NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book Five

Nikki lives a faerie tale existence, but after a chance encounter with Joan Archer, she starts to rethink her choices. Brock has changed since convincing Nikki to run away from home. Now his goal is to protect her from his drug lord boss. When his DEA contacts say they can't protect Nikki, Brock must act. He must break her heart to drive her away to be safe.

Ashamed to be the prodigal, Nikki doesn't go straight home. Joan and the Quarry Hall sisters find her and start her healing and the journey home. When the drug lord decides to bring Nikki back and use her to camouflage the organization's activities, he kidnaps her. Quarry Hall and its friends marshal their resources to find her before it is too late.

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Excerpt

"Please, Lord, help me. Show me what to do." Nikki shook her head and watched the teardrops fall on the Bible's pages. "I know what I have to do, but I don't want to. I'm a coward. I'm selfish. I'm--" She slid to her knees again, resting her head on the open Bible, sobbing.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't feel anything until Brock caught her by her elbow and lifted her to her feet.

"You are pathetic! How long are you going to lay around, crying and talking to a God who sure isn't listening? Can't you figure out what you need to do? What's it going to be, Nikki? Me or that baby?"

Later, all that she could remember clearly was that he called it a baby, not a thing, a problem.

She knew what she had to say, what she should say, but the words still caught in her throat.

"Are you gonna abort it, or not?" He dropped her on the bed. "How long are you going to put us through this?"

"I can't--"

He swung back, agony twisting his face. Time slowed, but she couldn't move out of the way as his hand came down and connected hard with her face. Her vision shattered, her neck snapped back and half a heartbeat later she was airborne. The thud when she hit the wall seemed to deafen her and knock the air from her lungs. Nikki slid down, gasping and blinking.

Brock snatched up her Bible and tore it apart at the spine. He yanked and ripped and threw pages across the bed, then across the room.

"Choose!" He threw the cover into her face and stormed out.

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IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor

IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor

Book 2 of the IN series

Desire beyond imagination…danger that’s all too real.

A sequel to In His Wildest Dreams

World-weary, burned-out undercover cop Aidan Grieve’s latest assignment has brought him home to the Highland village he couldn’t wait to leave, but something’s definitely wrong in Ardknocken.

When did his parents get so frail? What is his sister thinking, befriending the chief suspects in his investigation—the ex-cons of Ardknocken House? And why can he barely control his instant attraction to the house’s beautiful manager?

Her mind and body still mending from a vicious attack, ex-parole officer Chrissy Lennox isn’t ready for a complication like the charming, empathetic, gorgeous Aidan, a restless adrenaline junkie for whom this sleepy village has never been big enough.

Yet as easily as the meddling selkies shed their skins, desire strips away their hesitation, and not even the cold Scottish sea can cool the fire. But as Aidan’s investigation progresses, so does the danger—revealing secrets that could leave their hearts in pieces.

Warning: When our hero is good, he’s very good…but when he’s bad, he’s delicious! Also contains lusty, mischievous selkies who’ll steal your heart with one flipper while stealing your underwear with the other.

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Excerpt:

Copyright © 2015 Marie Treanor
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Aidan exhaled briskly and strode up the path to the road. Someone—Hugh—called an enthusiastic greeting from an upper window next door, and Aidan grinned and waved back. But he didn’t stop. If there had been less frost on the road, he’d have run, just to ease his muscles.

Settling for a fast walk, he avoided the High Street and cut down past the church towards the harbour. The salty smell of the sea, the calling of the gulls and the clean chill of the air invaded his senses, dragging a mountain of memories from childhood. A simpler life, one he couldn’t wait to escape. The enclosed, isolated life of the village had never been enough for him. He’d known he’d miss his family and friends when he left, but he’d never imagined he’d miss anything else. He must be a bigger wreck than he’d imagined.

What the hell were his bosses thinking of, sending him home for his final mission? Had they worked out before he did that he needed to come home?

Hardly. Like so much of his work, this was driven by drug abuse. There was an all mighty stink about so many recent, scattered deaths from the same batch of contaminated heroin. Especially during the festive season, although Aidan couldn’t see why the time of year should make any difference. Whatever, the suppliers couldn’t be traced beyond the little guys, and the police in Glasgow and Dundee had come up with only one tenuous connection, a known villain by the name of Gowan, who seemed to be living now in the peaceful west Highland town of Oban, where there was no real concentration of criminals—except, a couple of hours down the road, the ex-cons now living at Ardknocken House.

No, as far as the police force was concerned, Aidan was here because he had a natural cover, not because they were doing him any favours.

Laughing at himself, he walked round to the deserted harbour. A couple of cars were parked there, but there was no one around. When he was a kid, several fishing boats had tied up here, but not anymore. A few rowing boats still bobbed against the harbour wall, alongside a couple of slightly bigger vessels, including Old Tam’s, and another one covered in canvas, the one his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday. It might have been to bribe him to stay. But Aidan had just wanted to sail away in it. He grinned, remembering his fantasies of sailing down to Glasgow, even to London, and across the Channel. In reality, he’d only ever sailed north. He and his friend Dan had gone as far as Orkney, once, and even considered Norway, but Dan had had to go home.

Aidan untied the ropes and threw back the canvas. The boat smelled musty, unused, but it still drew him. He jumped down onto the deck, loving the rocking under his feet, the salty spray on his face. Shit, he could sail it off now, round the headland and back before tea.

And probably drown himself. God knew what condition the old tub was in. He began an inspection, quickly getting lost in the task and making mental notes of obvious repairs. He’d have to haul it right out of the water…

A sudden crash of breaking glass from the shore made him straighten and jerk around. A few yards from one of the parked cars, a woman had fallen in a tangle of limbs and plastic bags. Aidan vaulted over the side of the boat onto the quay and ran across to her.

Patches of black ice slipping under his feet probably explained her accident. The woman on the ground was young and slightly punk, with her black hair backcombed and tied in a haphazard yet stylish way. She wore big, jet earrings, a padded jacket with a fur collar, and black leggings, which right now displayed the full shapeliness of her legs as she tried to right herself.

“You okay?” Aidan said, crouching down beside her.

She paused, clear brown eyes flying to his. She didn’t blink. She had very long, black lashes and wore smoky dark eye shadow. It wasn’t a look he’d ever consciously admired, and yet her beauty stood out like a solitary star in a dark night sky.

It might have been the fine bone structure of her face that struck him like a blow in the chest, or the fiercely independent “Sod off, I can manage” look in her large, brown eyes. Or perhaps it was the oddly vulnerable curve of her mouth, tightened in the pain of her fall. She’d come down with some force.

A frown tugged at his brow as he tried to place her. She was about his own age, surely, or a couple of years younger like Louise. Either way, he should know her.

And with an unpleasant jolt, he did. They hadn’t grown up together, had never met, but he knew who she was.

Christine Lennox, the ex-parole officer who “worked” up at the big house, with the ex-cons. She too had an unsavoury story in her past… But whatever the truth of it, and despite his experience of the more sordid, squalid and plain nasty elements of life, he was oddly reluctant to attach it to her. She seemed too…vital.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, when she didn’t immediately answer him.

From the delicate way she shifted position, she’d bruised her hip when she landed. But at his question, she seemed to deliberately smooth away all signs of pain from her face, which flushed now with embarrassment. She’d rather have gone down without a witness.

“I survived the fall,” she said lightly, “but I doubt the carry-out did.” Her accent was vaguely Glasgow, her voice low and slightly husky—the kind that sent shivers down his spine. Apparently.

“Black ice,” he said. “Gets you every time.”

He rose and stretched down his hand to her. For a moment, even accepting that tiny courtesy seemed to hang in the balance for her. He thought she drew in a sharp breath before she took his bare hand in her gloved one, and clambered warily to her feet. She wore stout-looking boots, although on closer inspection, the soles were somewhat thin and probably smooth. Old boots. If she was rich, she wasn’t flashy with it.

She released his hand immediately, almost flustered, he thought, and began raking through her bags. They all clanked.

“Planning a party?” Aidan enquired.

“I was,” she said wryly. “Ah well, less drink is good for hangovers.”

“That much damage?”

“Nah. Only one bottle. The beer and the whisky are safe, so who cares? Thanks for your help.”

Aidan picked up the clearly leaking bag and gingerly removed the intact whisky and beer before striding over to the wastepaper bin next to the road to deposit the broken glass and soggy bag. As he returned, the girl, moving just a little stiffly, was picking up the other bags. He took one from her.

“That your car?” he asked, jerking his head towards the Land Rover.

She nodded.

“Mind your feet,” he advised.

“Thanks,” she said sardonically, and in spite of himself, he grinned.

She walked without limping to the car and opened the boot. Aidan waited until she’d dropped her own bags in before adding his and the loose items. He watched her shut the boot and glance at him with a rather charming mixture of wariness and awkward friendliness. She wasn’t what he’d expected.

A thrill of sexual interest caught him off guard. He wondered what she looked like under the coat, wanted to spark a similar excitement to his own in those clear, almost defiant eyes. What would it take to melt her bones, to have her breathless and eager in his arms?

