Wednesday, November 6, 2024

Audiobook Release Blitz ~ Wicked Wish - Darkest Wishes Series by Alex Gordon

 

 


Audiobook Release Blitz

Wicked Wish

Darkest Wishes Series – Book 1

By

Alex Gordon

 

About the Book:

Genres: YA/NA Paranormal Romance, Coming of Age, Love Triangle

Publisher: Wild Rose Press

Publication Date: September 30, 2024

 

When 18-year-old Regan accidentally kills her father, she discovers some startling truths.

First, she has the power of mind control.

Second, she must use it for evil or else suffer one of two fates: insanity or death. Her solution is
vigilante justice.

To atone for her sins, she vows to protect her classmates from The Three Musketcheers, a vicious
gang of cheerleaders who use lies, brute force, and blackmail as weapons in their quest to
dominate the school.

Unfortunately, every time Regan uses her gift, it develops a persona of its own—one she has
trouble controlling—leaving her to question whether she can save them without destroying
herself.

 

Purchase Links:

 

Audiobook Sample:


Click Here to listen to a sample of Wicked Wish

 

About the Author:

Alex Gordon is a bit of a wanderer, having lived in Washington, Montana, Germany, Alaska, and Tennessee where she currently resides with her husband and two rescued German Shepherds. When not writing, you can probably find her hiking, or if she's lucky--fishing, though she's not opposed to camping out on the couch with dessert and bingeing murder mysteries.

 

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Website: https://www.alexgordonauthor.com/

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Book Tour ~ A Tainted Heart Bleeds - House of Croft by Sophie Barnes

 



House of Croft, Book 2


Historical Mystery/Thriller/Romance

Date Published: 10-29-2024


 

He’ll never forgive her deception, or the hold she still has on his heart…

Adrian Croft’s worst fear has been realized. His wife, the sweet woman who swept past his every defense, is a cunning spy working against him. Forced to play a dangerous game where one wrong move could see him destroyed, he must unravel her secrets while hunting a far more sinister threat.

Samantha knew her decision to marry her target would come at a price. Now, having lost her husband’s trust and affection, she’ll do whatever it takes to win it all back – abandon past loyalties, spill her secrets, and catch a killer. But will it be enough to undo the damage?


Chapter One

 

London, August 15th, 1818

Lady Eleanor dropped onto the stool in front of her vanity table. Exhausted from entertaining dinner guests with her parents, she looked forward to climbing into the soothing comfort of her bed.

Something pushing against her leg made her lower her gaze to Milly, the miniature poodle her parents had gifted her with for her sixteenth birthday. Rising onto her hind legs, Milly shifted her paws to better press her damp nose against Eleanor’s thigh, her stubby tail wagging with eager affection.

Eleanor chuckled and scooped the pup into her lap. She raked her fingers through Milly’s fur, scratched her a few times behind one ear, and allowed her to settle comfortably in her lap.

“Are you ready, my lady?” The question was posed by Audrey, Eleanor’s lady’s maid. A short woman with dark brown hair and eyes to match, the servant was five years Eleanor’s senior and possessed a positive outlook to match her own.

Eleanor glanced at her and smiled in response to the warmth she found in Audrey’s eyes. “Yes. Please begin.”

Audrey raised the comb she’d collected earlier and drew it through Eleanor’s hair. Molly snuggled farther into the circle of her arms, nails scratching a little at Eleanor’s lap as she repositioned her legs.

Eleanor sighed and sent her bed a longing glance. The coverlet had been folded back to display the crisp white sheets that beckoned. It would be good to climb between them and let the weariness seep from her body.

Molly’s curls compressed beneath the weight of her hand as Eleanor stroked the fluffy fur. Glancing up, she caught Audrey’s gaze in the mirror, her thoughts returning to the charity visit she’d planned for tomorrow. “Maybe you’re right about the brown woolen spencer. I never wear it, so I might as well include it in the donation.”

“Are you sure?” Audrey set the comb aside and collected a glass bottle containing Warren & Rosser’s Milk of Roses lotion.

