Friday, January 31, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: Shopping for a Billionaire Volume 2 by Julie Kent #BoxedSet #GIVEAWAY

Shopping for a Billionaire Boxed Set
Julia Kent
(Shopping Box, #2)
Publication date: May 26th 2019
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
Get books 6 (Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee), 7 (Shopping for a CEO) and 8 (Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife) in one BIG bundle of laughter, community, and – of course – romance in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling series.
Audiobook lovers can also get all three books in one big, 26-hour-long bundle! Narrated by Zachary Webber, Amy McFadden and Tanya Eby. Give your ears something to look forward to!

99¢ for a limited time only (reg $9.99) and 24 hour audio Whispersync for $7.49!

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee:
Shannon has a key to my place, and as I walk in the door I see candlelight. Flickering flame is to a man what Ben & Jerry’s is to a woman.
A sign of a sure thing.
“Shannon?” I call out, following the disorganized scatter of lit candles in the living room. Shadows dance on the wall in my hallway, and I round the corner to my bedroom to find her, spread out on my bed, wearing garters, stockings, the red corset, and—
She’s asleep.
That’s okay. I can work with asleep.
I can’t work with absent.
You’d be surprised how fast a man can undress when under the complete control of testicles so full they look like a case of mumps. I’m out of my clothes in seventeen sec-onds or so (who’s counting?) and on the bed, my hands taking in her prone body. I’m allowed to touch. We have an unwritten rule. It goes something like this:
Touch Shannon.
It’s a simple rule.
Her skin is so soft, my fingers scraping against the rolling contour of her inner thigh, from knee to heaven. The whorls of ridges on my fingertips feel like raw sandpaper against her porcelain flesh. My breathing slows, eyes adjusting to the dim light, taking in her body. How did I ever get so lucky?
From Toilet Girl to Mrs. McCormick in eighteen months.
Shopping for a CEO:
It’s Andrew McCormick.
Oh, sweet holy hell.
I haven’t seen him in months. Haven’t kissed him since we were in the emergency room after my best friend, Shannon, swallowed the engagement ring his brother, Declan, gave to her as he proposed.
(A tip: don’t bury a three-carat diamond ring in a piece of tiramisu at a fancy restaurant as a way of proposing to a woman. Any woman. Why ruin the dessert like that?)
I’m the maid of honor for the wedding. Andrew is the best man. We’ve managed to avoid each other so far, but the wedding is three months away. I knew this day was coming.
But I didn’t expect it to be today.
My heart starts skipping beats as I take him in from afar, shielded by the angle of my bench. He has no idea I’m watching him. Thick hair, cut short and with the kind of layered sophistication that only comes from a stylist who charges three figures. Shaded eyes that I know are sharp and smoldering, a blend of brown and honey that makes you melt inside. He’s in a full suit, tie still snug against his neck, the moonlight reflecting off a white shirt. His grin is contagious, making my own smile widen as I tilt my head and let myself get lost in wondering.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife:
As we walk into the lounge, every single pair of eyes swivels to take us in.
“Why are they staring at us?” I ask Declan, clutching his arm.
“Because you’re wearing a wedding dress and I look like something out of a BBC documentary?” he answers smoothly.
I look down at myself. Look over at him. Take in the kilt, the socks covering his calves, the laces on his special Scottish shoes.
One of the patrons, a man who is sitting next to a woman who looks like an adventurous traveler and not a mannequin on a rich man’s arm, points to the television, then back to us.
“You two on the run?”
Declan frowns and pulls me closer to the television.
Where someone is interviewing my mother.

Author Bio:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three children.


BOOK BLITZ: Blue by Brynn Ford #GIVEAWAY

Brynn Ford
(Black Ties #1)
Publication date: September 15th 2019
Genres: Erotica Romance
“Whatever your dark tastes may be, this is where you transition from your tattered and stained and mundane life into Black Ties, our underground world of pain and pleasure, dominance and submission.”
Desi is no stranger to pain. Her young, newlywed life had been blissfully perfect before tragedy turned it into daily emotional hell. When she meets a kind stranger outside a mysterious members only club, she’s drawn into a secret world that promises to show her how to turn her pain into pleasure.
Vaughn would do anything to protect his wife and save his marriage. When he discovers unexplainable bruises and marks on her body after solo outings late at night, he resolves to discover the secrets she’s been keeping and fight for their marriage at all costs.

Will Desi’s secrets destroy her? 
Can Vaughn fulfill his wife’s darkest desires?

With hope, Desi and Vaughn attempt to find the beauty of letting go while fighting the demons of their past that threaten to destroy them for good.
CONTENT WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and mature themes. Desi’s story features a sexual journey that involves kink, bondage, multiple partners, a sex club, and questionable fidelity (with a purpose). It is not a standalone and the books must be read in order. This is book 1 of 2.

