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Forgotten

4/20/2017

Forgotten
Kristin Smith
(The Deception Game #2)
Published by: Clean Teen Publishing
Publication date: April 25th 2017
Genres: Dystopian, Young Adult

The epic tale of Sienna Preston continues in this second installment of the exhilarating Deception Game series.

Seventeen-year-old Sienna is no stranger to heartache and loss. But this time, it’s different; someone―or something―has tampered with a loved one’s memories, and she’s determined to get answers.

The trail leads her to the glittering skyscrapers and modern luxuries of Rubex, the Capital of Pacifica, where she infiltrates the government’s Agency for Intelligence and Genetics. But answers are not always easy to come by, especially when her own memories may have been altered. Luckily, Zane Ryder is there to help her put the pieces back together, his devotion and concern muddying the waters between friendship and something more.

When Sienna gets too close to uncovering dark Agency secrets, she’s framed for the murder of a prominent government official, sending her on the run. Sienna’s heart may be torn about who she loves, but none of that really matters anymore―because the only thing that awaits her now is a death sentence.

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EXCERPT:

“How do you know so much about motorcycles? Did your dad ride?”

She laughs outright at my question. “My dad on a motorcycle? No way. Dad was a mixture of leather, coffee, and books. Not oil, sweat, and grease.”

After lying down on her back, she scoots up next to the bike, checking the rims and spokes to make sure there’s no damage. “It kind of became a hobby of mine after my dad died. Do you know the junkyard off Chantilly? Never mind, of course you don’t. Anyway, I found Harley there when I was looking for some old furniture to decorate our trailer with.” She looks up at me. “We didn’t always live in a trailer, you know.”

I try to hide my surprise. I assumed the opposite. “What happened?”

“After Dad died, Mom became sick. We couldn’t afford to live in our house in the suburbs anymore, so we sold it and everything in it, and found the trailer on the outskirts of town. That’s when I dropped out of school and started taking on odd jobs.”

She says it all with such a matter-of-fact tone, but I sense the truth. It was hard for her. It was more than any teenage girl should have to deal with. But she’s too strong to admit it.
“I don’t know how you did it,” I say.

She sits up, wiping her hands on her shorts. Unconsciously, I find my eyes shifting to her bare legs.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she says. She rises to her feet, straddles the bike, and bounces up and down a little. I can only assume she’s checking the chassis to make sure everything is working properly.

“Anyway,” she says. “When I found Harley, I took her home, researched antique motorcycles, and fixed her up. There’s a shop near the Hollow that sells parts, so that’s where I headed after I got my first paycheck.” She pats her bike fondly. “Never regretted it.”

I watch as she turns the key and the engine roars to life, bringing a brilliant smile to her face. I want to tell her all the ways I think she’s amazing, how she’s unlike any girl I’ve ever met, how I find her beautiful, resourceful, intelligent, and intriguing, but she doesn’t want to hear those things. Not from me anyway.

Author Bio:

Kristin Smith writes young adult contemporary and science fiction novels. When she’s not writing, you can find her dreaming about the beach, beating her boys at Just Dance, or belting out karaoke (from the comfort of her own home). Kristin currently resides in the middle-of-nowhere North Carolina with her husband and five incredibly loud but extremely cute boys. To read more about her obsession with YA novels or her addiction to chocolate, you can visit her at kristinsmithbooks.com.

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Terrence

4/19/2017

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Terrence: A Short Story
Alice Rachel
(Under Ground, #0.8)
Publication date: May 15th 2017
Genres: Dystopian, New Adult, Romance

Bullying is nothing new to Terrence Young. The teasing and harassment are constant. His family is less than understanding as well. To them, Terrence chose to be gay and complicate their lives. Their little rejections sting and cut him deeply.

But when the Deviance Act is passed, Terrence’s life takes a turn for the worse overnight. Under the new law, a mere look, a simple touch, or a small kiss in public could mean death. Terrence attempts to hide his orientation to survive. That is until a gang attacks him in a bar and Chase Martinez interferes.

Chase is gorgeous, kind-hearted, and he’s a rebel in the Underground—all qualities that attract Terrence so much there is no stopping the fall. Loving Chase might be dangerous, but Terrence is done living in fear and letting others dictate what is right for him.

*The author pledges to donate 100% of sales revenue from “Terrence: A Short Story” to The Ally Coalition

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EXCERPT:

“So you decided you like girls now or something?” Gerald asked.

I gave him a double-take. “What?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna date girls now? Like, you’re straight or something? Or are you bi? Or what?”

“I never said I wasn’t straight.”

A laugh gurgled up from his throat, and it grew louder and louder until his narrow shoulders shook and he slapped his knees. “You’re funny, you know that?”

Yeah, real hilarious!

I narrowed my eyes, and he chuckled again. Then he shot to his feet so quick, he was standing in my face before I could move.

“I caught you checking out my ass more than once, man. Ain’t no need to pretend ’round me. You’re about as straight as a circle.”

My cheeks instantly got red, and I tried to hide them by pulling my hood down over my face. But Gerald took another step forward and slipped his hand through my light brown hair. His eyes followed the movement of his fingers, and the hood fell down on my neck.

“It’s too bad, you know. ‘Cause I like you. But if you’re sure you’re into girls now…Well…” He made a sad face, sticking his lower lip out like he was real disappointed.

Author Bio:

Alice Rachel is the author of the YA Forbidden Romance/ Dystopian Romance Series "Under Ground."

Her time is divided between teaching French, writing, reading, drawing, and spending time with her hubby and guinea pigs.

Alice loves talking to readers, so send her a message...

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Santino the Eternal

4/19/2017

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Paranormal Romance

Date Published: 3/28/2017

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Santino the Eternal has never craved the forbidden - until now. As a blood-thirsty serial killer hunts the glitzy streets of Las Vegas, Santino collides with a young college student - can she make it out alive?

Clara Denton’s life is flung into chaos when she discovers a drained corpse in a posh hotel room on the Strip. And as if her life wasn't already spiraling out of control, her reclusive boss has taken a disconcerting interest in her. Unable to resist the dark pull, she is drawn further and further into the murky world of the undead - as well as just the dead, too. When the handsome Matthew Hunter arrives with his sights set on Clara, she is thrown into one final eternal struggle of good versus evil.

Can love truly be eternal?

Excerpt

“Be free, my darling,” he said to the languid corpse.