The question was a legitimate one since Eleanor had argued against the suggestion yesterday when she and Audrey had prepared the box that would go to St. Augustine’s Church. The spencer had been a gift from her aunt three Christmases ago. It was undoubtedly lovely, but every time she’d put it on she felt it didn’t quite suit her.

“Yes,” she said, her mind made up. “There’s no sense in it taking up space in the wardrobe when it can keep someone less fortunate warm.”

Audrey dabbed a bit of lotion on Eleanor’s face and began rubbing it in with wonderfully soothing circular motions. “I’m always impressed by your kindness, my lady.”

But was she always kind? Guilt gathered in Eleanor’s stomach, becoming so heavy it felt like a block of lead. The choice she’d made for herself – for her future – had not been easy. She hated how selfish it made her feel.

Yet she managed to smile and pretend Audrey’s comment was welcome. “Thank you.”

Audrey responded with a smile of her own and proceeded to plait Eleanor’s hair. The peaceful activity calmed her mind. She allowed herself to focus on what was to come, instead of worrying over the past.

She’d had her say, and in so doing, she’d paved the way to a new adventure.

A surge of excitement filled her breast at this thought. Everything would be fine. All she needed was rest. The maid finished her ministrations and tidied up. Eleanor set Molly down and climbed into bed. The mattress sagged beneath her weight, the cool sheets inviting her to sink deeper.

“Would you like me to close the window before I go?” Audrey asked.

“No. Leave it open.” The afternoon sun pouring into the room several hours before had made it unbearably warm and stuffy. She couldn’t sleep like that.

“I’ll bid you good night then, my lady.” Audrey called for Molly to join her and the dog complied without question, knowing full well that a walk and a treat awaited.

“Good night,” Eleanor replied, “and thank you for your help.”

The maid left and Eleanor reached for her book. This was her favorite time to read, when all was silent and there was no risk of being disturbed. She opened Pamela and flipped to the spot where she’d left off the previous evening.

A gentle breeze streamed through the window, toying with the curtains. Distant laughter reached her ears. It was followed by a horse’s faint whinny. Eleanor’s eyes grew heavy. The book began sagging between her hands.

She yawned and it felt like only a moment had passed before she was startled by a loud noise. Her eyes snapped open, adjusting and observing. The light by which she’d been reading had burned itself out. Her book had slipped from her grasp. She must have fallen asleep.

Light flashed beyond the window. A resounding boom followed. The curtains flapped with wild abandon while rain poured down from the heavens. She blew out a breath and went to close the window. It was just a storm. No need for alarm.

Barefooted, she padded across the Aubusson rug and noted that parts of it were now damp from the rain. She leaned forward through the window’s opening, her abdomen pressing into the sill, wetting her nightgown as she reached for the handle.

Her hand caught the slick wood and she pulled the window shut. A welcome silence followed, cocooning her from the elements. Pausing briefly, she watched water streak down the smooth window pane, saw lightning flash across the sky.

Intent on returning to bed, she took a step back, prepared to close the curtains, and froze when her toes connected with something unpleasant. Not just water, but a thick and squishy substance of sorts. But how could that be? Confused, she dropped her gaze, but the darkness was blinding. She’d need a candle or an oil lamp in order to see.

She straightened and started to turn, her aim to locate the tinderbox she kept on her nightstand, when a pair of large hands captured her throat. She opened her mouth, attempted to scream, but couldn’t even manage a gasp as the fingers dug deeper and cut off her breath.

Terrified, she stared at the window, at her own blurry figure reflected in the wet glass, and the larger man standing behind her. Tears welled in her eyes. She clawed at the hands that gripped her, kicked her attacker’s shins, and did what she could to wriggle free.

None of it worked.

He was much stronger than she, and her strength waned with each breath she was denied. Her heart fluttered desperately. It begged her to keep on fighting. But it was no use.

She had already lost

#

Chief Constable Peter Kendrick removed his hat as he entered Orendel House. Given the circumstances, a somber atmosphere wasn’t surprising. But the gloom he encountered in the elegant foyer was unparalleled.