Brynn Ford
(Black Ties #2)
Publication date: December 17th 2019
Genres: Erotica Romance
"Falling in love with a friend is terrifying. Especially if you’ve fallen in love before only to lose it in the most tragic way possible. It’s that much harder when you know the pain that could be waiting right around the corner."
The man I had built a life with tried to kill me, shattering my existence as I knew it.
I was broken and lonely when my dominant friend-slash-ex came to my rescue, promising to guide me back to empowerment. But I wanted more from him than he was capable of giving.
I tried to be okay with our uneven balance of power, and it worked for a while, but eventually my heart spoke out against it.
It told me I couldn't lose myself in submission to him.
It told me to demand he get down on his knees for me when I wanted to switch.
It told me he could never change for me.
It told me not to fall in love.
“I never stopped missing the way Law could bring me to my knees with a flick of his eyes, the way he could make my legs tremble with a simple soft whisper.”

CONTENT WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and mature themes. Ris' story features sexual healing that involves kink, dominance & submission, multiple partners (including same sex), and a sex club. It is not a standalone and the books must be read in order. This is book 2 of 2.
Get book 1 for only 99¢ for a limited time!

I pushed out a breath rather dramatically, “Oh, boy. Well, I can say with compete honesty that I did not expect this kind of action and excitement this evening.”
He raised an eyebrow at me while I signed and pushed the papers back to him, “And yet you’re still here. It’s intriguing, really.”
“I know, right?” I grinned, “Next.”
“Common Safeword and Consent Policy. This is very important, Blue, especially because you’re new to this world. You’ll see things that surprise you downstairs. You may see things that disturb you or concern you. But I want you to know that our members’ safety is our priority. That’s why all members and their guests must adhere to a common safeword policy. We push limits here, Blue. We skirt the edge of our boundaries, waltz across the line, see if we can push it just a little further.”
Law came alive as he spoke, eyes sparkling with passion. He was telling me about something that outwardly seemed so crude and taboo but explained it all with such poise and conviction. This world was important to him, it belonged to him, and he belonged to it. It chilled me to see that kind of affinity. It gave me goosebumps to listen to him explain these rules.
He continued, “It is possible that someone might say no as a reflex, without really meaning it. For some, saying no is part of the fun. Consent always has to be given explicitly here. And it can still be given even if someone is screaming for you to stop. But it only works if everyone understands and follows the rules and we enforce them fiercely. No one here should ever fear being forced to do something they haven’t consented to.”
I watched him in consideration, “Am I gonna need any safewords tonight, Law?”
I saw a flicker of interest brush across his eyes as I immediately realized my tone had sounded inviting. Unintentionally inviting.
I shouldn’t have said that.
Why did I say that?
“No, not unless you consent to putting yourself in that position,” he looked suddenly disappointed, “And as you are happily married and without your husband this evening, I imagine you won’t want to do that.”
“No,” the word tasted bad coming out of my mouth, “I don’t want to do that tonight.”
“Then you won’t, Blue. Not tonight.”
Not tonight?

Author Bio:
Brynn Ford is an independent author of romance in all of its beautiful and sensually taboo forms. She is a lover of the dark, twisted, and playful and strives to bring the unmentionable aspects of passionate romance into her stories.
Brynn resides in the Midwest with her husband and sons, whom she expects will someday be embarrassed by their mom's books. When she isn't obsessively writing, you may find her binge watching favorite shows while eating far too much junk food or fanatically reading, always seeking to lose herself in the emotional roller coaster of a damn good story.
She is quite the idealist, despite her fascination with the wicked and warped aspects of humanity. Some of her stories may run out of words before a happily ever after, but she's a firm believer that her characters continue to live on outside the pages in the minds of her readers. Stories don't end just because there aren't anymore pages to turn.


BOOK BLITZ: Nightblood Academy by Allison West #GIVEAWAY #99cSALE

Nightblood Academy
Allison West
Publication date: January 27th 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Urban Fantasy
I’m the missing girl who left school with a stranger, the story you’re warned about as a child. Was I kidnapped? Or did I go willingly?
I didn’t listen. I never listen. And now, I’m stuck in another universe, protecting my best friend, worried about my sick sister back home, and forced to face the academy bully, who happens to be hot and single. He should be off-limits, but I can’t stop myself from falling for him, hard.
Get it for only 99¢ for a limited time!
“I want your word that you won’t hurt her,” Bray said. “She’s under my protection.”
Eilith glided closer, leaning in, smelling him as she exhaled a soft, putrid breath.
Bray’s eyes slammed shut and his nostrils flared with a scrunched nose. This was going to be hell. Willow would owe him big time when they were done with whatever the hell this creature was.
“You think you have any power here at all?” Eilith laughed, her breath caressing his neck, a sharp tongue skimming over his skin just below his ear, drawing blood. “I could eat you alive, and no one would ever know what happened to you.”
Swallowing nervously, his eyes opened, feeling the drip of blood cascade down his neck. “Are you a vampire?” he whispered.
“Some call me an energy vampire,” Eilith said, “but no. I am an ordinary Nightblood turned demon.” She reached behind her back and revealed a scroll and a feather pen, already dipped in ink. “Sign your name so we can complete this transaction.”
The lump that had once formed in his throat grew even bigger. “Demon?” He hadn’t wanted to believe it might be true.
“Demon Sorceress, the one and only.” Eilith sounded quite pleased with herself.
He took the pen, his actions again not his own as he stared at the scroll. He was back in charge, if only for a moment, while she let him willingly sign his name. What choice did he have? He wasn’t giving away his soul, only his virginity. That didn’t mean anything to a demon, right?