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RIDING SHOTGUN by Anne Kane

RIDING SHOTGUN by Anne Kane

Mercenaries 3

She was a genetic experiment that was never supposed to get out of the lab. If the government finds her, they will kill her without hesitation. She's a crack shot, though, and she's used to looking out for herself. Her affinity for all things mechanical helps her make a living on the underground street racing circuit, but it's a dangerous game, and lately things haven't been going so well.

Shotgun falls hard from the first time he meets her, and is determined to make her his own. When accidents keep plaguing Kalie's car, he gets suspicious and with the help of his mercenary buddies he is determined to find the source of the problem and keep his woman safe.

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Excerpt:Riding Shotgun (Mercenaries 3)
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2014 Anne Kane

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

A subtle movement on the far ridge caught Shotgun's attention. It could be a deer on the far ridge, but he doubted it. Moving the scope of his rifle in a slow sweep, he searched for the cause. There. On the west slope. A faint flash as the late afternoon sun reflected off a metal surface.

He kept the rifle trained on the spot, his trigger finger itching, and sure enough, there she was. A sharpshooter. Her rifle looked suspiciously similar to his own, and she handled it like a pro. Her mistake had been not making sure all the shiny metal was covered up.

Her outfit blended well with the surrounding rocks and he had to give her credit for finding a good vantage point. She'd managed to position herself in a wide crack in between two large outcrops of rock. Her back was protected by a sheer wall of granite. An irregular jumble of boulders in front of her gave her numerous places to rest the barrel of her rifle.

He recognized her from the portfolio Brice had shown them of the Lost Children. Kalie. Her riotous mop of long dark curls was held back behind a wide hairband, and the camo outfit she wore covered her deliciously ripe curves. He was too far away to see if her eyes really were as dark and sensual as they looked in her picture, but he was sure it was Kalie.

Her undivided attention was on the gathering in the clearing below. That would be her second mistake. Just because you're hunting, doesn't mean you aren't also being hunted. As he glanced around, gauging the distance between them and the amount of cover available, he felt the corner of his mouth lift in a slow grin.

Nothing like a bit of a challenge to liven up the evening.

* * *

The man came out of nowhere. Jerking her rifle out of her hands, he flipped her over and slammed her body into the ground. The breath whooshed out of her in one long exhale as he pinned her to the ground with his superior weight. Instinctively, she tried to bring her knee up to fend him off.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, little girl." His voice was low, a thread of humor running through it as he blocked the move with a casual flick of his leg. He could afford to be amused. He was planted firmly on top of her, and her rifle was no longer snugged comfortingly against her chin. She eyed up the distance to the weapon. Too far.

A fierce anger enveloped her, fueled by an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness. No one snuck up on her like that. No one. Taking a deep breath, she forced her body to relax. She could get out of this. If he thought she'd given up, he'd let his guard down.

"Who are you?" She spat the words out between clenched teeth, betraying her fury. So much for letting him think she'd given up.

"Name's Shotgun, Kalie. I'm with Saralyn down there, and her new beau. Just kind of keeping an eye on the situation when I noticed you over here. I don't like people watching my friends through the scope of a rifle."

"Really?" He knew her name. Shit. He probably knew about the other girls as well. Her sisters. That couldn't be good. She needed to neutralize him quickly and let them know they'd been found out. She shifted her weight, as if trying to get more comfortable. "Well, I don't like people skulking around watching my friends either, so I guess we're even. Would you mind getting off me? You're heavy."

"Not quite yet." He somehow managed to transfer both of her wrists to one hand. Raising his other arm, he spoke into the comm unit strapped around his wrist. "I got some action up here, Sarge. Little girl, with a big gun. Name of Kalie. Says she's watching point for the others. You want to verify that?"

"Should have expected something like this." Sarge's voice crackled over the unit. "I'll have Jackson check with the girls. Bring her on down, and we'll see if her story checks out."

"Roger that. Be down in a few."

Shotgun looked down at her. He was a big man. Big and hard. His face was all hard angles and planes, with a faint scar running down one side of his temple. She could feel hard muscles pressing into every inch of her. There wasn't a single soft spot on his entire body. Was he enhanced? One of the soldiers they'd fed those experimental drugs to during the provincial wars? That would explain how he'd managed to sneak up on her without her hearing him.

As she watched, a mischievous light danced in the depths of his eyes. He certainly didn't seem to think she was much of a threat. Maybe she could use that to her advantage "Looks like we're going to join the party. Up you get." He surged to his feet with an innate grace that told her he'd kept up his training after the wars. Holding out a hand to help her up, he still managed to keep that rifle pointed directly at her.

"Fine. Let's get moving." She ignored the outstretched hand and stood. "Can I have my rifle back now, please?"

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DARK DESIRE by Shannan Albright

DARK DESIRE by Shannan Albright

Dark Breed Enforcers Book 4

A destiny he can no longer deny - Being heir to the throne of Atlantis is not all it’s cracked up to be. Especially living under a world-altering prophecy he is powerless to prevent. Ze’Kerhia, simply known as Zeke, must now return to a life he walked away from in order to save a friend. Forced into a marriage to a woman he never met.

A brutal betrayal - One look at Laris Raail and Zeke knows he’s in trouble. He is captivated by her stunning dark beauty and grace and completely unprepared to find a dagger buried deep in his heart by the hand of his new bride.

A deadly plot revealed - After seven long months of searching, Zeke finds Laris. He's unprepared to find his wife has no memory of her past or even her name. Caught in a plot so treacherous the dark breeds and humans alike may be unable to prevent the war it would spark. It’s up to the two of them to reveal the traitor in their midst.

Can they survive long enough to prevent the slaughter of innocent lives? Or will they perish before revealing who is behind a plot to enslave the world?

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He barked out a harsh laugh, his words laced with venom as his lip curled into a sneer. “There is no such thing as a peaceful Lemurian. You are all killers. It’s in your nature to war and take what you want by force. Leaving nothing but devastation and ruin in your wake.”

She really didn’t know what to say to that one. His hate chilled her skin, the air so thick with his animosity she could barely pull in enough air into her lungs. The room closed in on her making her head swim. She needed to get away from this madman who just told her he had every intention of killing her.

“I’m just a damned stripper.” Her voice shook with fear and desperation. “Please let me go. I won’t call the cops. Just let me go … please.” The words didn’t come easy to her, nor did the fear she felt coursing through her like icy sludge threatening to immobilize her.

“Save it.” He bit out, his face as hard and implacable as stone. “You just don’t get it, do you? Nothing you say will make a damn bit of difference. Your ass is mine, and I alone will decide how long you live and how much pain you exist in. Face it. You’re screwed, so save your breath.”

His movements blurred as he once again closed the space between them and gripped her arm, tugging her through the living room and down a hallway, and past several closed doors along the way. He opened the last one on the right, shoving her into bedroom. Nothing but a bed, white walls and old battered dresser adorned the room. An old brass pot stood near a wall, but it was the chains attached to thick metal manacles bolted to the wall that made her heart stutter within her chest. Her throat dried up as terror on a level she never knew existed took hold of her with unrelenting force.

A scream bubbled out of her throat as he shoved her back against the chains. She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, kicking and clawing at his unprotected face and throat, but he proved too quick and jerked away from her in time. Her nails only caught air.

He snatched one wrist, attaching the cuff, then the other, effectively subduing her arms. Her foot slashed out, but again he maneuvered out of harm’s way by simply stepping back. She struggled to break the manacles, the chains only giving her a few precious inches of freedom.

“Let. Me. Go.” She snarled the demand feeling anger rise deep inside, burning away the paralyzing fear from only moments before.

“I don’t think so. You can scream all you want. This room is soundproof.” He shook his head and walked to the door.

“Wait, what am I supposed to do if I have to go to the bathroom? You can’t just leave me like this.” She spat the words out, the taste of bitterness sharp on her tongue.

His gaze moved to the pot near her feet. “I’m sure you will find some creative way to relieve yourself. Not my problem.”

She shrieked, hurtling curse words at his retreating back and continuing long after he closed the door after him.

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KATHRYN by Michelle Levigne

KATHRYN by Michelle Levigne 

Quarry Hall Book Three

Kathryn's retreat for relaxation and contemplation is interrupted to take a fugitive to safety, beyond the reach of authorities who may be compromised. The injured woman knows her name is Regina, but not why people were shooting at her. The journey to reach a friend in the FBI is complicated when Kathryn's illness requires frequent stops, permitting Regina's pursuers to nip at their heels.

When the mountains interfere with cell reception, and she can't stop long enough to make a call for help and advice, Kathryn has only her companion dog, her own wits, and prayer to depend on. Deception waits around every corner and Regina's attitude tests Kathryn's sympathy and her faith.

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Excerpt:

Regina muttered her farewell and scrambled into the truck. Kathryn stayed leaning against the front of the truck, scratching Bea behind the ears and talking with Pastor Small. She knew her companion wanted to get out of there, but she also knew the minister had questions. He had been patient and helpful and accepted what she told him. She couldn't repay him any other way except with as many answers as she could safely give.