Servants stood near the walls, slumped like wilting plants. Maids wept while the male servants stared into nothing, their stricken expressions underscoring the horror they’d woken up to. Even the butler struggled to speak when he offered to take Peter’s hat, his voice cracking before he averted his gaze.

“Where are the earl and countess?” Peter asked.

The butler gave his eyes a quick swipe and straightened his posture. “In the parlor with their…remaining children.” Someone sobbed and the old man’s expression twisted with grief. “As you can no doubt imagine, this is terribly difficult for them. They asked me to show you upstairs.”

“Very well.”

He followed the butler, one step at a time, a couple of Runners at his back. They arrived on the landing, their footfalls muted by the plush carpet lining the hardwood floor. A few more paces and then…

The butler paused and gestured toward a door. “Through there. I realize I ought to come with you, but… Do you mind if I remain here?”

“Not at all.” Peter reached Lady Eleanor’s bedchamber doorway and froze. A sick feeling caught hold of his stomach. Ghastly didn’t come close to describing the scene he beheld. This was the sort of thing that could make men lose all hope in humanity. It was…barbaric.

“Good lord,” murmured Anderson, the Runner standing at Peter’s right shoulder.

Anderson’s colleague, Lewis, only managed a faint, “Excu…” before he bolted for the stairs, no doubt hoping to make it outside before he vomited.

Peter swallowed and took a deep breath, then entered the room. It hadn’t been so long ago since another young woman’s body was found – the last in a series of brutal murders that left him baffled for more than a year. But that killer was dead, so it couldn’t be the same man who’d acted here.

Besides, this was different and shockingly worse.

He clenched his jaw, reminded himself that he had a job to accomplish. There was just…so much blood. It felt like the room was bathed in it. And the victim…

Forcing himself to employ an analytical mindset, he considered her position on the bed and the clean blanket draped over her torso and legs.

“I’ll need the usual sketches,” he said.

“Already working on it,” Anderson told him, his voice gruff.

“You may want to wait a moment.” Peter studied Lady Eleanor’s face and the empty eye sockets that seemed to mock him. “Until I’ve removed the blanket.”

“Sir?”

“It doesn’t belong. Someone placed it here after the fact, no doubt to protect her modesty.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “If you’ll please shut the door.”

A firm click followed and then, “Why would the bastard take her eyes?”

“I don’t know. Could be a trophy of sorts. There’s no telling what goes on in such vile creatures’ heads.”

Slowly, with respect and consideration directed toward the poor young woman whose body lay on the bed before him, Peter folded back the blanket and shuddered. Whatever nightgown she’d worn to bed was gone, her naked body left on display.

Air rushed into Peter’s lungs on a sharp inhalation. She’d been stabbed too many times to count, as though her attacker hadn’t been able to stop. And her neck – the skin there was a bright red shade.

Swallowing, he surveyed the rest of the room while Anderson kept on drawing.

A vase lay on the floor near one of the windows, smashed to pieces. The flowers were strewn across the Aubusson rug. They’d probably ended up there during a struggle. Peter lowered himself to a crouch, his fingertips testing a dark brown stain and feeling the wetness. Mud.

“Take notes too, will you?” Peter retreated until he’d reached the bedchamber door. He grabbed the handle. “And cover her with the blanket once you’re done. I’ll question the servants in the meantime.”

#

The parlor was made available for interviews, each servant introduced to Peter by the butler as he showed them into the room. Peter considered the latest arrival. Audrey was her name. Short in stature, with mousish features and lackluster hair, she’d been Lady Eleanor’s lady’s maid.

“I…I don’t…” Audrey gulped.

She dabbed at her watery eyes again. Her handkerchief looked heavy and wet. Peter handed her a fresh one and gave her a moment to try and collect herself. Not easy, he realized, since she’d been the one who’d discovered her mistress’s body when she’d gone to rouse her.

“Did you always wake her in the mornings?” Peter gently asked.

A nod accompanied trembling lips. “She was always so…active. Liked making the…the most of each day. Today… Oh dear. Please forgive me.”

“It’s quite all right,” Peter told her and waited once more for the woman’s tears to abate. “Take your time.”