Author Bio:
Allison West is a #1 International Best-Selling Author in Erotica, BDSM, Romantic Erotica, Sci-Fi, Victorian, and Historical Erotica. She also writes young adult novels under the name Ruth Silver.
Allison West has been inventing worlds and writing stories for years. Her favorite novels are those that leave a lasting impression, long after the final page is read. You can find more about Allison on Facebook, Twitter, and her blog: "Spanking Author."


Thursday, January 30, 2020

B@@K REVEAL: Rocco by Giulia Lagomarsino #PreORDER

Giulia Lagomarsino
(Reed Security, #21)
Publication date: March 16th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Rocco has his world all wrapped up in a neat package. He has a job that he loves and his daughter, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And he has his rules. These rules keep the order and balance in his life and the women where they should be. But he never counted on Brooke, and she’s about to turn his world upside down.
Brooke never had the typical love life. She tried to have it all, but there was always something that held her back from committing. Until Gary. Gary was…not really important. But being with him led her to Rocco in the most unusual way, and now she’s about to find out all about his rulebook.

Author Bio:
I'm a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, "No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book." I didn't think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn't already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven't been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.


BOOK BLITZ: Boss I Love to Hate by Mia Kayla #GIVEAWAY

Boss I Love to Hate
Mia Kayla
Publication date: April 26th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Dear Mr. Brisken,

How do I hate you?
Let me count the ways.

>I hate your smug, sexy millionaire face.
>I hate your cocky, skirt chasing, playboy ways.
>I hate working as your secretary—but, I love the pay. It almost makes dealing with you worth it.

>I hate how my friends call you a BILF, when really BILK (Boss I’d like to kill) is more appropriate.
>I hate that I need you to be my date for my best friend’s wedding because my ex-boyfriend, the King of Heartbreakers, and his new busty blonde girlfriend will be in attendance.
>But mostly, I hate how once the charade is over, I might not hate you at all . . .it was so much easier when you were the Boss I Love To Hate.

Only 99¢ for a limited time!

Author Bio:
Mia Kayla is a USA Today Bestselling Romance writer who lives in Illinois. She is the wife to the husband of the year, and mommy to three unbelievably cute little girls who have multiplied her grey hairs.
In her free time she loves reading romance novels, jamming to boy bands, catching up on celebrity gossip and designing flowers for weddings.
Most of the time, she can be caught on the train with her nose in a book sporting a cheeky grin because the main characters finally get their happily-ever-after at the end.
She loves reading about happy endings but has more fun writing them.


Wednesday, January 29, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: Blood Bound by R.J. Blain #GIVEAWAY

Blood Bound: A Lowrance Vampires Novel
R.J. Blain
Publication date: January 28th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
After waking in a shallow grave and clawing her way to freedom, Penelope Francis hunts for the rogue who stole her life and transformed her into a vampire. Despite being corrupted into a feared preternatural, she clings to her humanity and refuses to prey on innocents, instead slaking her thirst on other miscreant vampires.
In exchange for a chance at revenge, she joins forces with the charismatic master of the Lowrance brood, a choice that may spell the salvation—or destruction—of humanity as she knows it.
Another night, another vampire, another double-dead end. If I didn’t get lucky soon, I’d run out of miscreants to drain, stake, decapitate, and decorate with holy wafers. In reality, I only needed to stake the toothy bastards, but I figured if I was going to kill every damned unclaimed vampire in New York City, I’d do so with style and get a free meal out of the deal at the same time.
In life, I’d done well for myself; I’d become my father’s perfect daughter, dedicating every waking moment to my budding career as a corporate lawyer on a mission to protect his business interests. In death, or undeath as it was, I’d become a big nothing. I couldn’t even claim I’d become a big fat nothing, as I kept losing weight instead of gaining it, no matter how many of my kind I tagged, bagged, drained, and tossed out with the trash.
Penelope Francis was dead and gone to everyone who mattered, even me.
My stomach reminded me of my neglect with a displeased gurgle. Grunting my dismay over having completely drained another vampire without slaking my hunger, I checked his pockets for cash and found nothing but lint, not even a wallet, ID, or pocket change.
If he’d had food hidden in his pockets, I might’ve been tempted to try my luck. If I ever ditched the relentless hunger, I’d never take food for granted again. I resented my maker’s decision to abandon me in a shallow grave, forcing me to fend for myself. The bastard could’ve left a damned note with a few clues, especially in the feeding department. A manual about life as a vampire would’ve been appreciated. I still wasn’t sure what I could eat. Shortly after I’d risen, I’d tried a slice of pizza once and only once. It hadn’t ended well. I dodged food, afraid I’d throw it up along with my literal guts.
Just to be sure, I rechecked my victim’s body to confirm his lack of cash, ID, or food.
Nothing. Color me not surprised.
I hated killing those as destitute as I, but I refused to harbor guilt over ridding the world of a vampire who hunted homeless teens struggling to survive New York’s harshest streets. While I hoped the kids would survive, I had my doubts.
Miscreants—unclaimed, rogues, or whatever society called the illegal vampires lurking on the streets—couldn’t afford to let their prey live to tell the tale. When found, humans and preternatural alike hunted us to ensure we never bothered anyone again.
Living on borrowed time sucked, as did homelessness. When I found the vampire who’d turned me, I’d take my time draining him. I’d enjoy every swallow. I’d turn his last moments into a masterpiece of brutality.
All I knew was that my maker had been a man, and he’d left some dark mark on me, something that tainted my soul. I could still feel his corrupting influence deep within, a pressure on my heart.
Until I breathed my last for the second time, I’d spend every night seeking him out so I could end his miserable existence. I still wasn’t sure why I’d been targeted or how I’d survived the transition from human to vampire without help. My desire for revenge confirmed one unassailable truth: I was no better than the filth I hunted.