"I really appreciate this," she said. "Not many people these days will help strangers with such a flimsy explanation."

"That isn't reason enough?" Pastor Small laughed and gestured over his shoulder at the white steeple with the gray metal cross on top.

"It should be, but--" She decided not to get into that area.

Sometimes the nastiest, most uncooperative people she had run across in her journeys were people who claimed to be Christians. Nine times out of ten, they based their long lists of what a "real" Christian should be on their own opinions and schemes to earn their way into heaven, and never checked what the Bible said.

"What really convinced you? Back when we were talking in the sanctuary, there was a moment when I thought you were going to throw us out or call the police, then you changed your mind."

"Those." He pointed at the shoes the custodian had given her.

"Oh. Sorry." She went to one knee and started to untie the paint-spattered sneakers.

"No, you ought to keep them." Pastor Small bent down and caught hold of her arm, tugging her upright again. "Four years ago, our youth group put together a time capsule as a joke when they renovated their classroom. Those are my shoes. It was quite a mess, with all the painting we did. We had a great time." He winked. "Those shoes should be in a locked metal box three feet underground, sealed in plastic wrap and cement."

"You're kidding." Kathryn felt a chill race up her back, but it was a good chill.

"Plus," he continued with a lopsided smile, "we don't have a custodian right now. The deacons and trustees and the ladies mission groups and other committees take turns with the upkeep and cleaning. The place hasn't looked this good in years..." Pastor Small tried to laugh. "Whoever -- or whatever -- helped you, he wanted you to be here. Who am I to argue?"

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EXIT by Shane Filer

EXIT by Shane Filer

When your mind is your best friend, and your own worst enemy...

"Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?"

Briar’s impromptu, mid-afternoon confession stirs up distant memories of the lonely time she spent trapped in her home; suffering agoraphobia — fear of open spaces.

Now it’s six years later.

She’s free, but the year's isolation has left serious personality disorders; disorders which will resurface as she relates her own story, and that of those in her orbit; Melodie, a pretty valley girl who Briar desires to be, Justine, her oldest friend, who has her own dark secret, and Dermot, a man who thinks he's the reincarnation of Robin Hood — stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Slowly Dermot begins to draw Briar into his ever-so-exciting world, but who is leading whom on their slow descent into crime? Duel periods of Briar’s life intertwine like a rope around her neck as her lost year begins to overtake the present. It leads her to the answer to one very simple question:

“Is it what I always feared — am I losing my mind?”

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~Excerpt~

G i r l T a l k

“Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?”

I sit in the trashed corner booth of an empty Indianapolis diner sipping Coke through a red and white striped straw and watch the reaction from my two friends.

We’ve been here, Melodie, Justine and I, talking, eating, and drinking for hours and we’re all in advanced stages of serious twenty-something afternoon collapse. It’s reached the time where you run out of trivial, conversational-type things to talk about, so you say something deep and personal instead.

Melodie lifts her head from the table and flicks ash haphazardly from her cigarette in the direction of an overflowing ashtray. “You’re kidding?” she asks.

“No, she isn’t,” Justine says. We’ve been friends since school, and she knows me very well.

Elbows all over the table I cup my palms around my chin and explain. “I suffered from agoraphobia. That’s what my doctors said. It sounds awful, but all it means is that I had an irrational fear of being in places or situations from which escape might be difficult in the event of a panic attack. So I avoided those situations. During my Dark Ages I left my bedroom only to eat and go to the bathroom.

“Basically I was worried about death. Abandonment. My health. My mother’s safety. The house catching fire. Food poisoning. Earthquakes. The environment. That kind of stuff.”

I tell Melodie and Justine all these things, and when I open my mouth the words just flood out, like I’ve been wanting desperately to speak them for so long. They sit and listen, perhaps too tired or too hot and bothered to do anything else. I tell them about the first time it happened… the first time I had a panic attack. When I was thirteen. One Saturday in a mall. I can remember the smell of doughnuts and ice-cream, and ferns. I remember ferns. And the sound of a radio playing that dumb Spandau Ballet song — “True” — boy do I hate that song!

“I was standing around, just hanging out with a bunch of my girlfriends, and this boy from my class, who I had, like, this incredible crush on, came up to me and said “Hi!”

“Those girls pushed me forward. I could hear them giggling behind me, saying ‘Briar’s in love’ and all that junk, and my body froze like a statue. I felt hot and sweaty. My heart was racing. I felt this numbness in my hands and this tightness in my chest like I couldn’t breathe. I had this need to breathe in more air, this need to escape. I just ran out.”

“Shit!” Melodie says.

“Shit,” I agree. “My doctor said later that this overwhelming sensation of terror is similar to the fight or flight response inherent in all animals, including humans. Genetic factors can predispose someone to panic attacks and there are a lot of tell-tale signs that I had right from an early age. I always used to cling to my mother’s leg. I was afraid of Santa Claus.”

“Oh yeah,” Melodie says. “I always hated that old, fat, red, pervert too.”

“I suffered a lot of phobias back then,” I explain further. “I would become possessed by a desire to clean the bathroom. The bathroom and I would literally be covered in Comet cleanser. But then I stopped.”

“Why?” Melodie asks. “Did your cleaning phobia go away?”

“Not exactly. I ran out of Comet.”

Sunlight is pouring in through the diner’s windows and Justine keeps glancing anxiously out there to the street. Am I boring her, I wonder? Anything’s possible — she has heard this one before.

It’s only then that I suddenly notice the sunglasses she wears at a lopsided angle on her face hide a large bruise around her left eye. It’s a horrible purple thing that’s yellowing at the edges like rotten fruit.

“Oh there’s Addison,” she says suddenly. “I’d better go. I’d better not keep him waiting.”

Following her gaze, I see her boyfriend climb from his red Chrysler LeBaron convertible. Addison Healy has tanned skin and swept-back dark hair, and I’ve never liked him. He’s far too handsome — one of those people who’ve never known what it’s like to be alone — because there’s always someone new throwing themselves shamelessly at him. Someone who’s never had to appreciate the smallest signs of affection.

Justine scoops up her purse, quickly excuses herself, and rushes out to meet him. Leaving a three-quarter full Coke bottle sitting behind on the table, she’s gone almost before I can register it. She’s gone.

I watch them get into the car. She’s talking. Explaining herself. Addison seems agitated; gesturing wildly and I read his lips: “What fucking time do you call this? I told you to be home at three!”

Eventually he throws up his arms in frustration and drives away. I turn back to Melodie.

“Why does she stay with that asshole?” she asks after a long pause. “He hits her, don’t you know?”

“No?”

“How do you think she got that bruise on her face?”

“She said she fell against the… Fuck!” I hadn’t noticed… well, come to think of it, I have seen signs, but I’ve never put two and two together. Sometimes I wonder if I am so wrapped up in my own problems that I fail to see the suffering of others around me?

“So what happened with you, Briar?” Melodie asks, toying playfully with the straw in her bottle.

“With me? Oh, after my first panic attack I returned to school and everyone laughed and talked about me, so I stopped going. Slowly I found it harder and harder to leave the house. After a while I gave up entirely.”

“When I did eventually emerge from my room, a week shy of my sixteenth birthday, it wasn’t like a beautiful butterfly emerging triumphantly from her chrysalis, but instead a tired gray moth treading cautiously into the light.”

“My doctor once speculated that my year’s hibernation was due to an irrational fear of growing up, but that’s not right! If I really didn’t want to grow up there are much more reliable methods: sleeping pills, guns, razorblades…”

“God, so how did you, like, get out of it?”

“My brother. My brother helped me. Helped me help myself, I guess.”

“Is this Jeff — twenty-seven and still living at home?”

“No, it’s Paul — twenty and away at college. You haven’t met… oh shit!”

And I suddenly remember: Paul’s arriving home today and I said I’d go with Mom to meet him at the airport. As the afternoon dissolved I’ve lost track of time.

“Is he cute?” Melodie asks as we slip from the diner out onto the pavement.

I can only nod yes.

“Can I come too?”

“No! I’ll see you later!” Melodie is super beautiful. When I first saw her, I wanted to see her again. I hardly ever see really beautiful females. I see pretty ones, hot ones, but hardly ever see a woman that just makes me turn my head and think ‘wow she is stunning.’ I think that people who are attractive just want the world to see something other than their looks. They want other aspects of their personality to shine through. I hate boring people. I hate boring guys. I feel like sometimes if I just be really quirky it will compensate for my lack of looks. Of course this never works.




On the way home I take a shortcut through an empty lot.

Once it contained a drive-in cinema, but with the rise of multiplexes it went out of business and was abandoned years ago. It’s been gone for as long as I can remember. Now in its place there’s just this: an empty wasteland. The picture screen has been torn down. Cracked concrete slabs, grass sprouting from the ruins, and at intervals, bent, misshapen poles sticking from the ground like blighted seedlings. Only a few reminders linger like pleasant childhood memories.

