his heart becomes broken and he can’t help but cry.
He wants her back home or his pretty little doll must die.
Have you ever had to make a decision that haunts you every single day for the rest of your life…the life you stole back?
I have.
I ran for my survival, rocks and twigs cutting into the soles of my feet, my lungs burning and screaming for rest, every muscle tensed and fighting along with me for existence.
I left her.
I ran, ran, ran—from Benny and his lone, pretty little doll—until I couldn’t remember where to find them again.
I have always had a passion for storytelling, whether it be through lyrics or bed time stories with my sisters. I wanted to be an actress growing up so I could live many roles but I learned early on that my mind was too active… I would want to change the script.I would watch films and think of ways they could have improved the story if they took another direction so i thought it best that I tell my own.
My mum would always have a book in her hand when I was young and passed on her love for reading, inspiring me to venture into writing my own. I tend to have a darker edge to my writing. Not all love stories are made from light, some are created in darkness but are just as powerful and worth telling.
When I’m not lost in the world of characters I love spending time with my family. I’m a mum and that comes first in my life but when I do get down time I love attending music concerts or reading events with my younger sister.
You can find me on Facebook where I love interacting with my readers.
K Webster is the author of dozens of romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she’s active on social media connecting with her readers.
Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen.
It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
Whiskey stood there, on my doorstep, just like he had one year before. Except this time, there was no rain, no anger, no wedding invitation — it was just us.
It was just him — the old friend, the easy smile, the twisted solace wrapped in a glittering bottle.
It was just me — the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.
But we can’t start here.
No, to tell this story right, we need to go back.
Back to the beginning.
Back to the very first drop.
This is my love letter to Whiskey. I only hope he reads it.
Title: A Love Letter to Whiskey Author: Kandi Steiner Genre: Contemporary Romance Cover Design: Quirky Bird Photographer: Perrywinkle Photography Release Date: October 13, 2016
(pre-final edits)
The first time I tasted Whiskey, I fell flat on my face.
Literally.
I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my sign to stay away.
Jenna and I were running the trail around the lake near her house, sweat dripping into our eyes from the intense South Florida heat. It was early September, but in South Florida, it might as well have been July. There was no “boots and scarves” season unless you counted the approximately six weeks in January and February where the temperature dropped below eighty degrees.
As it was, we were battling ninety-plus degrees, me trying to be a show-off and prove I could keep up with Jenna’s cheerleading training program. She had finally made the varsity squad, and with that privilege came ridiculous standards she had to uphold. I hated running — absolutely loathed it. I would much rather have been on my surfboard that day. But fortunately for Jenna, she had a competitive best friend who never turned down a challenge. So when she asked me to train with her, I’d agreed eagerly, even knowing I’d have screaming ribs and calves by the end of the day.
I saw him first.
I was just a few steps ahead of Jenna, and I’d been staring down at my hot pink sneakers as they hit the concrete. When I looked up, he was about fifty feet away, and even from that distance, I could tell I was in trouble. He seemed sort of average at first — brown hair, lean build, soaked white running shirt — but the closer he got, the more I realized just how edible he was. I noticed the shift in the muscles of his legs as he ran, the way his hair bounced slightly, how he pressed his lips together in concentration as he neared us.
I looked over my shoulder, attempting to waggle my eyebrows at Jenna and give her the secret best friend code for “hot guy up ahead”, but she had stopped to tie her shoes. And when I turned back around, it was too late.
I smacked into him — hard — and fell to the pavement, rolling a bit to soften the fall. He cursed and I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain. I wish I could say I gracefully picked myself up, smiled radiantly, and asked him for his number, but the truth is I lost the ability to do anything the minute I looked up at him.
It was an unfamiliar, warm ache that spread through my chest as I used my hand to shield the sun streaming in behind his silhouette, just how you’d expect the first sip of whiskey to feel. He was bent over, hand outstretched, saying something that wasn’t registering because I had somehow managed to slip my hand into his and just that one touch had set my skin on fire.
Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe him, but it was all I kept thinking as I traced his features. His hair was a sort of mocha color, damp at the roots, falling onto his forehead just slightly. His eyes were wide — almost too round — and a mixture of gold, green, and the deepest brown. I didn’t coin the nickname Whiskey until much later, but it was that moment that I saw it for the first time — those were whiskey eyes. The kind of eyes you get lost in. The kind that drink you in. He had the longest lashes and a firm, square jaw. It was so hard, the edges so clean that I would have sworn he was angry with me if it weren’t for the smile on his face. He was still talking as my eyes fell over his broad chest before snapping back up to his sideways grin.
“Oh my God, are you fucking blind?!” Jenna’s voice snapped me from my haze as she shoved Whiskey out of the way and latched onto my hand, ripping me back to standing position. I’d barely caught my balance before she whipped around to continue her scolding. “How about you brush that long ass hair out of your eyes and watch where you’re going, huh champ?”
Oh no.
I didn’t even have time to call dibs, I couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it, before it was too late. I watched it, in slow motion, as Whiskey fell for my best friend before I even had the chance to say a single word to him.
Jenna was standing tall, arms crossed, one hip popped in her usual fashion as she waited for him to defend himself. This was her protocol — it was one of the reasons we got along. We were both what you’d call “spitfires”, but Jenna had the distinct advantage of being cripplingly gorgeous on top of having an attitude. She flipped her long, wavy blonde ponytail behind her and cocked a brow.
And then he did, too.
His smile grew wider as he met her eyes, and it was the same look I’d watched fall over guy after countless guy. Jenna was a unicorn, and men were enamored by her. As they should have been — she had platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, legs for days and a personality to boot. Now, before you go thinking that I was the insecure best friend – I had it going on, too. I worked hard, I was talented – just not at things traditional high school boys valued.
But we’ll get to that.
“Hi,” Whiskey finally said, extending his hand to Jenna this time. His eyes were warm, smile inviting — if I had to pick the right word for him, just one, I’d say charming. He just oozed charm. “I’m Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, maybe you should make an appointment with the eye doctor before you run over another innocent jogger. And you owe Brecks an apology.” She nodded to me then and I cringed at my name, wondering why she felt the need to spill it at all. She always called me B — everyone did — so why did she choose the moment I was face to face with the first boy to ever make my heart accelerate to use my full name?
Jamie was still grinning, eyeing Jenna, trying to figure her out, but he turned to me after a moment with that same crooked smile. “I’m sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He said the words with conviction, but lifted his brows on that last line because he and I both knew who wasn’t paying attention to the trail, and he wasn’t the guilty party.
“It’s fine,” I murmured because for some reason I was still having a difficult time finding my voice. Jamie tilted his head just a fraction, his eyes hard on me this time, and I felt naked beneath his gaze. I’d never had anyone look at me that way — completely zeroed in. It was unnerving and exhilarating, too.
But before I could latch onto the feeling, he turned back to Jenna, their eyes meeting as slow smiles spread on both of their faces. I’d seen it a million times, but this was the first time I felt sick watching it happen.
I saw him first, but it didn’t matter.
Because he saw her.
Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.
Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).
When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.
Ten years is a long time when you’re thirty-two. We’d seen our share of ups and downs, but I could honestly say, they were mostly up. That’s the thing about happiness, though. It lulls you into a false sense of security.
Neither one of us ever thought we’d ever be touched by crippling loss or immeasurable grief. But not all stories have a happy ending, and I knew, better than anyone, that sometimes, one of you won’t make it till the end. One of you has to go first. And one of you will be left behind to pick up the pieces.
That one is me.
But starting over isn’t what I thought it would be. I need an escape from the memories that plague me, remind me. So I went back to where it all began. To the town where I was born. To the place, whose beauty could pierce my pain. Where I experienced my first kiss, where I fell in love, where a man was my earth. And I…
I never really appreciated the businesses open 24/7 until I stopped going out when the sun was up. But I’d come to find this necessity such a relief, I was close to sending the good people at Thrifty Corporate offices a thank you note. I could leave my house at midnight and buy a big-ass bottle of quality gin, a pint of the best mint chocolate chip ice cream in the world, and a jumbo-sized bottle of weed killer.