Author Bio:
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.


Tuesday, January 21, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: Sister of Embers & Echoes by Annie Anderson #GIVEAWAY

Sister of Embers & Echoes
Annie Anderson
(Rogue Ethereal, #4)
Publication date: January 17th 2020
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy
Demons, murder, and a trip straight to Hell…
I thought I’d get a little time off before the veritable poop hit the fan, but fate — or rather the Fates — have other ideas. The witch who tried to have my sister possessed has escaped, and not only do I find him dead, but I don’t have a clue who he was working with. Or working for…
Now I have a Council Member in human jail, a ragtag bunch of stuffy law-abiders to lead, and a solid inkling that the next person on the chopping block is me.
All of that would be bad enough, but I’ve got bigger problems. Maria isn’t quite right after a demon almost stole her body, and I have a hunch it’s going to require a trip to Hell to get it fixed.
Time to sharpen my athames, vacation time is over.
My eyes narrowed over the rim of my teacup. My grandmother crossed her legs, matching my glare as she sipped her own tea. In all likelihood, she was holding in a laugh. Bernadette had seen oceans rise and fall, empires crumble to dust, entire civilizations wiped from the face of the earth. As one of the first demons in Hell, nothing short of a full-blown apocalypse was going to phase her.
Especially not my paltry little glare.
Fair enough.
Uncrossing my legs, I folded them underneath me, sucking down another sip of my tea as I settled deeper into the overstuffed armchair. I wasn’t a big tea kind of person, but the herbal blend I’d concocted in a fit of nerves last week seemed to be growing on me. I’d been doing a lot of things like that—things that Maria would have done herself if she’d just freaking wake up.
“I’m not setting foot in Aether until Maria wakes up, and that’s final.”
Like that word ever stopped my grandmother. I was pretty sure if she had even a single shred less class, she’d have given the Fates the old double middle-finger salute while telling them to kiss her ass.
That last bit might just be wishful thinking on my part. At least it was amusing to think about.
“It’s been a week, Maxima,” Bernadette chided softly, her voice full of understanding, but her message clear. I couldn’t wait much longer to interrogate Elias. The Fates were running out of patience, and I was running out of time.
“Have they gotten anything out of him at all?” I asked, unable to keep my gaze from shifting from Bernadette to Maria’s closed bedroom door.
I didn’t like being on this side of it. I didn’t like that I wasn’t watching her.
I didn’t like that I couldn’t figure out a way to help.
A week ago, Elias Flynn tried to use my sister as a sacrifice by offering her up to a demon as a host. Bernadette helped me stop him, but Maria still wasn’t awake. The longer her sleep lasted, the more I realized we might not have been as successful as I once thought.
If we were successful at all.

Author Bio:
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she'll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life... interesting.



Monday, January 20, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: The Escape Artist by Kitty Thomas #GIVEAWAY

The Escape Artist
Kitty Thomas
Publication date: January 14th 2020
Genres: Erotica, Romance

Claire was held captive for 43 days by a man who did unspeakable things to her.

Three years after her escape, she gets her revenge. The only problem is, she’s got the wrong man.