I love these places, even now. There’s something about them. Often I’ll come here, just sit in the lot and wonder what it must have been like. I guess they’re something I missed out on. I can imagine all the kids who must have come here to watch those simple B-movies, or make out in the back of their parent’s cars. Did they ever know what they had before it was gone? The drive-in is passing from our vocabulary. I think I have a really bad habit of romanticizing the past — to the point where the world in my mind is far more interesting that the world in real life. I often wish someone would protect me and put a “do not step on the grass” sign on me, except it would say Briar instead of grass.

There was this program on TV last week all about these old educational films from the fifties — what to do on your first date… how to remain virginal… that sort of thing, and they were so stupid and corny and wonderful! Things seemed so restrictive then, but life was uncomplicated and safe.

It seems strange to feel aching nostalgia for an era that existed well before my birth.

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HONEY DOES by Kate Richards

HONEY DOES by Kate Richards


Honey is a woman in love…with her husband. But after several years of marriage and three kids, she fears he may see her more as wife and mother than the sexy woman he married.

Maybe a daring sex toy will bring the spark back. But when Honey tries out the toy, things spiral out of control.

Mack is a cop on the beat, working hard to move up in the force. He’s troubled by the domestic violence he sees on the job and fears that someone else’s family troubles could take him away from his beloved family.

But the real threat comes from within his own department leaving his career and his wife in danger.

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~Excerpt~ 

She clicked on the tracking number and confirmed. Out for delivery.

“What’s up, Honey?”

She jumped. “What?”

He dropped a kiss on her head. “Is my lunch ready?”

“On the counter.” Like every morning.

“Thanks. Anything exciting going on today?”

She minimized the screen. “Oh, you know...” He didn’t…but he would soon enough.

“Everything okay?” She was kind of surprised he noticed her distraction, but touched. Honey spun her desk chair and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his warm, just-big-enough-to-be-comforting belly. Mack had gained some weight in their years together, but it did nothing to lessen his appeal for her. His red hair was combed back, still damp from the shower.

“Everything is fine, and thank you for asking.”

“Okay.” The big goon kissed her hair again, and she let him go. “Have a good day.” He scooped up his lunch box and headed toward the door, off to spend his shift with grownups. With his partner. All day in the squad car with Sexy Sandy.

The woman should be a model instead of a cop. Not that she didn’t trust Mack, but why couldn’t he have been assigned someone a little less…blonde?

Honey’s gaze darted back to the screen. The answer to all their worries would be delivered by the guys in brown. Appropriate for the item. Even if not one of them could compete with the erotic lure of the guy she made dinner for every night.

Ten minutes later, she walked the kids to the bus, waved while they left then raced back to begin the real work of the day. Waiting for the box.

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TO CATCH A CHEAT by Elle Druskin

TO CATCH A CHEAT by Elle Druskin

To Catch Series: Book 3

Talk about another bad day. Lindy Kellerman is back and this time her wedding plans are on hold thanks to a dead body in her synagogue. Who would whack a harmless caretaker and why?

More bad news. The killer has to be someone Lindy knows. The Sunday school teacher? The synagogue president? The rabbi?

Detective Fraser MacKinnon warns Lindy to let him solve the crime but with a killer in the neighborhood and Lindy at the epicenter of the local gossip mill, she’s determined to find out whodunit before the killer strikes again.

Murder, romance, mayhem and humor run riot in To Catch A Cheat.

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~Excerpt~

Going to the hairdresser couldn’t be considered investigating. On the other hand, I’d hear plenty of yakking from all the local women. It’s unbelievable what slips at the hairdresser. Fraser couldn’t get angry and call that poking my nose in. I had a legitimate reason and could I help it if everyone spills the beans to Mr. Nelson?

“Julie.”

I’d get Julie to go with me. Two sets of ears are better than one, especially when you get zonked by a blow job. Oops. Blow-dryer. Being a sexy babe was frying my brain.

I could hardly wait to get to the hairdresser. If the other women failed me, and I doubted that, there was Mr. Nelson. I was never sure if that was his first or last name but I did know he heard everything that went on.

I’d have to take notes with all the dirt I’d hear. Good thing I had Julie. I hoped she’d been paying attention to Australia ’s Most Wanted.

My last thoughts as I drifted off to sleep were about Fraser and fakes. There was nothing fake about Fraser. No faking it either. I was bothered by two fakes or counterfeit items turning up at the same time.

Coincidence? I didn’t believe in them. I forced myself to put it out of mind and concentrate on Fraser, heaps more fun than counterfeit or Jake the Fake.

My last coherent thought was curiosity. I wondered what would turn up at the hairdresser. There was plenty of fake stuff there. Acrylic nails, hair extensions. None of those things could relate to Paul’s death but their owners just might.

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NOT THAT TYPE OF GUY by Sara York

NOT THAT TYPE OF GUY by Sara York

When CIA assassin Aiden Johnson is trapped between a bathroom wall and a hard man, he chooses the hard man, much to his surprise. Aiden doesn’t want to admit he’s gay, but his first stumble into man love leaves him disoriented, searching for answers and desperate to find the truth. He covers his real desires by dating an ultra hot girl, but it’s the guy sitting a few tables away that draws his attention.

Super nice and attractive Doctor Trace Williams is so special he seems like an angel to Aiden. Their first kiss blows Aiden away. That Trace sees into his soul, even when Aiden is trying to hide everything, pisses him off. Aiden needs Trace in his life, but once Trace finds out the truth about Aiden’s job, will they have any part of their relationship left?

What would you do if your lover ripped apart the very foundation of what you believed?

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This book deals with difficult subject matter, including abduction, abuse and murder. It also includes amazing sex between incredibly sexy men, masturbation and an engaging story. Enjoy!

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Excerpt:

Chapter One


Aiden Jackson took the disposable cell phone out of his pocket, plugged in his earpiece and answered the call. “Go.” Aiden spoke with his lips in a thin line, dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he searched the bustle of people waiting for their train at the Waterloo Station in London.

“They know someone’s here,” Chuck said, his voice whisper quiet.

“Shit, they on to me?” Aiden took off his shades and picked up a book. He leafed through the pages, acting the part of bored tourist on holiday.

“No, I can see you, and you’re good.”

Aiden put down the book and moved through the little shops, exploring the crap for sale, wishing he were anywhere else but here. Maybe on a beach, or playing golf even, though he hated the game.
This close to the end of a mission always made him jumpy. If he were on a beach, he would have the satisfaction of another successful operation notched on his belt.

“You’ve got someone tailing you now.” Chuck’s voice sent a shiver through Aiden.

An untrained person would turn to find their tail or they would run. Hell, even a semi-normal person would roll his shoulders, but Aiden did nothing. After flipping a few more pages in the book, he put it down and picked up another.

“Any ideas?”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it,” Chuck said.

“Tell me.”

“Fuck no; just meet me in the men’s room two stores to your left. And go with whatever I do.”

Aiden dropped the book and headed out of the store. Chuck could start a fight or act like they were old friends. Twice before he’d worked with Chuck, and everything had gone according to plan. Of course Chuck wasn’t the guy’s name. Hell, none of them knew the real identities of the other operatives, too dangerous.

He passed a group of people and a few other travellers. The eyes of his watcher were on him. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he passed by a squat stocky guy of eastern descent. Pakistani?

Aiden pushed open the bathroom door, surprised when Chuck grabbed his hand and yanked him into the back stall. Chuck turned the flimsy lock on the door, closing them in the small space. Chuck’s hands were on Aiden’s chest, caressing his nipples through his shirt. Anger brewed deep in Aiden’s belly. His phone screeched and he turned it off, checking his watch for the time.

Chuck’s tongue teased Aiden’s nipple through the cloth. Aiden wanted to yank Chuck’s blond wig, pull him away and ask what the fuck he was doing, but the main bathroom door swung open, and the clip-clop of dress shoes echoed in the tiled room.

Was it the guy following them?

Chuck gazed into Aiden’s eyes, and a small smirk tilted his lips before he slanted his mouth across Aiden’s.

What the fuck?

Aiden froze. The extensive shit he’d suffered through in SEAL training, and then with the CIA, helped him keep his cool as the guy invaded his space, kissed him and touched his body like a girl would. Chuck’s tongue probed Aiden’s lips, demanding entrance. For a moment, Aiden wavered on accepting the kiss. He couldn’t do it. It went against everything he’d fought to keep hidden.

His darkest desires were playing out in this kiss. The lust he’d kept in check, the dreams that haunted him, all here, wrapped up in this one fleeting moment of joined lips that was a joke to Chuck, but a fulfillment of desires for Aiden. His breath came in halting gasps as Chuck licked at the slit of his lips. It felt so good. Aiden opened his mouth, admitting Chuck’s thick tongue.