She swallowed, licked her lips, and seemed to straighten a bit. “We planned to visit St. Augustine with a few donations. My mistress…she was so very kind I…I don’t understand why anyone might have wanted to hurt her.”

“So you can think of no enemies?”

“None.”

“No hopeful suitors she might have spurned?”

Audrey shook her head. “She’s engaged to Mr. Benjamin Lawrence. They were supposed to marry three months ago, toward the end of April, but his horse-riding accident forced a postponement.”

Peter recalled news of the tragedy. The event had turned the young man into a cripple. He’d lost the use of his legs. “She still meant to go through with it, despite what happened?”

“Of course.” Additional tears slid down Audrey’s cheeks. “My mistress loved Mr. Lawrence and intended to stand by him. That’s the sort of person she was.”

And yet, the nature of her death suggested someone had loathed her beyond all reason. Peter made a few notes in his notebook, his pencil scratching the paper with quick and efficient strokes.

“Thank you, Audrey. That will be all for now.” He accompanied her to the door and called for the next servant.

Again, his thoughts wandered back to the murders that took place earlier in the year. Those women had all seemed like proper young ladies. Friends and family had vouched for them. Yet they’d each had a secret that had gotten them killed.

In all likelihood, Lady Eleanor had secrets too. If he was to figure out who killed her, he’d have to discover which of hers had led to her death.

#

There was no greater nuisance than murder.

It was hard to predict how one would play out. Killing Lady Eleanor had been messier than he’d intended. Perhaps because he’d allowed himself to get carried away.

His lips curled. At least he’d had the foresight to stash a change of clothes for himself at St. George’s burial ground. Returning home covered in blood would not have helped him get away with the crime. As he intended to do.

Hands shoved into the pockets of a clean pair of trousers, he stood by his bedchamber window and watched the London traffic go by.

He had no regrets. She’d deserved every part of what he’d done.

His attention focused on the carriages filling the street and on the people hurrying by. It was the busiest hour of the day, when men of consequence made their way to Parliament while those who belonged to the working class went off to start their jobs.

Bow Street would have its hands full this morning. He casually wondered if they were examining Lady Eleanor’s body right now and where the clues they discovered might lead them.

Spotting a young girl who carried a crate of eggs on her head, he tracked her as she walked along the opposite side of the street. A man coming the other way nudged her shoulder as he pushed past her, but failed to disrupt her stride.

She threw a quick glance toward him then stepped off the pavement and hurried between two carriages, making her way to this side of the street.

A couple of street urchins came from the left at a run, most likely fleeing someone whose pocket they’d picked. Leaping into the street at the same exact time as the girl with the eggs attempted to exit, they crashed into her, tripping before regaining their balance and sprinting onward while she was sent reeling.

Down went the crate and all of her eggs, straight into the gutter.

Not one person stopped to inquire about her wellbeing. She was invisible to the crowd – just another lowly individual doing her best to scrape by. Too much trouble for the middle or upper class to get involved with. Too time consuming for the rest.

And yet, as he watched the poor wretch try to salvage the few eggs that somehow remained intact, there was no doubt she’d prefer her situation to Lady Eleanor’s at the moment.

He watched the girl until she’d gathered whatever she could and continued along the street, vanishing from his view before he turned from the window. His gaze went to his bedside table and he crossed to it, retrieved a small key from his jacket pocket, then dropped into a crouch.

With adroitness, he set the key in the lock of the door beneath the drawer and turned it. The door opened and he reached inside, retrieving a jar that he held up against the bright morning light.

A pair of eyes contained in a clear solution stared back at him while his lips twitched with amusement. The last time they’d talked, Lady Eleanor had insisted she’d no desire to see him again.

It was a wish he’d been more than happy to fulfill.

 

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes writes historical romance novels in which the characters break away from social expectations in their quest for happiness and love. Having written for Avon, an imprint of Harper Collins, her books have been published internationally in eight languages. With a fondness for travel, Sophie has lived in six countries, on three continents, and speaks English, Danish, French, Spanish, and Romanian with varying degrees of fluency. Ever the romantic, she married the same man three times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.