With the back of his hand, he wiped away the last drops of the precious nectar he’d drained from her fragile veins. “You have served me well.” He watched as the ghost of his young victim fled her empty body.

He felt crushing remorse that he’d killed her. Her death was kind, painless, and he needed her blood, he convinced himself as he glanced around the darkened hotel room. The warm fluid rushing through him caused the sensation of a post-orgasmic high—so similar was the feeling that he craved the cigarette he usually only smoked after sex.

“No, not here,” he said aloud to himself, his agile fingers placing the pack of cigarettes back into his designer suit coat.

The door to the hotel room opened—a swath of light from the hallway burned into his eyes and his hand instinctively reached up to shield himself from it.

A young housekeeper burst in, her eyes only glimpsing his form for seconds as he moved from the room with such preternatural swiftness that he was just a mere blur to her mortal eyes.

It was several more minutes before his perfected ears heard her scream in terror.

Chapter One

“C’mon, baby, don’t run out of gas on me now.”

Clara Denton reached over and turned off the air conditioning in her 1986 Ford Escort. The fuel needle, pointed at the letter E, seemed to mock her as she irrationally turned off the radio, as if those minor efforts would have any effect on the amount of gas her old car would burn on her way to work.

“One more mile,” she said aloud to the vehicle. “One more mile and I promise to feed you after work. I can’t be late again.”

In her worn Fossil hobo purse her last ten dollars sat crumpled. Clara hoped it would provide enough fuel to get her back and forth to school that week as well as to her job cleaning rooms at the newest and classiest hotel on the Las Vegas Strip—the Roman.

Her stomach growled as she flashed her employee badge and pulled into the dark parking structure at the rear of the sprawling resort hotel and casino. At the place she’d worked before the employee facilities, those parts the guests didn’t see, were austere. Here, however, even the employee parking garage was glamorous.

As she fled the car, terrified of punching in late again, she thought about how she’d never once seen the reclusive owner of the Roman—his name was Marchetti, she couldn’t recall if she knew his first name. She assumed he was Italian, and rumors floated around that he was handsome, in his thirties, but even though he lived in the sprawling penthouse suite, no one she knew had ever seen him.

Clara’s first three rooms were easy cleans, and in the second one she was able to nibble on an unopened bag of potato chips—she hadn’t eaten since the night before when her roommate, Landon Miller, brought home scavenged baked ziti from the pizzeria he waited tables at.

The fourth room of her shift, however, was the one that changed the course of her life forever. As she flipped on the lights and walked in with her cleaning basket—maids at the upscale Roman weren’t allowed to push carts into the rooms—she saw it. A foot poking out from the crisp white sheet of the king sized bed. “Oh, sorry ma’am, I thought the room was…” She felt a rush of cool air blast past her, maybe even the faint hint of smoke, and then she saw it.

The foot protruding from the Italian 800 thread count Frette linens was not an alive foot. It was ghastly white, the red painted toenails a grotesque contrast to the paleness of the skin. A prank, she thought as she approached it, waiting for something to jump out at her. The air in the room changed, became oddly stagnant, as she sheepishly tugged at the sheet. Clara heard herself scream, as if a bystander, as her body crumpled to the floor.

“The police,” she finally managed to mutter, as she reached for the phone on the mahogany desk. She stared at the phone, unable to remember how to get an outside line for several moments before deciding instead to press the button that was labeled Emergency.

Within minutes, several large men in dark suits blew into the room. One lifted her to her feet and asked if she was okay. As she nodded, he glanced at her nametag and said, “You may have the afternoon off, Clara. Thank you.” He turned to look at the body as the other men donned latex gloves.

“Uh, we should call the police. This is the serial killer. It’s got to be another of his victims—you know, the Blood Lust Killer.”

The dark suited man in charge flung his body toward hers, his hands braced on his hips. “I believe it’s time for you to go.”

“No. You can’t touch anything until Metro comes,” she argued, her voice fighting to sound strong. These men were tampering with a crime scene—her roommate, Landon, when not serving greasy pizza and pints of beer—was in the police academy. Clara had helped him study enough to know these men were breaking the law.

“Steven, please escort the former employee from the premises.” He turned to face her once more, and with a sneer said, “We’ll mail your final paycheck. Your services here at the Roman are no longer required.”

She stood in shock, unable to process the dramatic turn that afternoon had taken. “You’re firing me?” she finally choked out through her tears. The man never answered her, and she followed him to the central housekeeping department to return her uniform. The dark-suited stoic presence stood outside the changing room and walked her to her car, reminding her that security cameras would watch her exit the grounds of the casino.

In her hot car, with guards staring at her, she reached for her cell phone. Despite the glare of the suited Steven approaching her, she dialed 911 and switched it to speaker as she sped down the exit ramp. “Yes, at the Roman,” she clarified to the dispatcher. “Room 80231—she was bloodless! White as a ghost.” She paused as the dispatcher read back the information, then as Clara began to ask about the serial killer her phone went dead. Damnit! Out of minutes!

Moments later, she was fighting her way through traffic. “That jerk-off, how dare he fire me,” she hissed into her empty car as she battled the throng of cabs down the small section of Las Vegas Boulevard that was known as the Strip. In shock, fuming and terrified, she barely remembered to make her left on Flamingo when her car started to sputter. “Not the transmission again,” she groaned before her eyes set on the fuel gauge. “Shit!” She covered her mouth with her hand—Clara rarely swore, and when she did, she shocked even herself. “I forgot to get gas!”

*****

Flamingo was his least favorite place to drive. Stop after stop, he could rarely pick up the kind of speed he craved. When finally he was able to swoop around yet another annoying billboard truck, his designer-shod foot mashed the accelerator down as hard as he could. The Maserati lurched, pressing him back into the buttery leather seats that had been custom made to fit his tall, lean body. And then he nearly ran over her.

She fell backward into her battered old car, smashing into the dented frame and falling face down onto the dirty black pavement of Flamingo Road. “Fuck,” he howled, the nimble car coming to a screeching stop as those behind him blew their horns and struggled to maneuver around him. He was able to stop his car at the side of the busy road, in front of the small frame of a young woman lying in the street.

“I didn’t hit you, Miss, did I?” He sprang from his car toward her. She’s moving, that’s good, he thought as she placed her palms on the pavement, pushing her lean frame up.

“Um, no, I just, I thought you were going to hit me, I jumped and tripped.”