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SUBMERGED by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

SUBMERGED by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

"Submerged reads like an approaching storm, full of darkness, dread and electricity. Prepare for your skin to crawl." —Andrew Gross, New York Times bestselling author of 15 Seconds

Two strangers submerged in guilt, brought together by fate…

After a tragic car accident claims the lives of his wife, Jane, and son, Ryan, Marcus Taylor is immersed in grief. But his family isn't the only thing he has lost. An addiction to painkillers has taken away his career as a paramedic. Working as a 911 operator is now the closest he gets to redemption—until he gets a call from a woman trapped in a car.

Rebecca Kingston yearns for a quiet weekend getaway, so she can think about her impending divorce from her abusive husband. When a mysterious truck runs her off the road, she is pinned behind the steering wheel, unable to help her two children in the back seat. Her only lifeline is a cell phone with a quickly depleting battery and a stranger's calm voice on the other end telling her everything will be all right.

*SUBMERGED has a unique tie-in to Tardif`s international bestseller, CHILDREN OF THE FOG.

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SUBMERGED excerpt for KND

Cheryl Kaye Tardif

 

Prologue

 

Near Cadomin, AB – Saturday, June 15, 2013 – 12:36 AM

 

You never grow accustomed to the stench of death. Marcus Taylor knew that smell intimately. He had inhaled burnt flesh, decayed flesh…diseased flesh. It lingered on him long after he was separated from the body.

The image of his wife and son's gray faces and blue lips assaulted him.

Jane…Ryan.

Mercifully, there were no bodies tonight. The only scent he recognized now was wet prairie and the dank residue left over from a rainstorm and the river.

"So what happened, Marcus?"

The question came from Detective John Zur, a cop Marcus knew from the old days. Back before he traded in his steady income and respected career for something that had poisoned him physically and mentally.

"Come on," Zur prodded. "Start talking. And tell me the truth."

Marcus was an expert at hiding things. Always had been. But there was no way in hell he could hide why he was soaked to the skin and standing at the edge of a river in the middle of nowhere.

He squinted at the river, trying to discern where the car had sunk. He only saw faint ripples on the surface. "You can see what happened, John."

"You left your desk. Not a very rational decision to make, considering your past."

Marcus shook his head, the taste of river water still in his throat. "Just because I do something unexpected doesn't mean I'm back to old habits."

Zur studied him but said nothing.

"I had to do something, John. I had to try to save them."

"That's what EMS is for. You're not a paramedic anymore."

Marcus let his gaze drift to the river. "I know. But you guys were all over the place and someone had to look for them. They were running out of time."

Overhead, lightning forked and thunder reverberated.

"Dammit, Marcus, you went rogue!" Zur said. "You know how dangerous that is. We could've had four bodies."

Marcus scowled. "Instead of merely three, you mean?"

"You know how this works. We work in teams for a reason. We all need backup. Even you."

"All the rescue teams were otherwise engaged. I didn't have a choice."

Zur sighed. "We go back a long way. I know you did what you thought was right. But it could've cost them all their lives. And it'll probably cost you your job. Why would you risk that for a complete stranger?"

"She wasn't a stranger."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Marcus realized how true that statement seemed. He knew more about Rebecca Kingston than he did about any other woman. Besides Jane.

"You know her?" Zur asked, frowning.

"She told me things and I told her things. So, yeah, I know her."

"I still do not get why you didn't stay at the center and let us do our job."

"She called me." Marcus looked into his friend's eyes. "Me. Not you."

"I understand, but that's your job. To listen and relay information."

"You don't understand a thing. Rebecca was terrified. For herself and her children. No one knew where they were for sure, and she was running out of time. If I didn't at least try, what kind of person would I be, John?" He gritted his teeth. "I couldn't live with that. Not again."

Zur exhaled. "Sometimes we're simply too late. It happens."

"Well, I didn't want it to happen this time." Marcus thought of the vision he'd seen of Jane standing in the middle of the road. "I had a…hunch I was close. Then when Rebecca mentioned Colton had seen flying pigs, I remembered this place. Jane and I used to buy ribs and chops from the owner, before it closed down about seven years ago."

"And that led you here to the farm." Zur's voice softened. "Good thing your hunch paid off. This time. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

"There won't be a next time, John."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Zur's mouth. "Uh-huh."

"There won't."

Zur shrugged and headed for the ambulance.

Under a chaotic sky, Marcus stood at the edge of the river as tears cascaded from his eyes. The night's events hit him hard, like a sucker punch to the gut. He was submerged in a wave of memories. The first call, Rebecca's frantic voice, Colton crying in the background. He knew that kind of fear.  He'd felt it before. But last time, it was a different road, different woman, different child.

He shook his head. He couldn't think of Jane right now. Or Ryan. He couldn't reflect on all he'd lost. He needed to focus on what he'd found, what he'd discovered in a faceless voice that had comforted him and expressed that it was okay to let go.

He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. 12:39, to be exact. He couldn't believe how his life had changed in not much more than two days.

"Marcus!"

He turned… 

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TORN TO SHREDS by Sara York

TORN TO SHREDS by Sara York

When Lucas Spires goes missing, his brother, Amos, turns to Brett Hutchings, an ex Marine, kicked out for being gay. After Amos betrayed him, forced him out of Lucas’s life and ended his career, Brett vowed to never to speak with, much less help Amos, until the end of eternity. But Brett can’t deny his need to save Lucas, the one guy he’s never been able to get out of his system, even if it means working for Amos.

The trail is cold, with Lucas missing for more than a month. The cops are clueless, unable to find even a hint that the young man was abducted instead of just wandering away. When Brett latches onto a trace of evidence, it looks like he’ll find Lucas, but the clue doesn’t pan out the way he thinks it should.

Lucas can’t take the abuse any longer. He’s at the end of his chain, literally. If he could escape into the mountains, he would, but the sick bastard attached a manacle to his leg, exerting his control physically. Lucas is desperate to escape his captor; all hope has vanished, crushing his spirit. Lucas dreams of a savior, but Brett walked away a long time ago, and he’s the only man strong enough to save Lucas.

Warning: This book contains material that some may find disturbing and is only suitable for mature readers. This book deals with difficult subject matter, including abduction, abuse and murder. While there is no consummation of sex shown in the story, this is a very sensual tale. Enjoy!

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~Excerpt~

The metal cuff dug into Lucas Spires’ ankle as he shuffled across the kitchen, trying to keep the chain dragging behind him quiet. Master would be up soon enough, and he didn’t need to wake the bastard early. Lucas paused and gazed up at the ceiling, searching for help, but knowing he’d find no answers there. Tears welled, threatening to spill down his cheeks; he swiped them away. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist, willing himself to be strong.

Three weeks. The time in captivity seemed like forever. Three long weeks of hell and abuse at the idiot’s hands. He squared his shoulders and tamped down the pity party, vowing not to cave under the pressure.

Lucas took another step, the chain clanking against the floor. He stopped and almost crumpled to the linoleum, overwhelmed by misery. With gritted teeth, he willed himself to stay strong. The need for Master to secure the knives had passed with the desire to kill himself, and he couldn’t hurt Master. The fucker was too strong, and the zapper he carried delivered a hell of a volt.

The first week, Lucas had tried to escape. The second week, he’d lain on the little pallet Master had made for him and only moved when the beatings hurt too bad to stay still. This week he accepted his slave status; he had no choice in what happened to him. Serving Master was his only option in this new reality. Lucas fought the memories of his past threatening to race through his mind. He wouldn’t think of school or of rushing through the Student Union to meet with his friends over coffee. Letting his thoughts wander to those memories crushed him, making him want to end his pathetic excuse for a life. In some small part of his consciousness he hung onto the hope of making it out of here alive, where he wasn’t held prisoner, somewhere he had freedom.

Hunger clawed at his belly, but the fucker padlocked the refrigerator, only opening the appliance for him to cook. The asshole locked the pantry also. Lucas glanced down at his naked body. His stomach caved in, showing his ribs. His legs were too lean, like a scarecrow. Master fed him enough to keep him alive, but not nearly enough to sustain a healthy weight.

Master opened the bedroom door and Lucas flinched. He tried to keep his knees from shaking, but failed.

“I want eggs. You can have one.” Master opened the refrigerator, taking out the carton of eggs. “Three, scrambled. Don’t fuck ‘em up.”

Lucas stared at the open refrigerator, eyes burning with despair. So much food, and most of it would spoil before Master consumed half. If only...But it didn’t help to have if only thoughts. He ate what master gave him and didn’t complain.

Master watched as Lucas prepared the pan and cracked the eggs into a bowl. He whipped the eggs with a fork and poured them into the hot pan. The sound of the eggs sizzling reminded him of the zapper, and he flinched, his throat tight with emotion. Master hated when he broke down. He had to stay strong, at least until Master went off to work.

Lucas stirred the eggs, watching them grow thicker as the seconds ticked by. His belly hurt for food. One egg would be enough to take the pain away, but not enough to fill him. Never before had he been this hungry, this desperate for food, like all of him would splinter into little pieces if he didn’t eat.