The guy at the cash register made a point of eyeing my products. So much so, for a split second, I wondered if I’d forgotten to wear pants. He had an obnoxious, patronizing smirk plastered to his face when he asked, “Big night planned?”
His customer service skills left a lot to be desired, and I was in no mood to take shit from anyone. So, I gave it to him honestly.
“Oh yeah,” I enthused, trying to remember if I’d brushed my teeth that day. “First,” I said holding up a single finger, “I’m gonna get drunk. Second,” I continued with two fingers and noticed he was staring at my chest, “I’m gonna murder the plant my husband gave to me.” That’s about the time his eyes met mine again. “And for my big finale,” I patted the tub of ice-cream lovingly, “I’m gonna eat my feelings.”
He had no response, whatsoever, to my smartass comments or manner, so I took my items, leaned in on my elbows, and gave him some solid, retail advice. “You know, it’s just a normal Saturday night for any single girl. Put these three items on a primary end-cap and sales will soar.”
Again, he didn’t find me funny.
I thought I was fucking hilarious.
A few hours later, I was on my fourth homemade Grey Goose cocktail. This consisted of gin and Diet Coke, because these were the things I had in the house. Not to mention the jar of maraschino cherries, which made for a lovely garnish.
Sometime after my third drink, I’d gotten into Nick’s CDs. With cocktail number four in hand, I stood in my front yard, Don’t Stop Believing blaring through the open windows—on repeat—and looked at the mess I’d made. My previous plan for the night was to simply shut my broken heart up by drowning it in liquor, then drowning that plant with poison. I thought…if I killed the plant, I could somehow move on from the pain. But the closer I got to home, my plan morphed into something a little more…sinister. The gin helped, of course, but I had two years of livid, confused emotions I’d denied for far too long, chomping at the bit for release.
I walked into the shed and saw the area dedicated to the care of that plumeria. I filled the wheelbarrow with big sheers and a shovel. My intention to release the plant from the earth was foiled by rock-hard soil which required me to soften it up with a little water. While a shallow pond formed around my flip-flop clad feet, I gave the offensive blooms their last trim and final rites.
“Forever’s a long time, isn’t it, little flowers? I bet you thought that nice man would take care of you until the end of time?” Then I opened the bottle of weed killer and poured it on top of the neat pile of blooms. “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” I said, shaking my head as I bathed them in poison.
I don’t know which one of my concerned neighbors called the cops. But if it had been me, and I knew what happened to that poor woman in the blue house, even if it had been two whole years, I would have minded my own fucking business and hoped she only had one night of power ballads in her
But sadly, no such luck. The flash of blue and red lights in my periphery reminded me what I hated about my neighborhood: around here, no one wanted to get involved in anyone else’s business. No one warned you to move your car before you got that ticket on street sweeping day. Everyone seemed to be suspicious of everyone else. When I was growing up, my brother and I spent summers and some holidays at our aunt and uncle’s place outside of Guerneville. Even now, with Johnny-Law approaching, I recalled how my uncle left in the middle of dinner one night because the neighbor’s truck needed to be pulled from a ditch. He didn’t ask the guy if he’d called Triple A. He said, “Be right there, buddy.” That’s the kind of place I wanted to live. Somewhere with kind, considerate neighbors.
I wouldn’t even think of asking my neighbors for a cup of sugar. Not that they’d answer the door. But this was all good, because these seemingly-small things were the catalyst to change. It was that very moment when I realized I needed to move. Not just from the house, but from Southern California. As soon as the thought drifted into my head, I realized how relieved it would make my parents. They’d watched me go through the motions, but I couldn’t move on if I stayed here. Everywhere I went, everything I did, had some kind of connection to Nick and my life with him.
Finally, I was met with the phrase, “Ma’am, we’ve had some calls from your neighbors…” After that, I tuned out and answered “yes” or “no” to their questions when it was warranted. As intoxicated as I was, I managed to rein in my gin-surliness in order to avoid incarceration. But there was a small crowd gathered on my sidewalk. These same people had likely watched from afar while my life fell apart and did not one thing to offer help.