“That is a relief,” he sighed. He reached for her hand and helped her to her feet.

“I-I’m fine now,” she said with a quick tug of her hand to remove it from his. But he couldn’t let go. He held onto her hand as a sensation so foreign, so odd, washed over him.

“Well, thank you for even stopping,” she said with a smile, tugging her hand from his once more. This time he let her soft hand fall from his, but he continued to look into her eyes. They were brown, chocolate brown, he thought. She was young, twenty-one was the number that popped into his head as he stared at her mutely.

She ran her hand through her hair as she turned to face her car. “Do you need me to call a car service for you?” he asked as she lifted the rear hatch and pulled out a red gas can. “No, thank you, I’m out of gas. It’s only a few blocks to the station.”

“I would never let you do that. Please, I’ll drive you.”

She stared at the car—clearly he was a rich businessman, a local, and, she had to admit, breathtakingly handsome. But still, she was no idiot. She wasn’t going to get into his car, or any stranger’s car, with a blood-sucking serial killer roaming Las Vegas murdering young women. “I’m fine, I’ll walk.” She took a few steps and heard him speak again.

“No, Miss, you will not. I cannot let you do that.”

“Let me?” She spun around and glared at him, empowered by the safety of the heavy traffic swirling around them like angry hornets.

He held up his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. What I meant was it would be ungentlemanly of me. I can call road service, or perhaps go retrieve your gas for you while you wait in the air conditioning of my car?”

“I’m sorry to snap. I’ve had a terrible day. I was fired from my job and, well, it’s just been a rough one. I’d rather walk than wait, but thank you.” She set off again, with the man only steps behind her.

He caught up to her, his suit coat removed and tossed over one arm in the oppressive heat of summer in Las Vegas. “My name is Santino, by the way, and it is a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances of our introduction,” he said, positioning himself between the heavy street traffic and the young woman. “Miss…?”

“Clara Denton,” she answered with a smile. This drop-dead gorgeous rich guy is also a gentleman, she thought as he reached to carry the gas can.

At the gas station, his phone buzzed. With a quick glance at it, he looked to Clara. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I apologize for my rudeness.” She nodded as he walked to the side of the gas station.

“Wait until I tell Landon about this guy,” she said under her breath as she walked into the building to prepay for the gas.

Walking out, can in hand, the man, Santino, had his back to her. He was talking into his phone. She could hear him as she walked by toward the pumps. “Yes, Don, you did the right thing to have it cleaned. A mess like that in my home I would never tolerate.”

Too bad he’s a neat freak, she thought as she pumped the gas into the can, not that it matters.

*****

An hour later, Clara was back in her apartment digging through her empty refrigerator. “No one ever buys milk,” she said to the empty apartment. The foil pan of leftovers was the only palatable food she could find, so she finished it off while working on her paper for class the next morning. Her third year at UNLV was going well academically—she was a top student in the English Department, but financially she was in trouble. Student loans were piling up, and her passion was literature rather than a career field that would result in a lucrative job. Even if she taught, she knew her living conditions would be austere at best for the next decade.

As she looked at the research she’d done on a Word document on her MacBook, a spoonful of greasy baked ziti perched at her lips, there was a knocking at the thin door. “Landon, take your key once in a while,” she shouted toward the door.

But Landon was not at the door. As she opened it, four members of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, or Metro as it was referred to locally, stood there. “Oh come on in,” she said. The police are finally here about the dead body, she thought.

“We had a report of a crime from a resident at this address—a Clara Denton. Is that you?”

She nodded in relief. “Yeah, that’s me. Is she related to the serial murders?”

“She?” The suited detective looked at his notes before making eye contact with Clara again. They followed her inside.

“The woman—the dead body I found at work today.”

“Miss Denton, there was no body at the Roman. Not at the room number you reported, or any other room. Have you been following news coverage of the killings?”

“Well yes, but—wait a minute, there was a body, drained looking, white. The head of security and a few other men saw it, too.”

“Miss Denton, I understand the stress you’ve been under. However, calling 911 with a made up story is a serious crime. If we chased every baseless tip we’d be—”

“Baseless? I saw her!”

“You were fired today, were you not?”

“Well, yeah, because I insisted they call the police.”

“According to management at the casino, you were fired for being late too many times. As you were leaving the resort premises, you called 911 from your prepaid cellphone and made up a story about finding a body in order to inconvenience the hotel.”

Clara shook her head, the blood draining from her face. Was this really happening?

*****

Santino paced on the priceless rug that graced the polished marble floors of his penthouse suite high atop the Roman. His trusted head of security, Donovan Salerno, sat on the cognac leather wingback chair and glanced over the notes in his small notebook. The afternoon had been stressful, but Don thought he’d done well.

“And the maid? She won’t talk? Let’s make her happy,” Santino said as he rubbed his stubbly chin.

“Well, sir, we fired her, it was necessary that—”

“What the fuck did you just say? You fired her?”

Donovan took a deep breath and willed himself to stay calm. The boss was mad—deadly mad. He stood up and explained. “She demanded we call the police. That one, she was too smart. That young chick wasn’t like the Mexican maids that most—”

“I swear to God that if you say one ignorant bigoted thing you will regret it for the rest of your short life.” Santino had no tolerance for small-mindedness.

“Um, no, it’s just this housekeeper was not going to be deterred from alerting Metro to the mess in your house, sir.”

“So now she’s out there, with no loyalty whatsoever to us, no incentive to stay silent. That is a problem, Don.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll take care of her. I apologize for letting her go.”

“I don’t want her harmed, I merely want her silent. What is her name?”

Santino’s pale eyes focused on the man as he stopped his pacing. The words his head of security spoke caused him to grow cold, colder than his usual soulless body.

“Clara Denton.”

About the Author

Sam JD Hunt resides in Las Vegas with her husband, the inspiration for the young Thomas Hunt character, as well as her two children. Her debut trilogy, The Thomas Hunt Series, put a fun and unique spin on the popular BDSM genre. She followed up with the highly successful DEEP: A Captive Tale--a dark BDSM erotic captor/captive story about a pirate and his lady that spans time and space. Her fourth novel, the full-length standalone The Hunt for Eros is an erotic art adventure that combines spicy romance with a cultural adventure based on true life events. It has been described as being like The Da Vinci Code, but with lots of heat added.