Once Master’s eggs were done, Lucas put them on a plate and delivered them to the table where Master sat. He dismissed Lucas with a wave of his hand, the small reprieve almost caused Lucas to sigh, but he caught himself in time. Lucas went back to the stove and cracked his egg into the pan. He watched as the clear liquid boiled on the surface and turned white. He broke the yoke and flipped the egg, just like his mother had done before she passed away. When the egg turned white, and no yolk flowed from the cut in the center, he took the pan off the burner and ate the egg. No salt, no pepper. The bruises had faded, but the lesson remained; he received no extras.

Master ate the last of his eggs, placing his fork on the plate. Lucas swooped in, clearing the dishes. After rinsing the dirty dishes, he waited for his next set of instructions, hoping like crazy the jerk didn’t want sex. Master said nothing as he went to the bathroom. The sound of water running told him that his abductor had started his shower. Lucas relaxed a bit as he cleaned the kitchen, washed the plates and put them back in the cabinet. The asshole had never demanded sex after showering, Lucas got off easy today.

Since Master was still here, he didn’t even think about opening the refrigerator and sneaking a piece of meat, though his stomach ached as if he hadn’t eaten all week. He stood in the center of the kitchen waiting for Master to leave for work. The door to the bedroom opened and Master walked out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Lucas had no idea what job Master held, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was for the jerk to leave for the day without asking for sex or touching him.

Without a word, Master fixed his lunch, locked the refrigerator and walked out the door. Lucas went to the window and watched the red truck drive away. No one ever came up the road except Master. They were somewhere in the mountains, that’s all he knew. The despair burning deep in Lucas’s belly came out in a piercing cry, rumbling through the rooms as he screamed and cursed at his situation.

He slumped against the wall, relieved that he was alone for the day. Part of him wished Master had him locked up anywhere but here. Truly alone in this piece of shit house, the isolation taunted him. After he stopped crying, Lucas wiped his eyes and checked out his food for the day.

Master had left a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the counter. Lucas paced himself, taking a small bite then waiting a long while for another, knowing he had all day to finish the meal. He lay on the blankets for a long time then swept and mopped the main room. He ate another bite of the sandwich, ignoring the clawing hunger. Boredom set in so he took a nap then checked the time, praying master wasn’t due back soon. He'd already eaten half the sandwich, but starvation hovered close, never leaving him alone. If he ate the rest now, he would get nothing else until Master returned home. Too long to go without any food.

Lucas turned on the tap and slurped down some water. The gross taste filled his mouth, but felt good when the liquid hit his belly. The temperature dropped even more last night, and he probably wouldn’t survive the winter unless Master gave him clothes. Already the house was a little chilly. At least he had a blanket.

He spent the day cleaning the house like Master demanded. Passing the time with the chores kept him from getting too bored. If only he found a way to communicate with someone and tell them he needed help. With no phone and no computer to hook up to the internet, he was at a loss.

After dusting the house again, Lucas realized he hadn’t eaten all of his sandwich and Master would return soon. He shuffled to the kitchen and heard Master’s tires crunch on the gravel outside. Fear pinged around his body. He stuffed the last two bites of sandwich into his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before Master came in. Master would be displeased if he didn’t eat what he was given and then Master would give him less tomorrow. Lucas had played that game earlier, and he hated the results. Master knew how to be cruel enough to motivate him to do whatever the bastard wanted.

Another quick slurp of water from the faucet washed the sandwich residue from his mouth. Lucas did a quick glance around the kitchen, noticing the napkin Master had set his sandwich on still on the countertop. He raced over and grabbed paper, tossing it into the trash before Master walked in.

The key slid into the first of the locks, and Lucas dropped to his knees, fighting back the tears. Another key in another lock, and Lucas settled his ass on his heals. The sharp clink of a padlock dropping to the ground sent fear racing through Lucas’s body. He shivered and bent forward, placing his forehead on the ground, his hands pushed in front of him as though he were bowing to Master.

The position, dictated by Master, left him totally defenseless against Master’s attacks and whims. Lucas choked back the sob threatening to erupt as the door swung open and Master stepped in.

“Slave, I’m home, and I’m feeling good.”

Welcome to hell.

Lucas shut down his mind, no longer allowing himself to think. He wouldn’t spend any more time permitting his emotions to rule. Soon enough, this place would be more than he could handle. When the time came, he’d have a plan. For now, he would exist and pray that somewhere, someone searched for him.

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JOAN by Michelle Levigne

JOAN by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book One

Joan escaped her terrorist mother at fourteen, and didn't know what an "ordinary" life was until she settled in Tabor Heights, seeking the baby sister their mother tried to kill one summer. After four years, she had made a new life, and refused to run away and start over, no matter how many threats came breathing down her neck. She had friends now, and she wasn't going to let anyone hurt them or drive her away from them.

After a series of catastrophes brought her to the breaking point, she received an invitation to visit Quarry Hall, home of the Arc Foundation, and run by a man who claimed to be her father. Joan went to see what he had to say. And despite all her self-preservation instincts, she grew to want to be part of Quarry Hall. But did she dare let go all her secrets, her pain, her shame? It wasn't that she couldn't believe in God -- but could God believe in her?

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EXCERPT

What kind of villain used twine to tie up his victims?

Joan's wrists itched from the fibers as she hobbled down the aisle between tall metal shelves full of grimy crates and packing boxes, and gave another experimental tug with her wrists bound behind her back. A sharp sensation flashed up her arm, followed by warm wet. Either sweat, or she had cut herself with the effort. She was betting on blood, because she had sat for four hours in a dark, grimy storage shed, sweating. The only thing that kept it from being a sweatbox straight out of a prison break movie was that it was made of plastic, not metal. All the time she sat there, no one had asked her any questions. She could have been another crate stored in the shed, for all the attention her captors paid her.

That was about to end, obviously. She would have preferred that they had put a hood over her head, but maybe that was a waste of time, since she had seen three of them. They didn't care what she saw, meaning they could keep her quiet and unable to use what she knew against them.

The man leading the way opened a door at the end of the shadowy aisle. Joan guessed the room was a pre-fabricated module, meant for dividing up large spaces to make them usable. All that mattered was that this room sat near the center of the warehouse. The man walking behind her grabbed her shoulder and half-guided, half-shoved her into the room. She stumbled, but the man who went in first, the beardless, taller one of the two, caught her. He copped a feel before pivoting her around, shoving her into a chair in the corner.

Matt sat in the other corner, hands bound behind him, his ankles tied to the battered wood-and-metal-tube chair with the same brown twine her captors had used on Joan. From the sweat and grime marking his face, darkening his clothes, matting his hair, he had been given the same temporary storage shed treatment. He had some bruises on his face and his bared arms, but no other signs of rough treatment. What was happening now, that they were brought together?

His eyes asked a thousand questions, but he didn't say anything.

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RIDDLE OF THE DECEIVER by Gilbert M. Stack

RIDDLE OF THE DECEIVER by Gilbert M. Stack

Pembroke Steel: Book 5

When Mitch Pembroke and his bodyguard, Kit Moran, agree to help their housekeeper find her daughter, they get more than they bargained for. Miss Egan is not the only resident of her Maine logging town to have gone missing in recent weeks and her terrified neighbors are desperate for answers.

Are the disappearances really tied up in an old Native American legend or is there a more sinister solution? Time is running out.

Can Mitch and Kit find Miss Egan before they too end up victims of the Deceiver?

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~Excerpt~

It was 11:00 p.m. and Sheriff McCauley was waiting for them behind his desk. The lines in his face and the shadows beneath his eyes spoke of exhaustion and of a deep and abiding concern. A pallet in the corner suggested that the sheriff would be sleeping in the jail house tonight, and possibly had already done so the night before. He stood up and offered each man his hand. “Did Mrs. Egan get settled in all right?”

“She’s talking with Mrs. Baxter now,” Mitch answered.      

The sheriff sighed, returning to his seat. “I guess that’s what I expected. Still it’s a shame to burden that poor woman with more concerns when we still really don’t know what happened.”

Mitch placed a chair in front of the sheriff’s desk and sat in it. Kit came over to stand behind him. He was purposeful, not nonchalant; protective in his movements. The sheriff noticed all of this, then clearly considered how to begin saying what he wanted them to know.

“As I already said, I still don’t know what happened, but there are a few facts in the case. Not cold facts, not hard, but they’re most of what I have to work with.”

Mitch waited expectantly. Kit offered no expression at all. The dichotomy of attitude was already beginning to work on the sheriff—the one man clearly desiring information, the other just as clearly intending to see that he received it. A lesser man might have grown nervous or angry. Sheriff McCauley merely began to share that which he had already intended to give.

“Last Sunday, that’s April 11, Miss Egan fixed a picnic lunch and went off by herself into Shadow Valley. She had done this a couple of times before, despite suggestions that it wasn’t a good idea. Miss Egan said she liked to get away to work on her lesson plan for the coming week. My deputy went looking and couldn’t find her, but no one was really concerned until she failed to show up at the boarding house for dinner. Mrs. Baxter alerted me, and I organized a search. We scoured Shadow Valley for three days with no sign of Miss Egan.”