When I looked at the older couple that lived next door, I moved closer, close enough they’d be able to hear me and anyone else nearby. I used to drop a plate of cookies on their doorstep every Christmas, but not once had they thanked me.
“You’ve seen the entire show, haven’t you?” I asked quietly, not wanting the officer to hear. But the old man just kept hold of his wife and stared beyond me. But I knew he was the “man,” the “husband,” the half-of-a-whole I’d never have again. “You watched from your porch while a black limousine parked in front of my house. You would’ve seen me collapse, wracked with so much pain, my dad and brother had to carry me to the car. I came home to an empty house, stopped answering the door, and never, not once, did you come to offer a kind word. You saw us together,” I whispered. “We should’ve been you…and lucky, you’ve had a lifetime together. Think about that the next time you rob a woman of her grief.”
“Ma’am,” the officer started behind me.
“Shame on you,” I said and walked away.
I went back to my house, ignoring the officer who followed, and walked inside. I turned off the stereo and closed the windows. Then I returned to the officer waiting on my front porch. “I just need to shut the water off, and I’m all done for the night.”
He didn’t seem at all satisfied with my cooperation. “Is there someone we can call for you?” He made a point of looking at my hand. “Your husband?”
Two years… two, and I still hadn’t taken off my wedding rings.
“I’ve gone back to my maiden name, Officer.” I hoped that would be explanation enough.
He looked to his partner and nodded. Whatever that was meant to convey, I had no idea. But he handed me a business card. “If you need me, Miz…”
“Truscott. Rylie, Truscott.”
He closed the distance between us and warily glanced behind him. “If you need me,” he said quietly, “you give me a call. I’m only a few blocks away.”
“I assure you, I won’t have any reason to call.”
Then he stepped a little closer. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
His words weren’t meant to insult me, in fact, they communicated genuine concern he seemed to feel for a fellow human, and for that, gratitude welled up in me and formed in my eyes.
“I won’t do anything stupid. I promise,” I said and looked at the house, “I’m done here.”
And I meant every word.
Julie is a southern California native, a fan of a really good story (preferably a romance with a happily ever after), really good pie (preferably pumpkin)and copious amounts of coffee (preferably Folgers).
She has always enjoyed writing and at one time thought she might be a singer/songwriter. The ‘writer’ part is that one that stuck.
Julie is obsessed with Pi…the equation and the food. She’s allergic to cats, cantaloupe and hates mushrooms. So if you ever want to give her a gift, those are out for sure.
She currently lives with her romance hero husband and two boys in Melbourne, Australia.
As the daughter of a meth dealer, Wavy knows not to trust people, not even her own parents. Struggling to raise her little brother, eight-year-old Wavy is the only responsible “adult” around. She finds peace in the starry Midwestern night sky above the fields behind her house. One night everything changes when she witnesses one of her father’s thugs, Kellen, a tattooed ex-con with a heart of gold, wreck his motorcycle. What follows is a powerful and shocking love story between two unlikely people that asks tough questions, reminding us of all the ugly and wonderful things that life has to offer.
It has been well over a month since I read this book and I still think about with startling frequency. Technically it is a taboo romance. Very taboo. Very unsettling for a good number of people. It didn’t feel that way as I was reading, though. It was strangely beautiful and completely engrossing.
Consent has always and will always be a tricky subject to tackle; whether it’s in real life or in a novel. People will always argue that a person has to be a certain age to know the implications of their decisions. This book serves as an example that age isn’t always the only thing to consider in matters of consent. Maturity can vary greatly between two people. Some people are far older than their years and some are far younger than their age might suggest. Bryn Greenwood did an excellent job at illustrating this with the characters of Wavy and Kellen.
Wavy was so much older than she should have been, she was an adult when she was only five years-old; by the time she was 13 she’d lived through more people three times her age. Wavy dealt with traumas no person should have ever endured, raised her baby brother, and overcame a life that should have destroyed her; all before high school. Age was definitely not the way to determine Wavy’s ability to make decisions.