When she’s not busy dreaming up her next swoon worthy romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, practicing yoga, baking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.

 

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Book Tour ~ The Code - The Secret Code Hidden in the English Language by David Daniel

 

 

The Secret Code Hidden In the English Language

 

Non-Fiction, Historical Biography

Date Published: October 2024

 

 

The Code is a fascinating exploration of history, linguistics, numerology and philosophy that endeavors to explain the discovery of a secret code that is hidden in the English language. After conducting extensive research and hiring a statistician to independently test all of his work, the Codebreaker came to the conclusion that the Code is not accidental, but intentional and irrefutable. The existence of the Code is nothing short of life-changing and the implications are monumental.

The Code tells the story of the discovery of the Code and presents overwhelming evidence showing that there is a force at work – a force that many call God. The ongoing narrative of the discovery is supplemented with tables that demonstrate how particular historical events are related to central historical figures. The book also contains brief histories of the events and brief biographies of the people to give the reader some historical background. Pictures highlight each section, bringing the discovery of the Code to life. There are also statistics for significance, for the probability of the results occurring randomly, and for tests of four claims regarding the incredible propositions that the Codebreaker makes.

 


About the Author

David is The Codebreaker who has been cracking codes, ciphers and number theories all his life. From writing the book, “The Mentalist Code” which details his discovery of the identity of Red John in the TV series The Mentalist to revealing the identity of real-life serial killers, David has devoted his life to studying secret codes.

In addition, as an educator for the past twenty-four years, David continues to develop theories about personal growth and development, which has led to him writing parenting literature with his wife.

 

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Book Tour ~ Catching Little Focus - A For Day Devotional to Tend the Fire of Your Faith by Amy Buchanan

 



40 Day Devotional to Tend the Fire of Your Faith


Devotional

Date Published: 09-26-2024

Publisher: Victory Now Consulting


 

Have you ever felt overwhelm, as a Christ follower? Have you blamed yourself for not praying hard enough, fasting more, serving harder? Are you in a season of life where you long for more of the Lord but you just cannot seem to find the time or the energy? This Devotional of Song of Songs was written for you. Over the next 40 days you will experience breakthrough into a deeper level of intimacy in your relationship with God. I refer to God as Papa. Along these pages you will be challenged by invitation after invitation to know and be known by The King of love.

 

Come Away with Me

Day 1: Let Him

 

The Shulamite: Let him (her invitation, her surrender) smother me with kisses—his Spirit-kiss divine. So kind are your caresses, I drink them in like the sweetest wine! Your presence releases a fragrance so pleasing—over and over poured out. For your lovely name is “Flowing Oil.” No wonder the brides-to-be adore you. Draw me into your heart. We will run away together into the Kings cloud-filled chamber.

The Chorus of Friends: We will remember your love, rejoicing and delighting in you, celebrating your every kiss as better than wine. No wonder righteousness adores you!

The Shulamite: Jerusalem maidens, in the twilight darkness I know I am so unworthy—so in need. (Song of Songs 1:1–5a)

 

In your faith journey with God, you may find yourself burnt out from serving and hearing the same old sermon. Devotion turns into an empty routine—well, this is, after all, what is expected of me. Exhausted from pouring out, you long for a touch, for time away from the pressures and stress—time away from your circumstances, your toil, your suffering, your pain. You wonder, “Is this religious duty or a relationship? Does God really love me? Does He care? Does He see me? Is He even listening? I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to be doing—church attendance, tithing, yada, yada—so why do I feel so crunchy, salty, tired? What’s missing?”

Maybe you remember when you were first saved and accepted Him into your heart. You felt so free, so alive, so loved. I know I did. I felt a thousand invisible bricks fall from me. I love how this book of Songs starts out with a representation of this exact concept. Here we find the Shulamite woman recollecting on her once-upon-a-time relationship with the Lord. As she recants what His love is like, her friends chime in and encourage her with their recollections as well. She tells her friends how she is so over it, so burnt out, so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I can hear her now. “Why am I going around this same mountain again?”