God help her if he escapes.
Claire pushed the memories away, gripping the leather arm rests, willing her heartbeat and breathing to calm. That was him. She had him in a cell. That was the guy. He had a scar where she’d cut him. How could he lie to her with such a straight face when they both knew he had that scar and how he’d gotten it?
Because he’s a sociopath, Claire. He isn’t like normal people.
She couldn’t let herself forget that—what he was. She couldn’t let herself be tricked by the beautiful monster into setting him free and losing her own life. She got up and went to the kitchen, taking another bottle of beer from the fridge. This one she drank all the way down until a light pleasant buzz of calm skated across her skin. She took a long, steadying breath and grabbed the broom and dustbin.
When she returned to the cell, at least the arrogance had left his face. Maybe he was starting to understand his situation, that the tables had turned and he was now at her mercy. Let him lie about things, as long as she could wipe the smug smile off his face.
She silently swept up the shards of the beer bottle. The last thing she needed was for him to have a weapon. That had been his mistake with her after all.
“You can still let me go,” he said. His voice was so gentle and soothing. Calm and reasonable.
He’d never spoken to her like that in the basement. Of course not, he’d had the power then. He has to placate you now.
Claire just laughed. “Right. I’m going to let you go so you can hurt me again. Am I supposed to believe you’re reformed? After me, you stopped torturing and killing women? You realized the error of your ways?”
“What’s your name?” he asked, changing tactics. “My name…”
“Shut UP! If you speak your name I’ll kill you. I swear to fuck I will. I NEVER want to hear your fucking name. EVER. Don’t you try to humanize yourself. You’re a fucking monster, and you know it!”
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender.
No he wasn’t, he was placating her.
“What’s your name, then?” he said, trying again.
“You know my fucking name. You used to hiss it in my ear while you were…” she trailed off, unable to say the words. She turned away from him and took a deep breath, quickly wiping the tears that threatened to spill over. She was not going to cry in front of him anymore. She’d cried all the tears for him she would cry.
She had the power now. Not him. NOT him. But she was shaking. She could feel the light tremors in her arms. He must be able to see them. He was the one chained up, and he was going to break her again.
“It’s okay if you don’t have it in you to hurt me. I don’t think you’re that kind of person,” he said gently.
“Just shut the fuck up!” she screamed. “I should starve you, just like you starved me for the tiniest act of defiance.” She turned back to finish sweeping the stray shards into the dustpan.
“Look at me,” he said.
It was a fucking command. He thought he could order her around when he was the prisoner? But she turned and looked at him.
“I would never starve you. Ever,” he said, holding her gaze in his.
He’d already starved her, and they both knew it. These head games… she had to regroup her strategy or he was going to get inside her head and mess with it. If she lost her nerve… if he got free again, he’d kill her this time. She was already in too deep. She had to get her shit together and finish this. It was the only choice.

Author Bio:
KITTY THOMAS writes dark stories that play with power and have unconventional HEAs. She began publishing in early 2010 with her bestselling COMFORT FOOD and is considered one of the original authors of the dark romance subgenre.
To find out FIRST when a new book comes out, subscribe to Kitty's New Release List: KITTYTHOMAS.COM


Sunday, January 19, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: Silent Threat by Jeff Gunhus #GIVEAWAY

Silent Threat
Jeff Gunhus
Published by: Kensington
Publication date: December 31st 2019
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A father charged with treason. A daughter sent to kill him. A shocking conspiracy that changes all the rules of the spy game for a new generation . . .

With more than a dozen kills under her belt, ex-Marine Mara Roberts is one of the Agency’s most reliable assassins. But her latest target—a convicted traitor about to be released from prison—is different than her other marks. He’s a former agent who betrayed his country. He’s responsible for the death of Mara’s mother. And he happens to be Mara’s father . . .

Scott Roberts knows that his daughter was sent to kill him. He realizes he has only one chance to change her mind, to convince her that he’s been framed for treason—and that every member of their family are pawns to be sacrificed, one by one. Mara isn’t sure she can trust her father. He is a master of manipulation, as ruthless as he is resourceful. But when her nephew is abducted, she agrees to follow Scott’s lead and expose the global elites who are pulling the strings. But first, they must infiltrate the highest levels of power. Then, they must attempt the unthinkable: Kidnap the President of the United States . . .

“A brilliantly written thriller. Breakneck twists, political intrigue and bristling action scenes—Jeff Gunhus writes with a gripping and gritty authority.”
—Simon Gervais, author of Hunt Them Down
Mara Roberts knew the Agency would try to kill her father the day he got out of prison, she just didn’t expect they’d ask her be the one to do it.
Before she received the assignment, she would have bet even money he would survive whatever welcome party the CIA had planned for him. Too bad his odds had migrated down to zero now that the job was hers.
She sat in her rented Range Rover, waves of Oklahoma heat shimmering off the parking lot blacktop, bending the prison chain link fence into wavering lines. Coils of concertina wire topped the walls, razor blade edges glistening in the sun, each loop perfectly spaced. Just like inside the walls of the Cimarron Correctional Facility — orderly but lethal.
Behind the security gate was a low-slung building with a copper overhang at the entrance. More like a school administration office than a prison. The schematics she’d studied revealed the facility extended back into eight separate cell blocks. Each one housed more dangerous criminals than the previous one. She hoped they’d put her dad in the worst of the lot.
The car idled, both for the AC and in case she needed to adjust her plans and leave in a hurry. The few guards she saw moved slow and had dark sweat pits spreading under their arms and on their backs. She pegged them as complacent. Washed up. Bored. Just like she wanted. As she analyzed the prison’s weaknesses, she couldn’t help but wonder whether her dad had changed much since she’d seen him last.
Sure, he was past fifty now and, according to the photos in the briefing, finally starting to show his age. Wrinkles at his eyes. A close scalp shave, the kind favored by men fighting a losing battle with their hairline. He was still in shape, though. Surveillance camera footage showed a recent fist fight he’d had on the yard, started by some con paid off by the Agency. Obviously a new guy. Anyone who’d been there longer than knew not to mess with the quiet guy with the broad shoulders.
The video showed her dad could still throw a punch, but the couple of jabs he took to his face also showed he’d lost a step or two. Yet, the old man still had skills. And she wasn’t about to underestimate her target. Hell, four years on the run and the last two months in prison might have even toughened the bastard up. If that was even possible. She wasn’t sure it was.
A routine face recognition search through the US prison system by a junior analyst had turned him up. As she read the report, it made her laugh that assets all over the world were searching for him, and there he was serving time under an alias for manslaughter. Seems he took exception to a group of five young men roughing up a prostitute. Four of them ended up with broken bones and long hospital stays. The fifth wasn’t going to harass anyone ever again. It was just like her dad to risk blowing his cover to save someone. Typical Boy Scout bullshit.
She’d been raised on stories about him. Even in her macho world of counter-intelligence they seemed outlandish. Insanely risky missions. Many of them unsanctioned. Succeeding against insurmountable odds. Like stuff out of bad action movies, and yet people swore to her the stories were true, that they’d seen him do these things with their own eyes.
But they always whispered about him, as if just talking about the man and his exploits might suck them into the same darkness into which he disappeared.
Still, even with what had happened, she always heard a grudging admiration as they told her about the exploits of the great Scott Francis Roberts, the father she barely knew. The man she was about to kill.