Hunt's next release was co-written with her husband. Dagger: American Fighter Pilot is a steamy contemporary romance, which follows a squadron of fighter pilots as part of the American Fighter Pilot read-in-any-order series. Following the release of Dagger, Hunt released the much-anticipated MMF/Bi/Ménage erotic adventure, Taken by Two and then its sequel, Torn from Two. Next, Hunt plans to release DEEPER: Capture of the Virgin Bride as a follow-up to DEEP. When not writing, Hunt enjoys travel, community involvement, spending time with friends and family, and hiking. She spends her days writing and trying to answer the age-old question: is it too late for coffee or too early for wine?

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Fat Girl Begone!

4/18/2017

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Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Date Published: May 1, 2017

I’m a total mess. My boyfriend dumped me – get this – because I diet too much. Not because I’m fat, mind you. Of course, this spurs me into the diet-fitness-revenge-plan of the century, which leads me to the gym and a scorching hot personal trainer. I even manage to make some cool new friends, including a millionaire if you can believe it. Things are looking up! Naturally, that’s the moment my ex decides he wants me back, the personal trainer asks me out, and my millionaire male buddy decides to throw his hat in the ring. But that’s not enough drama. No, not for me. Because I’ve also lost my job and decided to start my own business. Just call me Ms. Drama.

Warning: Bad language, bumpy roads, and embarrassing moments ahead. But there’s also more than a bit of romance and even, if we’re lucky, love. Fingers crossed.

Not endorsed by or affiliated with any brand of tequila.

Excerpt

“Am I dressed okay for whatever we’re going to do?”

Carter chuckles. “You look beautiful as usual.” He reaches over and pinches my chin. “You’re going to have to wait a little longer to find out what we’re doing today.”

I stick out my lower lip, and Carter bursts into laughter. He’s wearing another Star Wars t-shirt. This one with the words Who’s Your Daddy printed under a picture of Darth Vader. He looks like a twenty-year-old college student instead of a millionaire business owner.

“How old are?” I blurt out.

He sobers immediately. “Does it matter?”

“Since I’m not a MILF and would be labeled a cradle robber, yeah, it matters.”

Carter grabs my coffee and places it on the little table in the entryway before crowding me. I move backwards until I hit the wall. He places his hands next to my head, totally enclosing me. “Who says you’re not a MILF?” His lips are on mine before I can respond. His tongue demands entrance and who am I to deny him? I grasp his t-shirt between my fists and pull him even closer. One of his hands grabs my ponytail while the other one travels down my back until he reaches the top of my ass and he pulls me flush against his hard body.

“Not a MILF, my ass.” He slowly releases me, and I collapse against the wall trying to catch my breath. “I’m thirty-three. Old enough for you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Come on, let’s go.” He grabs my hand with one hand and my coffee with the other before pulling me out of the hallway.

I’m buckled up in his fancy schamncy sports car before I manage to catch my breath. I take sips of my coffee to calm myself down because that kiss… Well, let’s just say the boy can kiss. “I’m technically not a MILF because I’m not a mother.”

Carter chuckles. “Beautiful and cute.”

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The Gentleman's Promise

4/18/2017

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The Gentleman’s Promise
Frances Fowlkes
(Daughters of Amhurst, #3)
Published by: Entangled Publishing
Publication date: April 17th 2017
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

A social pariah due to her scandalous activities, Lady Sarah Beauchamp yearns for redemption to obtain a husband. The assistance of Society darling Mr. Jonathon Annesley gives her hope of success. However, the more effort he puts into helping her, the more she realizes the only esteem she wishes to earn is that of the handsome Jonathon. However, her reputation would potentially ruin his political aspirations.

Offering a gentleman’s promise to help his sister’s friend regain the favor of the ton should be easy for son of a viscount, Jonathon Annesley. After all, he’s well liked and considered a rising star in Parliament. Until he learns Sarah’s ultimate goal is a husband. No man is good enough and could ever appreciate her for all she is. But she is not for him—his focus rests solely on gaining reforms for society’s weakest members. Yet, a promise made cannot be broken…

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Author Bio:

After viewing her all-time favorite love story, "Anne of Green Gables", at the impressionable age of ten, Frances Fowlkes has been obsessed with affable boy-next door heroes, red-heads, and romance stories with lots of "highfaluting mumbo jumbo" written within their pages. It only seems natural then that she married the boy who used to pull on her curls in her high school English class, had not one, but THREE red-headed boys, and penned multiple love stories with bits of flowery prose.

When not writing, Frances loves spending time with her family, fangirling, and planning her next vacation.

Frances Fowlkes, originally a northern mid-westerner, now lives in the southeast with her ardent hero of a husband, three playful and rambunctious boys, and one spoiled standard poodle.

A self-professed Anglophile and summa cum laude graduate of LeTourneau University, Frances Fowlkes combines her passion for happily-ever-afters with her interests in both American and English histories.

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God Is Dead

4/18/2017

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About the Book

Title: One God – God is Dead

Author: Kata Mlek

Genre: Dystopian, Technothriller, Science Fiction

The final gambit. The final opponent. The final judgment.

Miran, Satia, and Flins have crushed all opposition, and Genesis dominates the market.

From a position of strength, they launch an all-out campaign to take total control of the European economy. Using everything from manufactured pop idols to underground whisper campaigns, Genesis expands into forbidden new areas, daring anyone to stand in their way.

But the old elites of Europe will only tolerate so much provocation. Setting aside their differences, they mount their most devious and merciless attack yet.

Within months, Miran is afflicted by a mysterious illness, and may be close to death. The media campaign unravels and public sentiment turns against Genesis. Legal troubles mount. And then, the kidnappings begin…

Desperate to survive, Genesis breaks an unbreakable taboo… and nothing can prevent the consequences.

The thunderous conclusion to One God rushes boldly through new and unexpected ideas, redefining the limits of a thriller. It all ends with a final twist that will have you re-reading the series to figure out exactly when Genesis made its one, fatal mistake.

Includes The Genesis Files: bonus stories, art, and dossiers that complement the main story.

Note: contains strong language and some disturbing scenes. For mature readers only.

Author Bio

KATA MLEK

UNCOMFORTABLY REAL FICTION

I began my writing career in 2012 after leaving the IT industry. In Poland, I’ve had several successful novels published by traditional publishers. In 2015, I made the decision to switch to self-publishing and start my international career.