“I feel as dark and dry as the dessert tents of the wandering nomads” (Song of Songs 1:5c). She had lost herself. Maybe she was in a season in life and realized, “This is not what I signed up for. This is not what I was expecting or what I had planned.” Maybe she had broken dreams, broken expectations. Was she depressed, anxious, fearful? She was willing to recognize her need, her longing. Her reminiscing was where we find her. Let Him. She recalls His kindness, His Spirit kisses, and His presence. She has known intimacy with Jesus.

 

 

About the Author

Amy Buchanan is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in private practice in Northern California providing Christian Counseling to women. Through consulting, Amy is able to provide non-therapeutic care, strategy, and insights that have proven successful with women, couples, and other medical professionals.

After graduating in 2006 with a Masters in Social Work, Amy began working with older youth and supporting families through Child Protective Services. She has worked with inmates in CDCR institutions in Northern California. From there, she was able to serve her community as a clinical social worker within her local hospital. There, Amy was able to assist the overwhelmed caretakers who had limited resources. Today she loves providing support to women and couples that need to reconcile themselves back to God, to themselves, and to their families.

Amy’s life message, that she feels is needed for women at this time, is LOVE YOURSELF as much as you love others! This important Kingdom principal can be overlooked within church culture and even in the culture of family. As women, we tend to nurture and think of others first, but there must be a balance—a guilt- and shame-free balance.

Having raised five children, two are children of love through her marriage of 29 years. Much personal experience has been gained to offer support to couples with blended families. Amy currently has three grandchildren with one more on the way. She enjoys spending time with God, her family, and friends, and she loves being outdoors and in nature as her schedule allows. To learn more, visit Victorycounseling.com,

 

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Pre-Order Blitz ~ Terror - Scorned Devil's MC by J. Hali Steele

 

 

(Scorned Devil’s MC)

 

LGBTQ, Motorcycle Club, M/M

Date Published: November 8, 2024

 

 

Terror: Once, he had been Terrance Holton, a young gay man who learned to shove what he is so deep inside himself, he almost forgot. He grew up to be Terror and he is the Vice President of one of the baddest outlaw motorcycle clubs in Pennsylvania. The consequence of denying who he really is turns Terror into a threat to everyone around him, and eventually lands Terror in jail. There he connects with a beautiful older man who teaches Terror to love who he is.

Tinman: Timothy Jacoby gave years of his life to leading a motorcycle club that no longer exists. He did anything for his MC and his brothers, never hiding who he was. Then Tinman got arrested and sent to prison, where he serves ten years. When Tinman meets a younger biker who hides his gayness from the crew he rides with, he vows to keep Terror safe, but he hides his own past as a biker. Unable to forget their blistering encounters, the minute Tinman is released, he’s hellbent on finding Terror again. This time he’ll keep his prize.

Both men’s secrets are about to collide, and they just might blow the Scorned Devils MC to smithereens.




EXCERPT


Terror

Goddamn Dread and his fuck-the-world attitude. Defying every norm, the man flaunted his desire for other men. Took them without a care for what anyone thought. Yet he was still the most respected Scorned Devils MC club member, the MC club’s sergeant at arms, and other MCs feared him as if he were some kind of hero with super powers or some shit.

Back then, Terror had detested Dread -- mostly for causing his own dormant childhood feelings to resurface.

Now Terror was returning home from prison feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Having heard from Cat, a man Terror had introduced to biker culture and the Scorned Devils MC days before his release, he was aware of the showdown between Cat and Dread. He’d told Cat to pack up and return to Kansas. Terror didn’t even go home to get his bike. He had bigger plans. He couldn’t wait to see the man who’d taken up so much space in Terror’s head while he’d been locked up for nearly three years. Terror had berated Dread mercilessly about being gay. Treated him even worse whenever Terror heard about Dread screwing any man who would have him.

When he’d been arrested, Battle Graves, their MC president, had been the one to show up to bail Terror out. He’d turned down Bat’s offer of legal representation. The bastard Terror had beaten to within an inch of his life? Shit, he’d do that again if he had to. No reason to fight the charges and have his brothers find out what went down in that motel room in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

At that time, Terror hadn’t been ready to come out.