Author Bio:
Jeff Gunhus is a USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list.
After his experience with his son, he is passionate about helping parents reach young reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to constantly keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel or on


BOOK BLITZ: Far Reaching Consequences by Anya Summers #GIVEAWAY

Far Reaching Consequences
Anya Summers
(Crescent City Kings, #2)
Published by: Blushing Books Publications
Publication date: January 15th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Phoebe needs a second chance at life.
In the aftermath of the devastation from her failed marriage, Phoebe returns to her old stomping grounds to open her own bed and breakfast. Starting over is the bravest thing she’s ever done – or so she thinks. But opening her front door to find a blast from her past on her front porch changes all that. The teenager she’d once known has become a jaw-dropping, dominant man in his prime.
He wasn’t looking for a relationship until she blazed back into his life.
Graham runs his own construction business, remodeling homes, and building brand new ones. When his buddy gives him a lead on a new project, he never expects to run into Phoebe, the woman he shared a single kiss with eons ago. Nor is he prepared for the Dominant in him to stake his claim before the end of their first meeting. He wanted her in high school but there had been too wide a gulf separating them. Now, Graham will stop at nothing until he makes her his. But there are larger forces at work, attempting to tear them apart.
When everything Phoebe holds dear becomes a target, Graham will risk it all for the one woman he knows he can never live without.
Publisher’s Note: This steamy second chance romance contains elements of power exchange.
Get book 1 – Lone Survivor – for only $2.99 for a limited time!
The rubber soles of Phoebe’s taupe-colored work boots squeaked against the golden cinnamon hardwood floor. Daisy’s paws clicked as she trotted beside her. Phoebe would have to trim Daisy’s nails again. The plantation itself was in sad disarray after decades of neglect. In some ways, the plantation was strangely like her life—or at least the way it had been, until she made the commitment to fix it. For the last thirty years, this place had stood vacant and unloved. The previous owners had been unable to sell the property and unable to invest in her upkeep. This grand old lady had become a dilapidated ruin of a bygone era.
Phoebe hoped to fix this place up, just like she had her life. She believed, with a bit of elbow grease, she would be able to turn the plantation back into a showpiece—one for which people would pay for the experience of staying there. New Orleans and the surrounding area was a pre-eminent tourist destination that Phoebe planned to capitalize on.
She eventually wanted her own airport shuttle for guests. But that was getting ahead of herself. The first step was a complete renovation.
It was only recently that Phoebe had been able to actualize her dream of owning Riverland to renovate it into a fully operational bed and breakfast. She’d used the inheritance her late grandpa, Ralph Mackenzie, had bequeathed her in his will a year ago. The tidy sum he’d left her had been enough to buy this place outright, along with the small acreage surrounding the old plantation, with money left over for the needed renovations.
Financially, it would be tight at first until she started having paying guests. That was why she waited tables at the strip joint Bayou Sin on Bourbon Street in the meantime. Not because she loved wearing skintight clothes with men trying to grope her, but it helped supplement her income.
This plantation was infused with all her hope for the future, one that belonged to her and her alone.
As she reached what had once been a grand entrance, with its heavy, double oak doors the same warm cinnamon as the floors, she drew the right-side door open, a greeting on her lips as she spread them in a fake smile like the one she wore serving drinks. Daisy’s whole body vibrated, her attention directed at the man on the opposite side of the door. The initial punch of fear disintegrated as she studied him and memories dulled by time and distance surfaced.
He was tall, a good six two, and built like a professional baseball player with broad shoulders and a head full of dark chestnut hair that was a few weeks past needing a trim. His button-down ivory dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, leaving his tanned, brawny forearms bare. The shirt was tucked into a pair of well-worn blue jeans with a brown leather tool belt slung around his lean waist.
But it was the man’s eyes, artic blue, making her think of frost and snow, in the tan, slightly weathered face that caused a bell of recognition to sound through her and made her lips curl into a genuine smile.
“Graham? Graham Layton, is that really you? You’re the contractor Dante recommended?” Joy filtered into her voice as she stared at the blast from her past. It had been almost nineteen years since the night of the winter formal in high school. The night she had always considered one of the best of her life.