Mitch continued to wait expectantly, politely refraining from asking if the sheriff had questioned Deputy Howland. You didn’t have to be a local to see that Howland was infatuated with Emily Egan. And it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to wonder if infatuation—especially if it was unrequited—could have led to something less innocent.

The sheriff changed course. “Well that’s the crux of it as far as Miss Egan is concerned, but it’s only a small part of the larger picture. You see, we’ve had a number of other disappearances in Shadow Valley which look much the same. Well,” he amended, “a number of recent disappearances. People have been disappearing in the valley for the better part of two centuries. It just hasn’t happened quite so regularly before.”

The sheriff swallowed a sort of half laugh, as if what he was about to say embarrassed him, but he was going to say it anyway. “The Abernackie, the local Indian tribe, have known about the place for centuries. They won’t go there. The whole valley is taboo. But white folk have always been too smart to listen to Indians. So we hunt there, and now we log there, or at least we do in the half of the valley that doesn’t belong to the reservation. And the Indians they just turn around and shake their heads, especially when someone disappears.”

“Just how many disappearances are we talking about, Sheriff?” Mitch asked. He had the uneasy feeling that he knew where this conversation was going. Not specifically, of course, but there was an aura of strangeness settling about the office, and Mitch didn’t like the way it felt.

“Six really,” the sheriff answered. “Miss Egan, and five others, all in the past seven months.
 

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CIMMERIAN CITY by Rae Lori

CIMMERIAN CITY by Rae Lori

Book One in the Cimmerian Duology

Today, corporations are the new aristocracy. A laundry list of side effects accompanies almost every new drug introduced on the market. What if these side effects changed us?

Imagine waking up in a futuristic world were corporations are the new aristocracy. The world has been divided into 2 hemispheres and 2 races: Humans and quick tough skinned vampire-like creatures that are children of the side effects of 20th century pharmaceutical experiments...Dracins.

Imagine dying as a human . . . and waking up as something else.

This is the life of Raven Blackheart, a formerly bored college student turned agent for the Tech Corporation, the largest corporate entity in the Western Hemisphere. Vice President Tyler Deamond, directs Raven as a go between and the last hope for the unification of Humans and Dracins. As deaths start occurring within the corporation headquarters, Raven notices someone is working their way up the food chain. Alliances are questioned as Deamond's intentions aren't quite as noble as they seem. A figure reemerges from Raven's past who may have all the answers to the disappearance of her father...

Cimmerian City is a futuristic sci-fi thriller where government has become big business, pharmaceuticals carry a veil of ghastly side effects and a third world war is brewing between the two races.

Relax...It's just the 21st century.

BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

~Excerpt~

Raven’s eyes shot open. She flinched from the blinding sunlight streaming through her bedroom window.
Morning. It was morning.

What happened last night?

After she left class and Jack behind, she took the bus to the art store…but somehow she didn’t remember making it there. Nor did she recall coming home.

Her head throbbed as she pushed herself upright. It felt like a thousand elves were pattering around in her head, banging to get out. Then the pitch-black darkness of her surroundings started coming back to her.

Duskiness surrounded her with only a smattering of light around the city to let her know how close the nearest town sat. She remembered hopping off the bus after it stopped. She remembered the kind-faced bus driver, an older man of Native American descent, who looked upon her for far too long, as if he knew her. However, she had never seen the man before in her life...or had she?

It was even one of those dreams where she could actually see herself from afar. Although she couldn't see her features too clearly, Raven still recognized the same long black hair framing her heart-shaped face and almond brown eyes that danced at the edge of black, along with her full pink lips and cinnamon-brown skin. She could see her parents in her eyes and face. Shades of both her father of the Blackfoot tribe heritage and her Egyptian mother echoed off her own features. She tried hard not to think of them but when she saw herself in the mirror and in dreams like this, it was difficult not to feel the hole in her heart from their deaths.

Images flashed and popped into her thoughts. The deserted train tracks that sat in the middle of the desert, the sound of an oncoming train, and heavy breathing. Then the weight of a body that pushed her to the ground and sliced at her arms.

Her arms suddenly began throbbing as if signaling her attention to the pain.

Raven ripped the sheet away from her arm and peered down. Amidst the dark brown of her skin, there was nothing. No sign of a scratch or any indentation to mark her. What was going on here? Was it all just a dream?

As the question popped in her mind, the shrill scream of the phone broke the quietness, distracting Raven from the vivid images of the all too real nightmare. She looked around the room to remind herself of her comforting surroundings. It was inviting, all right. The warm oak furniture that sat around her bed incited a memory of when she and Jack had picked the pieces up after she got her first home. They bought the nightstand stacked with art books at a garage sale from an older woman who was selling her daughter’s furniture after she got married and moved out. The desk, overfilled with both her and Jack’s art pieces, reminded her of the bargain they struck with the owner, shortly before it was to be tossed away and forgotten in the trash heap. Jack took pride in patching it up, sanding it off, and then applying a coat of finish to bring out the natural wood.

The house itself was a bargain, too. Raven couldn’t afford much on the meager salary she got when working spare jobs at the Navajo reservation but she jumped in with all her savings and part of her scholarship money to rent it.

Since then, Raven had fallen in love with the small home. Sometimes she would complain about the tiny space and imagined moving into a larger spread with multiple bedrooms and furnishings. After last night’s ordeal that may or may not have happened, her little house was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Her mother, father, aunt and uncle would be so proud... if they were still alive.

Slowly, she stretched out her shaky arms. They were smooth and unscratched. Perhaps it was a dream. Even she couldn’t have imagined that kind of pain.

Raven exhaled heavily.

At twenty-five, she was not ready for any signs of a heart attack nor was she prepared to be delusional. What seemed like a regular night had turned into something out of a nightmare. She had to get this out in the open or else she would surely end up going crazy with obsession.

She looked up and felt relief flow through her at the return of silence. The phone must have stopped ringing sometime ago while she was distracted. Suddenly, it started its incessant ringing again.

Part of her wanted to scream until it stopped. Instead, she exhaled. “Someone’s going to have to get that,” she muttered.

The phone stopped ringing midway as someone picked it up. “Hello?” The deep, muffled voice came from the kitchen.

Raven peeked into the hall. “Jack, is that you?”

Relief spread over her as she recalled the familiar face. Jack. Just the person she wanted to see. His warm smile, sparkling hazel eyes, and sturdy but thin build immediately calmed her. She would give anything to melt into his arms and lose herself in his embrace, his soft words, and his touch. They had been together for almost a year now, and he was the only person she could trust in the whole world. The only person that mattered to her since she had no family.

The faint chorus of the musical news theme erupted from the living room television set. She smiled to herself. That was Jack, practical, informative and always needing the news on when he came over to see her each morning.

“Blood clots and blood disorders affect more than five million people in the US alone. For a cleaner system, try Delanin, the leading non-prescription medication that targets blood cells for a cleaner flow through the entire body. Consult your doctor if any side effects or allergic reactions occur. Brought to you by Dridan. Making a better future, today.”

Raven idly rubbed her shoulders where the scratches would have been. “Cleaner blood flow?” She chuckled. “They’ll make a pill for anything these days.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to call out to Jack. However, just at that very moment, he appeared in the doorway with her black cordless phone in his hand.

“What happened last night?” she asked. She didn’t realize how groggy she was until she heard the sound of her own raspy voice.

Jack laughed. “Good one, Hon. Just sit there and pretend as if you didn’t give me a heart attack when they found you.” He froze at the look on her face, and then his smile melted into a frown. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t remember?”

Raven shook her head. “No, I really don’t. Tell me, Jack.”

He placed his hand over the receiver and walked toward her. “They found you unconscious in the desert,” he said softly. “They thought you may have suffered from heat stroke or something.”

“They?”

“Police officers. They brought you here this morning. Good thing you kept your address handy in your backpack like I suggested.”

“My backpack!” Raven leaned forward, remembering the tugging from the unseen hands. She could almost feel the jerking and hear the tearing as whatever it was behind her dug into the backpack material. Maybe there would be proof on her backpack of what attacked her. Pain spiked at the center of her forehead, jolting her backwards onto the bed.

“Easy… Easy,” Jack soothed. “Your backpack is fine. I put it in the living room in front of the television.”

“Jack,” Raven said, cradling her head. “Last night was warm, but nothing intense. Especially not hot enough to cause a heat stroke.”

Jack’s gaze flicked to the phone in his hand. “It’s Mr. Davies. He wants to talk to you about your absent days from work.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. Jack, you have to—”

Jack sighed before placing the phone up to his ear. “She’s a bit detained at the moment, Mr. Davies, but I’ll be sure to have her call you… All right… Bye.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Raven said.

Clicking the phone off, he laughed. “Talking like that I’m beginning to believe so. Look Rave, I’m just glad you’re okay and they found you when they did. Something could have happened to you while you were out there in the middle of nowhere. If I had just gone with you…” He stopped and looked down at his vise-like grip on the phone. His smooth, tanned hand quickly turned white. Slowly, with a sigh, he released it.