He’d been named Terrance Holton by his drugged-out single mom, who’d simply vanished one night. Wading through the foster care system at a young age, Terror had realized he might be gay. Afraid and beat down, he’d buried Terrance deep in his psyche. Deep enough to almost forget the boy existed.

As he grew older, nothing scared the man he became -- an angry-as-hell bastard who cared for no one. Made everyone call him Terror. If they didn’t, he whipped their asses.

He came to embrace one thing -- an old motorcycle he’d stolen from the shed behind his last foster home. It was never reported because that motherfucker would never talk to anyone again.

That motorcycle… the speed, his disdain for the law, it led to Terror’s prospecting with the Scorned Devils MC.

Meeting the club’s sergeant at arms changed everything.

Now he was back. And he was ready to show his true colors.

Would his brothers and other clubs receive Terror the same way?

* * *

Standing in the newly built loft of Hell’s Lair, the place Scorned Devils called home, Terror looked down at Dread, who had moved from the room used for meetings to sit in a chair outside the door. Dread’s preference had always been big, hairy bastards. What would he think about Terror’s fuller, muscular body? A body he’d worked on every day in the prison gym…

The blond hair he used to wear short was now in a ponytail. He tossed it over his shoulder and stroked his beard. Another noticeable change. He’d grown a full beard.

Damn, Dread was still a fine motherfucker.

Strangely, it wasn’t Dread’s green eyes that scorched a path through Terror’s mind. Another face emerged in his thoughts as he finger-combed his beard. A man who, much like Dread, never gave a fuck what others believed about him. A prisoner who ran the cell block Terror had occupied for the last three years.

Rattled Terror to imagine blue eyes he’d assumed he’d forget. Blue eyes that had looked up at him many nights when Terror plundered the man’s sweet asshole.

I. Am. Gay.

Glad he hadn’t given his virginal asshole to anyone, Terror shoved old memories away as he walked down the steps to confront the one person who could have him any way he desired.

With a look, Terror chased the other members out and sent Battle to the office before he confronted Dread. “You and me need to talk.”


About the Author

A former MC associate, J. Hali Steele loves anything with wheels, including motorcycles, classic automobiles, and race cars. A retired winning ex-quarter mile drag racer, J. Hali often angles to get her butt back in the driver’s seat!

J. Hali is a multi-published, best-selling author of romance in Contemporary MC, ReligErotica, Paranormal, Fantasy, and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters, and angels collide – and they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap and a cup of her favorite beverage of the moment.

 

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Tuesday, November 5, 2024

Book Blitz ~ If You Lie - A Thriller by Caleb Stephens

 

If You Lie: A Thriller
Caleb Stephens
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A buried past. A new-age cult. A floating prison with no way off.

Seven years ago, Olivia woke up in the trunk of a stranger’s car—and barely escaped with her life. She’s been looking over her shoulder ever since.

Now, Olivia is a true-crime podcaster on a mission to help other women avoid her fate. But years spent covering violence and crime have left her burned out. So when Olivia’s estranged sister Quinn invites her to reconnect on an exclusive cruise, she jumps at the chance for a break…only this trip won’t be the relaxing vacation she’s hoping for.

The ship is elegant, the meals are divine, and the people are friendly—maybe too friendly. But Quinn isn’t the sister Olivia remembers. And strange things are starting to happen that echo Olivia’s past in unsettling ways.

When someone on the ship goes missing, Olivia realizes she’s playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Only this time, she might not survive.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Sounds came.

The steady ping of rain drumming against steel.

The muted whoosh of wind. The high whine of rubber kissing asphalt.

I was moving.

Why am I moving?

Air clawed up my throat and slid back down again—slowly, painfully—my lungs pulling harder than my esophagus would allow, my chest rising and falling in uneven shifts. I couldn’t breathe.

I should be able to—

My eyelids snapped open to darkness. Pure black. I tried to scream and couldn’t. My voice was gone, lost in my burning throat. Another sound came instead—this one closer, directly overhead.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

I raised my hands and brushed a loose rod, then pushed past it and felt cool metal press against my palm. I followed it lower, the metal curving behind my head until it terminated in a rubber seal.