In 2015, I published the English edition of my intense psychological thriller Absolute Sunset. This was one of the most talked-about books in Poland in 2012, and the English edition has been equally well-received.

In 2016, I published One God—a trilogy of techno-thrillers about corporate control of genetic modifications. Originally published in Polish as a single long novel, the English version was expanded and re-written to create a trilogy with lots of great new scenes.

Now I’m working on another psychological thriller, a brand-new story written directly in English for my English readers.

All of my books cross genres—I like to experiment with different styles to create the effect I want, and to give my readers a unique experience. My Polish background gives me a different perspective and makes my writing fresh, although I feel it’s still accessible—inside we’re all the same, after all.

You can read my free short stories, get writing tips, and catch up with me on my blog at katamlek.com. If you like my work, you can become my patron on Patreon and get future books for free. And of course, you can find me on Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest.

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Never A Choice

4/18/2017

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Erotic Romance

$.99 Cent Sale

Romantic: Hot Alpha, Billionaire Romantic Suspense, Erotica.

Bethany Thorne has secrets and she’s told a few lies but she’s hurt no-one. She just wants a better life, she works hard for a better life, a life with choices but a chance encounter at her new University with billionaire, hot alpha Daniel Stone makes her heart beat, her body tremble and rocks her very foundation. Reeling from the intensity of her unfathomable reactions to this man her world is sent further spiralling out of her control when on this first meeting he casually whispers that he knows she’s a liar. Bethany begins to feel her hard earned choices start to disintegrate before her.

Her innate and newly discovered submissive nature is highlighted further by her extreme reaction to each encounter with alpha Daniel Stone. Seriously hot, dark and dominant he evokes an instant heat and desire she has never felt before, but he is dangerous, he is powerful and he seems to see right through her. Choosing to try and stay under his radar proves to be the first choice to slip through her fingers.

Other Books in The Choices Trilogy

Novella from The Choices Trilogy

Published: February 2016

Just a little more Daniel and Bethany in time for Valentine...what could be hotter?

The Choices Trilogy #2

Published: April 2015

Dark and erotically demanding Daniel is everything and more, Bethany embraces the challenge of being with a man like Daniel whilst trying to come to terms with what he needs and what she can give him of herself. Is it ever going to be enough? Daniel consumes and possess every part of her, its intoxicating and seductive. Bethany needs to choose between being true to herself and the promises she made and being the type woman Daniel demands.

The Choices Trilogy #3

Published:June 2015

Bethany’s devastation is complete. Secrets, lies and impossible choices have torn her world apart but it is not the first time she has had to rebuild her world. So she’ll do it again…she has to.

When Bethany meets Daniel, she is backed into a corner and with the threat of losing even more she comes out fighting. Daniel quickly learns there is nothing quite as intoxicating as a woman with nothing left to lose and nothing quite as irresistible as his Bethany. But there are more games being played than either of them are truly aware and the winning prize is a coveted Happy Ever After.

Published: January 2016

This is a billionaire romantic HEA series.

Excerpt

“I thought we talked about lying. I know you are lying but I want to know why?” He touches my chin with the tip of his finger and I can feel the intensity of the heat from that tiny connection like a branding iron.

“How?” Its all I can manage and his lips curl in to a sinful grin.

“I know you Miss Thorne. I know you better than you know yourself.” He pushes my jacket open and I gulp for the air that won’t stay in my mouth. His strong hands hold my waist, his thumbs tracing circles over my hip and his fingers hook over the waist band of my jeans and follow the band to the middle. “ I know what you need.” He slowly pops the buttons and I let out a small moan, his eyes darken from brilliant blue to almost black. I jump at the sound of the door handle, it’s unlocked.

“Don’t move.” I barely hear his low growl as he takes one step to my side but remains flush against my body his fingers gently stroking the top of my panties.

“Ah Daniel.” I recognise Mr Wilson’s cheerful voice.

“Jack, if you don’t mind I just need a moment with Miss Thorne.” His voice is soft but commanding and with that he sinks his hand down the front of my panties and begins to leisurely move his index finger up and down my soft folds. I try to suppress a full on erotic cry at the intimate intrusion and all that escapes is a strained squeak from the back of my throat. I begin to tremble; my legs are feeling weak and my blood is rushing, deciding whether to flee to my head or my crotch.

“Yes of course, Bethany I hope you are well, you have my assignment completed yes? Are you enjoying the course?” Oh crap I’ve got to answer, Daniel looks like he is asking for directions. I dread to think what my face looks like as perspiration forms a sheen across my skin and I struggle to breathe.

“Yes and yes I am, thank you Mr Wilson.” I manage to speak in a level but strained tone.

“How much?” Daniel says under his breath and sinks a finger further into me. I clench around him and squeeze my legs together. My hips want to grind but I’m guessing that movement wouldn’t go undetected.

“Oh actually Bethany, you’ve saved me an email.” I whimper, the pressure building is more than a distraction. “We have a drinks reception, selected few blah blah but as a representative mature student on my course I would be grateful if you would come.” His offer is kind but barely registering with me as Daniel continues his deep rhythmical movement, slowly in and out, in and out.

“She’ll come, I’m sure of it.” Daniel answers on my behalf but not for my benefit. I look at him with heated, pleading eyes. He grins but continues to look at Mr Wilson, his glance the picture of calm whilst sinking a second finger deep inside me.

“Oh good, the details are on my desk, I’ll just . . .” I hear him step further into the room. I freeze. Daniel interrupts him.

“I’ll make sure she gets them but if you wouldn’t mind I need to finish with Miss Thorne.” He barely whispers the word with but the deep timbre of the rest of his commanding dismissal weakens not just my resolve but my knees too. Mr Wilson closes the door. My eyes are so wide and my body quakes as I am stepped forcefully back towards the door.

“I can’t believe, -arhhhh” Daniel strokes a sweet spot inside me and I feel my knees give way. He holds me up with his frame and continues to move his finger deep inside. His thumb puts light pressure in tiny circles on my clit. My hips move of their own volition grinding against his hand, riding him, needing re- lease.

“You’re so wet and I’m so fucking hard.” He growls into my neck as he flicks the door locked. “No interruptions, I want you to come for me.” Like I could stop. “Now!” He demands through gritted teeth.

