion mags. Leaning forward, I pull it out, instantly wishing I hadn’t.
On the cover of the magazine is a picture of me with the caption, What the Bad Side of Formula 1 Looks Like.
Nice.
So, now, I’m the bad side of Formula 1. Good to know.
I already know what the media say about me. How I’ve turned from a great racer into a drunk and a whore.
They’re not wrong on the whore part. Well, whore is a bit harsh. I don’t charge for my services. And I wouldn’t say I’m a drunk. I just like to drink—a lot.
I shouldn’t read the article. I know this, but the sadistic part of me has me turning those pages.
Finding the article, eyes scanning the text, I pick out the usual shit.
Why is Silva no longer racing? Physically, he’s healthy. Is it mental problems? Fear over racing because of his accident? Is that why he drinks—drowning his misery in alcohol? Such a shame to see a once great driver fall from grace so dramatically.
Frustration and rage grip my chest like a vise.
Fuck this. I don’t need this shit.
Even though I can’t race, it’s not like I actually need to.
I don’t need to race. I just need to drink and fuck. That’s all I need now. All I will ever need.
Liar.
I’m a liar and a chickenshit. And that’s why I’m sitting in the waiting room to see a therapist.
Maybe I am beyond help.
Tossing the magazine back onto the table, I get to my feet, ready to leave this place, just as the door opens, revealing the epitome of what I could really do with screwing right now.
My eyes trail up the tanned, toned legs to the fitted pencil skirt that I would happily hitch up to see the magnificent pussy that I bet lies beneath. A pale-pink blouse is tucked into that skirt, covering what looks like a fantastically sized pair of tits. Silky blonde hair sits on her shoulders. Hair that I would enjoy getting my hands all tangled in while I fuck those bright red lips of hers, enjoying seeing that lipstick smeared all over my cock.
My dick pulses in my jeans, more than ready to proposition her with the offer.
“Mr. Silva.” She steps forward. “I’m Dr. Harris. But please call me India.”
She’s Dr. Harris?
This hitch-your-skirt-up-and-let-me-fuck-you-right-now woman is my new therapist.
Well, that’s just fucking great. It’s not like I can bang my therapist.
I put my cock on hold and give her my best smile, the one that always has panties dropping to the floor, as I say, “And you can call me Leandro.”
New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal and international bestselling author Samantha Towle began her first novel in 2008 while on maternity leave. She completed the manuscript five months later and hasn’t stopped writing since.
She has written contemporary romances, THE MIGHTY STORM, WETHERING THE STORM, TAMING THE STORM and TROUBLE.
She has also written paranormal romances, THE BRINGER and the ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES, all penned to tunes of The Killers, Kings of Leon, Adele, The Doors, Oasis, Fleetwood Mac, and more of her favourite musicians.
A native of Hull and a graduate of Salford University, she lives with her husband, Craig, in East Yorkshire with their son and daughter.
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♥ Books in the Series ♥
Book 1 – Revved
**Revved is on SALE for a limited time for $.99**
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Book 2 – Revived
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Samantha Towle REVIVED Release Week Giveaway