A car, I thought. I’m in a trunk.

Oh, God …

Oh, fuck.

It’s why my knees were jammed in a fetal position, why a rough pad of carpet burned against my cheek and scratched my neck. A shot of cold panic swam down my spine. Time stuttered, and I wheezed for oxygen. It felt like I was breathing through a straw. I was going to pass out if I didn’t get it together and fast.

Focus, Olivia. Stay calm.

And then: He thinks I’m dead.

It’s why my hands weren’t bound, why my mouth wasn’t gagged. It’s why my ankles weren’t slung in an interstate of knots. The man who’d done this to me thought I was dead. I could still feel his fingers squeezing, digging into my neck, could still hear his voice burning hot in my ear.

Fucking die, already!

Those words pouring over me in a shower of sour breath.

Clack. C-Clack. Clack.

Think, Olivia! You have to think!

I slowed my breathing and forced my mind to calm. There had to be a way to open the trunk or signal another car. A wire to rip free from the brake lights or a latch to pop. Didn’t all the newer cars have those specifically for situations like this? For women who, like me, simply disappeared?

And I would disappear if I didn’t find a way to get out.

My heart sloshed in my chest, and I rolled to my right, toward the sidewall of the trunk, and extended an arm. My fingers brushed over objects I recognized. Jumper cables, and a can of gas. Coiled rope and boxes. A hard plastic case. Duct tape. Nothing else.

Jesus, no latch.

I tried the other side, muttering a prayer as my hands crawled through a graveyard of clinking bottles, my fingers scraping over the dry brush of cardboard and through the crinkle of plastic sacks. Dust tickled the back of my nose, and I nearly unleashed a sneeze before I bit it off. Don’t! He’ll hear you. Then I tried again, moving slower this time, feeling for what had to be there.

And it was—nestled a few inches above the floor of the trunk.

A trunk release. A lever to pull.

Reality wobbled. My heart fluttered and crashed.

Work, I thought. Please, God, work.

I pulled.

There came a click, and the world exploded into a fireball of light. A gray sky moved above me, swollen with thunderheads, trees sweeping past on either side. Headlights coasted behind the car in a sea of rushing metal. Cold rain lashed against my neck. I forced myself upright, and the brakes slammed and sent me hurtling backward as the car screeched to a stop.

Move! Move! Move!

I scrambled from the trunk.

One foot connected with the ground. The other slipped. I crashed to the road, and the sound of rain filled my ears along with the heavy thunk of a door opening. Two boots hit asphalt.

His boots.

Air scabbed over my lips. The world swam.

Go! I pushed myself upright—and I ran. Across the white line on the shoulder of the road and into traffic with brakes shrieking all around me. Horns tearing past. Rain pelting my face. Wind hissing in my ears. Behind me came a full-throat roar.

“Stop, you fucking bitch!”

My lungs burned for air, everything smearing to a blur.

“I said, stop!” Louder this time. Closer.

But I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. I kept running—pushing through the fire in my chest, ignoring the pain in my throat—until I stumbled off the road and tumbled down a grass-slicked descent.

Rolling now. Everything spinning. Gasping for air.

I splashed into a pool of muddy water and came up coughing, wiping my eyes to a sight that filled me with terror. The man stood above me on the hill, looking down with one hand balled into a fist and the other holding a knife.

You’re dead, I thought. He’s going to kill you.

A cloud of blue and red light rose behind him followed by a voice. “Remain where you are! Drop the knife!”

But the man didn’t. He just stared down at me with his breath turning to mist.

And took a step. Took another.

Then the gunshots rang out.


Author Bio:

Caleb Stephens is an award-winning author writing from Denver, Colorado. His novels include the thrillers If You Lie, The Girls in the Cabin, and Feeders, as well as the darkly humorous urban fantasy novel, Soul Couriers, which is forthcoming in 2025. His fiction collection If Only a Heart and Other Tales of Terror includes the short story “The Wallpaper Man,” which was adapted to film by Falconer Film & Media in 2022. He's hard at work writing his next thriller.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok


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