Author Bio:
Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Anya grew up listening to Cardinals baseball and reading anything she could get her hands on. She remembers her mother saying if only she would read the right type of books instead binging her way through the romance aisles at the bookstore, she'd have been a doctor. While Anya never did get that doctorate, she graduated cum laude from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with a M.A. in History.
Anya is a Bestselling and Award-Winning Author published in multiple fiction genres. She also writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the name, Maggie Mae Gallagher. A total geek at her core, when she is not writing, she adores attending the latest comic con or spending time with her family. She currently lives in the midwest with her two furry felines.


Saturday, January 18, 2020

BOOK BLITZ: Lullabies for Suffering: Tales of Addiction Horror {Multiple Authors} #GIVEAWAY

Lullabies for Suffering: Tales of Addiction Horror
Publication date: January 10th 2020
Genres: Horror

“A plunge into the agony and the ecstasy, the inescapable nightmare of addiction.”
~ALMA KATSU, author of The Deep and The Hunger

Addiction starts like a sweet lullaby sung by a trusted loved one. It washes away the pains of the day and wraps you in the warmness of the womb where nothing hurts and every dream is possible. Yet soon enough, this warm state of bliss becomes a cold shiver, the ecstasy and dreams become nightmares, yet we can’t stop listening to the lullaby. We crave to hear the siren song as it rips us apart.

Six stories: three novellas, three novelettes, written by a powerful list of talent, all featuring the insidious nature of addiction–damaged humans craving for highs and wholeness but finding something more tragic and horrific on the other side.

Caroline Kepnes author of You and Hidden Bodies
Kealan Patrick Burke, author of Sour Candy and Kin
Mercedes M. Yardley, author of Pretty Little Dead Girls 
John FD Taff, author of The Fearing
Mark Matthews, author of Milk-Blood
Gabino Iglesias, author of Coyote Songs