“You’re so fucking responsive Bethany?” He slowly sucks on his fingers and I can see the raw desire still in his eyes. That maybe the most erotic thing I’ve seen and certainly the most erotic act I’ve ever experienced but even so, I realise I am seriously out of my depth with this man. He returns to the desk picks up the details of the drinks reception and hands me the information. He is unaffected and I’m a wreck.

About the Author

Dee Palmer lives just outside of London with her husband and (slightly embarrassed) children. Her passion is writing sexy steamy romance stories that will scorch the pages right off your kindle and are guaranteed to make your heart pound. She loves an HEA but isn't afraid to put her readers through the ringer before she delivers.

When not at her desk she can be found either fannying around on Facebook or with her nose stuck in her Kindle. Once in a while when the lights are down she might be spotted about town searching for the best French martinis and throwing some dubious shapes on the dance floor.

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Dark Djinn

4/17/2017

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About the Book

Title: Dark Djinn

Author: Tia Reed

Genre: Fantasy

Duplicity and deception: aid from a djinn is a curse under any guise.

Betrothed to a cruel lord, Princess Kordahla dreams of fleeing to her decadent neighbour, a journey fraught with danger, and no promise of sanctuary at its end. Her one hope is to offer the southern shah a prize so valuable he cannot refuse to harbour her: the secret of the mahktashaan, the soldier-magicians sworn to protect her father’s court.

But the mahktashaan guard their magic with blooded sword, and in stealing one of their powerful crystals she will risk her life. Unless she accepts the help of a treacherous djinn intent on tricking her into a deal.

It is a compact which threatens to shatter the fragile peace in the Three Realms.

A gripping tale of realms besieged and honour lost, of blood-ties severed and romance dreamed, Dark Djinn begins an epic quest to save mortals from the schemes of djinn.

Author Bio

Tia Reed loves nothing better than burying her nose in a story of her own imagining, cuddling her bossy cat and rescuing chewed pillows from her hyperactive dog. She takes every opportunity to do all three when she is not teaching English as a second language. Her other hobbies usually take a back seat but include trying to tame her beast of a garden, hiking and travelling. The latter has thrown her many interesting, sometimes hair-raising experiences, which she loves twisting into stories. She was born in Malta, but lives in Adelaide, Australia.

Links

Website: www.tiareed.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/SFWriter/

Amazon: Amazon

Giveaway

Win a $10 Amazon gift card during the blitz. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Read an Excerpt:

Kordahla took a deep breath and pulled a lock of her walnut hair over her shoulder, wondering what she could say.

“I have received a rather thought-provoking missive from Lord Ahkdul,” Father said, relieving her of the burden.

She nodded. They had met the ambassador’s ship for no other reason than to accept it. “Is he pleased with the ship’s progress?” she asked.

“He doesn’t mention it. This concerns another matter entirely.”

“Porrin smuggling,” Vinsant said, rolling his eyes.

Father frowned but immediately returned his attention to her. “As it happens, no. Lord Ahkdul has expressed a desire to meet Kordahla.”

Kordahla’s heart beat more quickly. “If he intends on guesting here, our re-acquaintance is assured.” She would not follow her thoughts to a logical if distasteful conclusion.

Father rose and took her hands. “His words imply he would like to cultivate a more serious relationship. He has even suggested you accompany him to Verdaan for a time.”

She was trembling now, though Father’s eyes were not unkind as they gauged her reaction. She shook her head in disbelief, glanced askance at the ambassador, decked out in Verdaani saffron, and kept her voice low, though there was every chance he would hear. “You cannot be entertaining the notion of a marriage alliance with Ahkdul?” Years of forced propriety kept her from saying more. They all knew the rumours.

Father touched the back of his fingers to her cheek, an affectionate gesture from childhood. “Perhaps we shall allow events to run their course when he arrives? You will, naturally, avail yourself of his presence.” His gaze held steady. “And it would be most fitting for you to don the veil while he is here. We would not wish him to think you uncouth.”

The djinn stitched her mouth until Father had turned from her. “Since it is Ahkdul who will be the guest, shouldn’t it be he who adapts to our customs?” She had meant to sound reasonable, to have the air of one asking for instruction in royal etiquette, but her trepidation had coloured the words with a touch of rudeness. As always, the hint of that tone, from a woman no less, wiped the cordiality from Father’s face.

“Perhaps it is time the women of the court resumed the ways of old. I am told you caused quite a disturbance yesterday, and not one Vae’oenka’s most ardent followers welcomed.” His stare shamed her into looking at the green lines through the black marble.

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An Adventurous Night

4/17/2017

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Mystery, Detective

Date Published: March 2017

When Sammy Shovel sinks his teeth into a case—he gets to the bottom of it— no matter how many bullets are flying at him.

Private Investigator, Sammy Shovel, is short, slightly overweight, balding, and he dresses like San Francisco’s most squalid street people.

When a supposed heist falls into his lap, Sammy jumps at the chance to make a few bucks, from an unknown victim, by stopping what appears to be a simple robbery. However, the case turns out to be different than anything he’s taken on since the death of his partner.

Sammy finds himself speeding through streets of San Francisco to head off another senseless murder. The events that follow are beyond his comprehension, and will change his perception of crime forever.

The victim may not be as evil as it seems, but rather—a casualty of circumstances.

About the Author

Ronald M. James was born during the great depression, and as a toddler watched WPA men build a new street, from his home’s big front window. His playmates were a red rider wagon, a small black satchel and rocks. By using his imagination he had conversations with mythical street workers that bloomed into fashioned fantasies by age four. He used cardboard boxes to create fun spaces for his neighborhood playmates to enjoy and he kept telling stories all through high school. In college he abandoned writing and studied architecture. James had a successful architectural career and retired, however he wanted to keep his creative juices fluent, so he returned to his childhood story telling days and joined a writers group. Like architecture, each day he couldn’t wait to create, finish, and start new stories—like this one, An Adventurous Night.

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Storm Winds

4/17/2017

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We welcome K.S. David and her STORM WINDS Book Blast today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!

Title: STORM WINDS: AN OUTER BANKS MYSTERY
Author: K.S. David
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 180
Genre: Romantic Suspense

Moving to the North Carolina Outer Banks was a chance for Leah Kymes to put her life back together, after her marriage went sour. But peace and quiet evade her, when her father is discovered murdered in his fish and tackle shop. Not willing to wait for authorities to solve the crime, she begins to delve into recent events involving her Dad. What she uncovers shatters her understanding of the man she thought she knew so well.