“Jack, I’m sorry. I really just needed a little time to myself. I thought it would be a quick trip.”
He didn’t say anything, as he wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her close in a tight embrace. Reaching down, he slipped his hand under her chin and pulled her into a soft kiss. His lips were warm and sweet, just what the doctor ordered. Raven felt him push the phone to the side and hold her gently as he kissed her deeply. Then she moved down to lie in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He smelled fresh, like a cool breeze and soft musk. She also spotted a hint of India ink and figured he had come over to work on his latest drawing again. Right then and there, she knew that smell would always remind her of Jack.

“Don’t do that to me again, Rave.” He whispered into her hair. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

She gave him a tight squeeze as the teapot whistled loudly from the kitchen. With a kiss on her forehead and a final one on her lips, he stood. “Now, you stay in bed and rest, okay? I’ll get you some tea and breakfast.” She watched him as he walked from the room.

Raven found herself missing his embrace as soon as he left. Although they had spent nearly all of their time together, were rather intimate and getting ever closer, Raven had never been ready to give her body to him. She had gladly let him into her heart, where he had been the only occupant since her family’s death, and since they often shared the same thoughts, it was easy to let him into her mind.

But her body…

Raven wrapped her arms around herself at the thought. She wanted it to be special. Many times, she had dreamed of the weight of his body pushing down against hers. The feel of his lips brushing through her lips before his mouth overtook hers. A sea of caresses would mesh their limbs together as one as they bound themselves to each other both in heart and body. Perhaps she had romanticized it a bit but the human connection she always felt was always lacking, except when she daydreamed. She had never grown up expecting to wait but as she distanced herself from everyone she met, it felt natural to close off from that kind of physical human contact. She would think about it, sometimes dream about how the first time would be. Deep in her heart, she knew Jack was going to be the man to journey there with her once the time was right. She was thankful he hadn’t pushed her into anything.

Raven swung her legs over the side of the bed as the sounds and smells of salty crispy bacon, fluffy eggs, and warm tea with a light toast on the side, wafted into the bedroom air. Jack always knew what she wanted.

Ignoring the rush of blood escaping her brain, Raven pushed to her feet and started toward the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled, and her tongue salivated with the anticipation of the feast ahead. The morning newscaster still twittered from the TV as she made her way across the hall.

“That better be a big tall, hairy monster coming toward me with an axe in hand because I distinctly remember telling Raven Blackheart to remain in bed while I brought her food.”

Raven chuckled. “What can I say? I’ll be hard-headed until the day I die.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, love. So marry me.”

Raven froze in her tracks. It sounded like Jack. It even looked like Jack. But she could have sworn it was a body snatcher who had just asked that question. Either that or she was completely losing her mind.

Jack finally turned to look over his shoulder at her. “No response? Color me surprised. I’ve never known you to go tight-lipped. ”

“I…” What was she supposed to say? “I didn’t think you were serious.”

Jack slipped a piece of bacon in his mouth and shrugged. “You’re right. I’m screwing this up already.” He walked to her and went down on his knees then took her hand.

"One knee..." Raven whispered, trying to bite back a smile.

Jack looked down. "Oh! Right." He quickly hopped up on one knee and then cleared his throat.

“Raven Blackheart. The first time I saw you in class, I knew I had to convince you that I wasn’t entirely crazy but that I really liked you and wanted to get to know you. We’ve been together through some hard times and I know I’ve been a pain. I know you’ve been a pain.”

She playfully shoved him, causing him to laugh.

Becoming serious, he continued, “I love you, Raven. Breaking through those walls you have put up hasn’t been easy, but I’m patient. I just want to be there for you and I want you to be my wife. I don’t have much, but I do have my word and my heart.” He looked down at the half-eaten bacon in his free hand and raised it. “And bacon.”

Raven couldn’t help giggling. “Food is the way to your heart, Jack. Not mine.”

“Yeah well, I don’t have a ring yet.” He wrapped the bacon strip around her finger. “Figured we could go shopping or something. Pick one out of a catalog or…”

She pulled his face into hers and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “You are insane, you know that? Only you would give me an engagement ring made of bacon.”

Jack snorted. “I wanted to leave an impression.”

“Oh you’ve already done that.” She leaned into his embrace. Misjudging his stance, she fell backward into his arms in a mass of giggles and limbs. The kitchen floor was cold and hard to the touch, but Raven didn’t care. This is what she missed and, even more so, this is what she needed after such a harrowing night.

Jack scooped her up into his arms. “So, is that a yes?”

She nestled the bacon strip around her fingers and held it up. “What do you think?”

He kissed her again and moaned softly when she deepened it. “Mmm, the food is going to get cold and if we stay down here any longer, I cannot be accountable for my actions.”

Jack stood and offered her a hand up. He then went back to preparing their breakfast.

“I really wish you had talked to Mr. Davies,” he said, scooping the eggs onto two plates.

Raven maneuvered her fingers to lift the bacon strip to her mouth. Mmm, not crispy but nice, warm and a little undercooked just like she liked. “He’s the last thing I’m worried about right now, Jack.”

“Already thinking about wedding plans, huh? We should have something small. I have some cash in my savings but I think we should hang onto it until after the wedding so we won’t be living in a cardboard box under an overpass or something.”

She shook her head as she settled into the chair at the small breakfast nook table. “I was thinking about last night. Heat stroke doesn’t attack my backpack, jump on my back, and scratch my arm.”

Jack froze when he reached the table. A wrinkle formed in the middle of his forehead. He grabbed her arm, turned it over and analyzed the skin. “I don’t see any scratches.”

“That’s what’s so crazy. I remember it distinctly. I even remember feeling it but there’s no sign of it.” She sighed. “I don’t think it was human.”

“What?”

Raven exhaled slowly. If he thought she was talking nutsy now, he would think she completely lost it when she voiced this next idea. “Whatever attacked me? It didn’t feel like a person. It felt like…a thing.” Before he could stop her and express any doubt, she continued. “I think something’s out there over those hills, Jack. I can’t be sure but I saw lights on the other side, like flashlights. And I heard voices. The train track that’s been deserted for years was still working and I think something is happening out there. Scratch that, I ‘m sure about it. I want to go back and check it out.”

“Raven.” The urgency in his voice told her he was ready to unload a series of logical reasoning that could explain everything she presented before him. She watched him grab the hand towel from his shoulder and toss it onto the marble counter. Then he frowned. “You’re serious about this…”

“Yeah, I am. If it hadn’t been for my backpack....” Her backpack! That was it! She remembered her previous thought. If she could find the scratch marks, she could try to figure out what kind of beast had attacked her. And then she could really prove she wasn’t imagining all this.

Raven jumped from her chair and swung around to head to the living room. Right away she spotted her backpack lying against the wall near the front door.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the dark green thread sewn along the sides of the pockets. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the thin thread to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. To anyone else, the thread would be invisible, but Raven knew her backpack. The thread was a slightly lighter shade than the rest of the backpack.

“Did you do this?” she asked softly.

“What?”

She thrust the backpack forward. “This, Jack. Did you sew this back up?”

Jack folded his arms. “Raven, you know it was like that already.”

She scoffed. “No, no it wasn’t. Look, the thread is new. I never sewed this up nor did I rip it. Jack, you have to believe me.”

“Shhh. Shh. Come on now.” He pulled her into his arms and held her.

What was going on? If she had been a conspiracy theorist, she would think someone was trying to cover something up. But why would they do such a thing to her? She was nobody, a student, who happened to take a wrong turn off the wrong bus track.

Raven’s grip loosened until she felt the backpack fall from her hands and onto the floor with a soft thud. She wrapped her arms around Jack, indulging in the feel of his muscled back and thin frame as he held onto her tightly.

“What’s going on with me, Jack? I feel like my mind is trying to tell me something but my brain refuses to show me. And I can’t shake this feeling. I just know something is wrong.”

“Listen,” Jack reached down and cradled her face in his hands, “come, and eat breakfast. We’ll sit and relax for a while, and then you can tell me what happened. Tell me whatever you remembered. After that, maybe we can take the same route there and trace your steps to see if we can find anything. Sound good?”

Raven nodded. Good old Jack. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“Why? Because I always cave to your demands when you bat those pretty eyes and give me that sexy pout?” He slipped his hands over her hips and gently nuzzled her neck.

Raven gave him another playful shove. “No, I’m serious. I could really use your support.”

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes sparkling again. He was as handsome as she had ever seen him. A thin face matched with wispy, short dark brown hair and a tan complexion made him look perfect in her eyes. Gently he reached up and caressed the side of her face. “You’ll always have my support, Babe. No matter what, we’re in this together.”

“Together.” She liked the sound of that. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him even tighter. Then a loud smack and the warm tingle on her rear nearly made her jump to the ceiling.
“Now, go eat your breakfast so we can get out of here. Granger’s class is in a few hours and I still need to finish this assignment.”

Raven started toward the kitchen with Jack behind her, grabbing for her again. She laughed and jumped, pretending to dodge his moves. It felt good to laugh and be silly again. After what she went through, it was a welcome distraction before the storm.

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