Kellen was the perfect dichotomy to Wavy’s world-weary soul. Though he was older and very much an adult, had performed horrific acts against other people, he still had an innocence, a naiveté that Wavy didn’t possess. His soul-deep innocence made him the only person able to help Wavy with the struggles she faced every moment of her life.
The characters in this book existed in a world so different than the one most of us live in, there is no way to apply our own experiences them. Every moment of their lives were filled with upheaval and strife, not one second of their experiences were what most people would consider ‘normal’, and in that stark difference of experience we can not possibly judge the things they did, the ways they dealt with their relationship.
All the Ugly and Wonderful Things had several different points of view. Some were only a chapter long and others we returned to time and again. This gave a unique perspective on each of the main characters in the book. Getting to see Kellen and Wavy through so many different people’s perspectives gave a kind of understanding to their characters not often afforded to book characters. This made the experience completely unique and marvelous.
Bryn Greenwood blew me away with All the Ugly and Wonderful Things. Her writing was engrossing; from the first chapter of the book I could feel the grittiness of Wavy’s world, her shame seemed to jump through the words and fill me in a way I am not used to experiencing. She made me hate and love, fear and hope, in ways, I am not able to experience often while reading. I can only hope that any further works Ms. Greenwood publishes are as powerful and visceral as this book was for me.
BRYN GREENWOOD is a fourth-generation Kansan and the daughter of a mostly reformed drug dealer. She is the author of the novels All the Ugly and Wonderful Things, Last Will, and Lie Lay Lain. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas.
Jane isn’t entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn’t she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes—or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire—maybe do exist.
Except Brock Wellington isn’t anyone’s dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk—even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it’s karmic retribution that he’s tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can’t have. But while they can’t have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . .
Excerpt:
“Bentley!” Brock barked and shook his head.
“What?” Bentley shrugged then smoothly walked over to Jane and pulled out a box of black high-heeled pumps in a size eight and a half. “Your foot, milady?”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Bentley. She can put on her own damn shoes.”
Bentley completely ignored him. “I love a woman’s foot.” He grabbed Jane’s broken shoe and tossed it to the side while his hands danced along the arch of her foot. His fingertips danced along her skin. Seduction by foot rub? That was new.
“It’s sexy, the arch.” He leaned over her, his lips parting just enough to give her the impression he was thinking about kissing her. “The curve of a woman’s foot reminds me of her body…see? Sexy.” He slid the shoe on a very terrified looking Jane and stood. “Perfect fit.”
Jane’s mouth opened then closed as a rosy flush crept over her face. “Th-thank you.”
“I bought you my favorite brand.”
Her eyebrows arched. How did he know about Manolo Blahnik? “Oh.” And then she nodded and said loudly, “Ohhhh! That makes sense!”
“You wearing them,” she explained. “That’s great. I mean, good for you. I’m sorry I’m so awkward at things like this, but it’s good you’re…you know…” She bobbed her head and sputtered. “Out and…comfortable with it.”
“Out?” Bentley repeated. “I’m confused.”
“Of the closet,” she said slowly then saw the scowl on Bentley’s face. “Or maybe you just like to dress like a woman?” She straightened her shoulders and tried again. “In either case, congratulations on your choice to wear women’s clothing!”
Brock about died laughing as Bentley’s horrified expression went from stunned to genuine confusion.
“You heard her.” Brock held his laughter in check. “Congratulations, brother. I’ll take care of the press release: Bachelor Playboy Bentley Wellington and his private women’s shoe collection.”
Bentley let out a strangled laugh. “Yes, and while we’re at it why don’t we remind the press that the clock is ticking on that auction of yours? Hmm?”
“Auction?” Jane asked.
“Don’t.” Brock shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“But she probably already does.” Bentley pointed out. “Unless she doesn’t read the news…?”
They both stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I, uh…” She ducked her head, blushing again. “I read books.”
“How pure.” Bentley smiled and sat down next to her. “And just so we’re clear.” He leaned in as though he was going to kiss her. “My bat only swings one way…and I can assure you, every time I get thrown a pitch, I hit it out of the park.”