At Leah's side is her old flame, Officer Aden Parker, who runs interference between Leah and the salty detective who sees her as a hindrance. Ignoring Aden's warnings, she deepens her probe, but soon draws the attention of a handsome stranger. Is this new man just competing for her affection - or a vicious killer intent on making Leah his next victim?

FOR MORE INFORMATION:

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Book Excerpt:

Perched on top of a sand dune, Leah looked across the ocean as waves curled and crashed against the shore. Behind her, stalled traffic lined North Carolina's Highway 12, six miles deep. Residents of the Outer Banks fled their homes days earlier as the dark clouds of a Category 3 hurricane raced toward them. Now they were headed back to whatever the storm had left behind.

Leah's father, Rex, had ignored the warnings. "I ain't scared of no damned storm," he'd said. "It's the price we pay for living in paradise, honey."

Rex had been born and bred on the North Carolina coast. He was sun-tough, with seawater for blood. An average-sized man with a shock of white hair, a face lined by hard living, and eyes as blue and alert as a clear summer sky, he feared no man, and believed destiny was his to write. She believed that he was invincible when she was a child. She knew better now. After a week without a word from him, Leah's frustration was speeding toward fear.

She dug her toes beneath the warm sand, ran her hands through her thick auburn hair, and twisted it into a bun. She'd spent nearly four days huddled in a hotel room, watching hours of new reports as the storm tracked toward the Outer Banks. Afterward, she searched photos of the destruction, straining to see if the home she shared with Rex and their businesses had been spared.

Leah picked up her cell phone and tapped the photo of her father. Since the storm hit, communication had been spotty to the Outer Banks. Like all the times before, her call went straight to Rex's voice mail. Instead of leaving another agitated message, she ended the call, picked up a stick, and jammed it into the sand.

She was irritated. If she knew him well, and she did, her father hadn't thought once about the worry he caused. The old cuss was probably fine, but it was strange that he hadn't called to check on her, not even once. When her mind pondered over that loose detail, she pushed it to the furthest spot in her brain.

The blare of horns signaled that it was time to move. She skidded down the dune that hugged the road. Course granules of sand shifted underfoot as she descended. Heat pressed against her bare feet as she fished her keys out of the pocket of her cutoff shorts. Gaps in the line had been created by drivers who'd already moved forward and the woman parked behind Leah laid on her horn and growled, "We're trying to get home today, please!"

Leah sighed, grit her teeth, and gave a quick wave. "Sorry." Beneath her breath, she mumbled, "Go to hell." They were all in the same predicament and moving a few feet forward wasn't going to get either of them on the ferry any faster. She'd been in line for nearly two hours on the southern tip of Ocracoke Island. It would take another hour before she reached the pier for a forty-minute boat ride before landing on Hatteras Island, then another fifteen before she got to her father's house in the town of Frisco.

A hand tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Ms. Leah Kymes?"

A Hyde County police officer stared down at her. Sometimes, cops issued tickets to drivers who walked away from their cars when they were in the line for the ferry, especially at times like this. A ticket was the last thing she needed.

"I'm getting ready to pull up. We've been sitting here--"

The cop threw a hand up to stop her. "It's okay." He stepped closer and asked again, "Are you Leah Kymes?"

She frowned and looked down the line of cars. Eying him, she answered, "Yeah, I'm Leah Kymes."

"I'm Officer Alfred Hawkins. The Dare County Police Department requested that we locate and help you back over to Hatteras."

She stepped back. "Why?"

He shrugged, "Don't know. I was just told to find you."

"Is this about my father?" Her stomach turned at the thought that something bad had happened.

Hawkins held up a hand, "Ma'am, I don't know." He was a tall man, with smooth dark brown skin and an open face. "I was asked to get you back over to the island."

She looked at the backed-up traffic. There were still six miles to go before getting to the landing.

As if reading her mind, Officer Hawkins added, "I can take you back on one of the guard boats. Your car won't fit but another officer will get it on the next ferry."

At first, only a few drivers showed any interest when Hawkins first appeared beside Leah, but radios quieted and chatter ebbed when a second cruiser pulled alongside them and deposited another cop. Hawkins called over his shoulder to a female officer, "Direct the rest of the cars around us."

This officer was young. She'd chopped her brown hair into a pageboy and appeared to be losing the battle against acne. Giving Leah a quick, dismissive glance, she turned and waved the other cars along.

The woman who'd shouted at Leah earlier eased by slowly, but kept her curious gaze locked on the action.

"You sure you don't know anything?" Leah asked, searching Hawken's face.

"No," he said. Dark shades covered his eyes. Leah couldn't read his face but there was something in the brevity of his reply that worried her. Before she could question him any further, he said, "That's Officer Maynard." He pointed to the woman directing traffic. "She'll drive your car to the ferry. Someone on the other side will make sure it gets to Hatteras."

Maynard didn't look old enough to drive, and Leah didn't like the idea of leaving her car in someone else's hands, but what choice did she have. The line wasn't getting any shorter and she needed answers. Eyeing Hawkins again, she worried that he was being evasive. Cops never tell the whole story until they're ready. She opened the car door, pulled out her shoes and handbag, and tossed her keys on the seat. "Okay, I'm ready," she said to Hawkins.

He raced them along the shoulder of the highway, past the line of cars waiting for the next ferry. He parked against the edge of a sand dune and then escorted Leah to a small, white police boat. "We'll ride over together," he said.

He separated from her as soon as they hit the boat's deck and nudged himself into a corner with four other cops. Leah sat alone on a small portside bench and watched them watching her. They kept their voices low and, every so often, shot skimming glances in her direction. Hawkins had been sent to find her--to look specifically for Leah Kymes. There were thousands of people trying to get back on the island and every resource was tied up in the restoration effort, yet some official had seen fit to use Hawkins and a police boat to fetch her. Why?

After a moment, she stood and turned away from the cops. Leaning against the rails, she closed her eyes, pushed her face into the wind, and tried to concentrate on the roar of the boat's engine, the swish of the wake created as they cut through the waves, the call of the seagulls sailing overhead, anything but the sound of doubt coming from deep inside her own chest.

She had tried not to get anxious over the twenty-four-hour media coverage. She left the hotel room as often as she could, sped through several novels, caught up on emails, and even allowed herself the luxury of uninhibited sleep. None of it managed to shake loose a growing sense of foreboding. Something bad must have happened to Rex, a thought that drove her to file a missing person's report. Her father would be furious with her for doubting him. There was, of course, another issue. Rex loathed the police, a fact that made Leah pause each time she started dialing the emergency hotline. There were some cops he'd warmed to over the years but, as far as he was concerned, most could pucker up and kiss his crotchety old ass.