“Each story uses different techniques and tropes from the genre resulting in a volume that is chilling and thought provoking.” ~Library Journal (Starred Review)
Monsters by Caroline Kepnes
You are a virgin. You are eighteen years old and you’ve never done anything remotely criminal. Yes, you ate too many Devil Dogs, you played alone, and you got fat. But you lost five pounds before starting college. You’ve been there for your mother. You’re there for her right now, in line with her at TJ Maxx. She likes to shop every time she comes home from rehab. You say you believe it when she says, “this time it sticks.” You aren’t lying to her. You aren’t faking it. Every time feels like the time that it will stick and this time is no different. She pays for a bigger bathing suit—detox makes her thighs rub together—and she laughs with the woman at the register. The laughter is a good sign, a sign that it will stick. You pick at pink bubblegum that someone pressed under the counter. It sticks. Gum is sticky. There is no such thing as gum that doesn’t stick.
Your mom swings her bag of new bathing suits in the air. “Come on!” she says. “Let’s get outta here!”
Outside, it’s summer, your first summer as a college student. You walk with your mother like you never left, like you’re the same old kid. She picks up a penny and you never do things like that. You wish you were more like her, that she was more like you. Her sobriety never sticks and your virginity always sticks and she elbows you.
“Why so quiet?”
“You want to get ice cream?”
You don’t want ice cream but you want her to stay home so you say that you do. She drives the car. You ride shotgun, the virgin and the cokehead. You have never even smoked a cigarette and your mother has had so much sex. When she’s clean the men are tidy and cold. They come from the Internet and they don’t stay long. When she’s using, the men are filthy and relaxed, like henchmen in a movie. There was that guy in the wife-beater who pissed on the deck. There was that married guy who wore suits and didn’t take off his wedding ring when he sat on the sofa and hogged your TV.
“Soft or hard?” your mother wants to know.
She giggles like a kid at school. That’s always her joke when you come to this place where they have ice cream that needs scooping and ice cream that comes from a machine.
“Hard,” you say because no matter what you say she’s gonna elbow you and embarrass you in front of the younger girl who’s making your ice cream, blushing. There is no indoor seating area and you are jealous of the girl inside, roofed in. You bet her mother isn’t a cokehead and then you turn red because what a mean thing to think you fucking virgin, you fucking loser.
Your mother’s cone arrives first and your mind is full of dirty words, a car wash in reverse where the vehicles emerge covered in shit, in mud. Your mother licks her cone—vanilla—and if you weren’t a virgin, you wouldn’t notice the tip of her tongue. She wants to sit at a picnic table and she gets everything she wants when she’s clean, when she can’t have the one thing she actually wants: Coke. Blow. A bump.
Your cone isn’t dripping and her cone is dripping and you sit across from each other like two people on a date except this isn’t a date.
“Hey,” she says. “Maybe we should get one of those Slip ‘N Slides.”
A couple of nasty boys who can’t be older than twelve laugh at you, what a loser, he’s here with his mom. You wish you were twelve. When you were twelve you didn’t worry about being a virgin because twelve-year-olds can be virgins.
Your mother crumples up her napkin and hurls it at the boys and they leave.
You shouldn’t disagree with her. Not when she just got home and the sky is hot and she has a brand new bathing suit and rehab is sticking. But those boys got to you, those kids who get to be the kid that you never were, free and mean. You bark at your mother because you didn’t have the balls to bark at them. “I’m too old for a Slip ‘N Slide.”
“Don’t be like that,” she says. “Don’t care so much about what other people think.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, you do and what a waste. What do you care if the neighbors see us having some fun? They’ll probably wanna come over.”
You used to stay with the Pyles who live up the street when your mom went away. You picture Mrs. Pyle in a one-suit, wet, in your back yard. “No they won’t.”
Your mother shrugs. You’re right. No one in the neighborhood wants to come over. They’ve seen too many random cars in the driveway, sometimes black and whites with the red lights blasting shadows into the other homes. It’s too quiet now. Your mother is bored of her ice cream, but she eats it anyway. You can’t think of anything to say to her and you worked so hard to lose all that pudding on your belly this year. You don’t want the ice cream but you eat the ice cream because you’re a bad son. You don’t believe it will stick. Not anymore. Not with her wanting to slide on a plastic tarp in the back yard. That’s who she is, isn’t it? She wants to slide, she doesn’t want to stick. She pulls at her bra strap.
“Well, we have to do something. The weather guy says it’s only gonna get hotter tomorrow and we can’t get the AC fixed. I have to pay the electric, the gas bill, too.”
Your house isn’t yours, not really. Your grandmother gave it to your mom when she died, when you were in pull-ups. It still smells like a grandmother, like the house doesn’t want to belong to you, to your mom who can’t take good care of it. The words plop out of your mouth like upchuck. “I’m sorry.”
Your mother stares at you. Her hair is wiry and her eyes are clear. They’re so much scarier when she’s clean, when she sees you, when she’s not looking at you through a hazy veil of bloodshot eyes with her nose dripping and her skin sweaty. “Sorry for what?” she wants to know.
You can’t think of anything smart to say and you don’t want to say anything stupid and when she decides to go out later that night, it is your fault. All you had to do was say you wanted a Slip‘N Slide. When she comes home loud and not alone—he’s filthy, he wears boots in summer—she is high and you know she’s high by the sound of her giggles. She’s a toilet that won’t stop running and there’s nothing you can do to slow the pace of her speech, to stop the chop, chop, chopping of her credit card. You hear him next, whoever he is, kicking off his boots and snorting your mother’s stash. So you stay in your room. You don’t play music to block out the sound of them fucking. You deserve to listen to it. You are a criminal, the worst son on planet earth. You are a virgin and everything bad in this world, in this house, in your dirty mind, in your mother’s bloodstream, it’s all your fault because she was clean until you turned your back on her at that picnic table, until you refused to get on her side. When the filthy guy sticks his dick in her, when he grunts and you hear the headboard slam into the wall, you get hard and you put your hands on your body and those boys were right to laugh at you today. They’re normal. You’re the freak.
Lizard by Mark Matthews
“Do you know what I am going to do to you? Agent Baker asked in a voice that had sunk seven layers deep.
Baker stepped forward. Amy had no room to retreat. She was fully cornered, exposed, and sat helpless as Baker took hold of her trembling hand. With a fingertip, she traced Amy’s vein, inching slowly from her wrist toward the sweet spot of the needle mark. She reached the syringe, grasped it inside her fist, then plucked it out.
“Do you know what I am going to do to you?” Baker repeated.
Amy shook her head, because she didn’t know.
“I am going to help you. You will never be sick again. Never.”
Never sick again. Never sick again—the phrase somehow made Amy’s fear bleed out of her body, and she looked up at Baker like a starving baby waiting to be fed. Baker was an infinite mother, a sexless lover, knowing her in ways never before possible. The feel of Baker’s fingertips had been surprisingly soft, warm, tender. It brought back memories of Joshua as an infant, his flesh pressed against hers when he was minutes old, fresh from her womb, moist with the miracle of life. The breastfeeding that followed was abandoned too early when dehydration hit.
But it was okay.
Joshua was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
Baker held the needle with the tip sticking out between her fingers, and plunged the syringe towards Amy’s eye. Her eyelid snapped shut, but the needle poked right through the tiny film of skin. Pluck. She could hear it penetrating into her moist eyeball, the pain piercing as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. Baker tugged it out, just a touch, and then pushed it in deeper, right through her eye socket, again and again, until she finally pulled the needle out entirely. The syringe dripped with moisture.
“You’ve had your chance. Baker attacked again.
Amy raised a hand but was too slow to defend her other eye when the syringe stabbed inside. A milky-white liquid mixed with crimson blood leaked out her eye, dripped down her cheek, then streamed into her mouth which had opened to scream. With each new stab, a new pitch out of her mouth, screaming Joshua’s name to help her, pleading apologies, rattling the bathroom walls with howls, sure that the gods would hear her pain and save her, but instead the snake bites of the needle came in rapid fire to all parts of her body. Baker pulled the needle out each time and found new, fresh skin to puncture.
Amy collapsed to the ground a ripped-open ragdoll. Her veins had been sliced apart, her flesh speckled in bloody red holes, her arms held out in front of her as if in offering. Her face was stuck in silent peace, a permanent sleep, the fluid of her life running in tiny red streams and puddling on the white tile. She’d been blinded and unable to see the bathroom door swing open and her son standing in the doorway, looking at her one last time before she died.