On Hatteras Island, Officer Hawkins walked her to a squat, yellow building known as the Inlet. Hugging the tip of the pier, the Inlet served as a visitor's center. A balmy wind pushed three blue signs that advertised snacks, restrooms, and ferryboat information. Across the lot was Hatteras Landing, where a collection of tourist shops and eateries were housed in a blistering white stucco building. It was usually overrun with tourists this time of year but stood empty because of the storm.

Rex had to be okay, she thought. Then, like an erratic wind, her mind shifted, and the voice in her head would shout, they don't send police escorts for a simple missing person's report, or do they? Maybe it was because Rex was elderly and kind of like a town fixture. If he were the only citizen unaccounted for, the officials wouldn't hesitate to put more effort into finding him.

Perhaps they had located Rex, but he'd been injured. The storm had been a whopper. It had raged against the coast for nearly eight hours. News reports showed cars and debris thrown all over the place, and homes and buildings had been torn apart like toys. A crack had appeared in Highway 12, severing lower Hatteras from the northern shores.

Immersed in her thoughts, she almost plowed into a man standing at the top of the ramp. She started her apology without even bothering to look up then began to move around the figure when a hand closed around the top of her arm.

"Lee?"

She raised her eyes to study the face of the man that had used her name. He was a head taller with soft brown eyes and tanned skin. A faint scar zigzagged from his bottom lip and disappeared beneath his chin. She'd given him that scar, slamming her Hello Kitty lunch box into his face after he'd popped the head off her Cabbage Patch doll.

"Aiden?" she replied. Then, more confident, she gushed, "Aiden Parker!"

She hadn't seen him since she was eighteen. A thousand questions popped into her head, as she considered his ruggedly handsome face. Was he married? Was he back in the Outer Banks? How was his family? Did he have kids?

Her mouth had started to quiver out the first question when Officer Hawkins moved past her, and like a pendulum swinging, her thoughts immediately shifted back to Rex. "I know this sounds rude, but I'll have to catch up with you later. I have an emergency right now. Maybe we can exchange information or something," she mumbled, already heading away.

"I know," he said, taking the crook of her arm again, to stop her.

She cocked her head. "You know what?"

"I'm a cop with the Dare County Police Department, and I know you made a call about Rex."

She narrowed her eyes and stared into his face for a moment. Like Hawkins, his expression was flat. "Where is he?"

"Come inside so we can talk," he said.

"Where's my father?" she insisted, determined not to move from that spot until she got an answer.

"Come on," Aiden said. He placed his hand on her shoulder and urged her up the last few feet of the ramp. They crossed the store and walked down the hallway past a set of restrooms. He opened a thick door with a sign, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The building also housed offices for the Park Service and the North Carolina Department of Transportation, which operated the ferry service. Three uniformed officers chatted beside a bank of windows. Their conversation halted then picked up again in hushed tones.

Aiden pointed her to a conference room. "We can talk in here."

A large man with flaccid jowls and a rumpled brown suit stood at a window overlooking the sound.

"This is Detective Eric Lawson," Aiden said.

"Where's my dad?" Leah asked. This time, she didn't try to hide her irritation. Fear crawled up her spine, and she bound her prickly arms around her belly, as the big man turned to greet her.

Lawson pointed Leah to a seat at the table. "Let's talk for a moment."

She pulled back one of the chairs, barely noticing when the leg scraped against her foot. Lawson lowered his considerable frame into a seat opposite her, while Aiden replaced him at the window. Her leg shook and the sound of her flip-flops slapping against the sole of her foot broke the uneasy quiet in the room. Lawson leaned in and smiled but, despite the wide, toothy grin, Leah felt no warmth coming from the man. She recoiled, slight uncomfortable under the unyielding glare of his cold, gray eyes.

"I have a few questions," he said, "if you don't mind." He didn't wait for her to agree. "When was the last time you saw your father?"

She rubbed her hands together. "Um, the day before the storm. Why?"

He scribbled her response on a short, wire-rimmed notepad. "Home, or at his store?"

"At the house. He refused to leave, but wanted me to go."

"Was he planning to ride out the storm at the house?"

"I don't mean to be rude, but you gotta give me something." She tugged her hair out of the bun, twisted it tighter, and reset the scrunchie. "Is my father still missing?" Her head was spinning and all the horrid images of what that could mean rushed through her brain. She pressed the back of her hand to her upper lip, blotting away a light sheen of sweat. Despite the hum of the air conditioner and the bank of windows that stretched the entire length of the room, the space felt small and stifling. She asked again, "Is he still missing?"

Lawson pursed his lips. "No. He's not missing."

She let her head fall back and whispered a quiet prayer. "Thank, God." But her elation turned midstride as another wave of terror struck. "Is he okay?"

Rex wasn't a young man. That had been the point of their argument. Riding out a murderous storm was dangerous, but for a sixty-nine-year-old man, it was akin to lunacy.

Aiden turned from the window and slipped into the chair beside her. He grabbed the seat's edge and scooted closer. His face was hard and serious, but softened when he took her hands. "Leah, there's no easy way to say this." He stopped to swallow, the sound loud enough for her to hear. "Your father is dead."

She tilted her head and stared at him in disbelief. Her mind a blur, Leah struggled to process what he said. The air grew thinner, and she snatched her hands away from Aiden, held them in mid-air, then turned her gaze to Lawson, as if seeking confirmation.

He nodded. "He's dead, Ms. Kymes."

A long, sorrowful moan lifted from her chest, and Leah leaned forward, pressing hands to her eyes, as if trying to hold back the flood of tears. She turned suddenly to Aiden. "How?" she asked. "How?"

He inched closer, his knees pressing into hers. "Lee," which was the name he'd given her when they were children, "I need you to listen to me." The next words sliced into her like a knife. "Lee, your dad was murdered. Somebody shot him."

About the Author

K. S. David lives in the Mid-Atlantic with her husband, their three children and a spoiled sheepadoodle. She’s addicted to true life mysteries and crime shows, both of which marry well with a great romance. Some of her favorite things are long walks, reading in bed, baking and, of course, writing her next novel.

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