About the Author:
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Our lives are a collection of moments. Some utterly painful and full of yesterday’s hurts. Some beautifully hopeful and full of tomorrow’s promises.
I’ve had many moments in my lifetime, moments that changed me, challenged me. Moments that scared me and engulfed me. However, the biggest ones—the most heartbreaking and breathtaking ones—all included him.
I was ten years old when I lost my voice. A piece of me was stolen away, and the only person who could truly hear my silence was Brooks Griffin. He was the light during my dark days, the promise of tomorrow, until tragedy found him. Tragedy that eventually drowned him in a sea of memories.
This is the story of a boy and girl who loved each other, but didn’t love themselves. A story of life and death. Of love and broken promises.
Of moments.
(Book Three in the Elements Series. Complete Standalone.)
PURCHASE LINKS – 99c for release day only (price will change at 6pm CST)
I have so many words I want to say about this book, but I’m not going to. This is a book that has to be experienced. You have to go into it with your own life experiences, your own traumas, and then apply them to Maggie’s story.
Maggie was frustrating for me at times, mainly at the very beginning. I’ve gotta say, I didn’t blame Brooks for one second when he found her irritating. Then IT happened and Maggie became this person I could identify with in a way I hadn’t thought I would. The way she internalized her pain was very personal to me. I’ve never been the type of person who easily shared the pain I’ve encountered and I saw this part of myself in Maggie. Her reaction seemed perfectly logical to me, though it may have seemed insane to others. There were a million other reasons I loved Maggie, a thousand ways she seemed so like myself, I found myself completely swept up in her.
Brooks was one of those people whose goodness knows no bounds, even when he was in the darkest moments of his life, there was never a question that he was trying to protect the people he loved most deeply. Even when he was hurting them. Even as he grew, and experienced life in ways that most people never will, he never wavered from the beautiful soul he’d always been. I was in love with the way he cared for Maggie in the only way she was able to accept.
While not as tragically beautiful as The Air He Breathes, The Silent Waters was still heart-rending and stick with me in ways I can not fully comprehend at this moment. It is one of those stories that opens your eyes to the suffering that people live with every day, that they often hide from everyone, even those closest to them. Brittainy C. Cherry has blown other authors out of the water with this book, and I look forward to reading her words for years to come.
I was warned about Tristan Cole.
“Stay away from him,” people said.
“He’s cruel.”
“He’s cold.”
“He’s damaged.”
It’s easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster.
But I couldn’t do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him because it also lived inside of me.
We were both empty.
We were both looking for something else. Something more.
We both wanted to put together the shattered pieces of our yesterdays.
Then perhaps we could finally remember how to breathe.
Logan Francis Silverstone was the complete opposite of me. I danced while he stood still. He was quiet, and I was always running my mouth. He struggled to find a smile while I refused to frown.
The night I saw the darkness that truly lived inside of him, I couldn’t look away.
We were broken together, yet somehow whole. We were wrong together, but always right. We were the stars that burned across the night sky, searching for a wish, praying for better tomorrows.
Until the day I lost him. He threw us away with one hasty decision—a decision that changed us forever.
There once was a boy, and I loved him.
And for a few breaths, a few whispers, a few moments, I think he loved me, too.
Brittainy Cherry has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She graduated from Carroll University with a Bachelors Degree in Theatre Arts and a minor in Creative Writing. She loves to take part in writing screenplays, acting, and dancing–poorly of course. Coffee, chai tea, and wine are three things that she thinks every person should partake in! Brittainy lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with her family. When she’s not running a million errands and crafting stories, she’s probably playing with her adorable pets.
From USA Today Bestselling author, MJ Fields, comes a gripping story of love and lies.
A long time ago…
I was young and naive. I thought I could save the world. I thought that protecting those around me from hurt and pain was what I was born to do. She made me feel that way. Ava Links, the little girl who was too fucking stubborn for her own good. The little girl who absorbed the hurt and pain of everyone around her and tried to bring sunshine to them all. The little girl who didn’t give a damn if people picked on her about wearing a crown and tutu every day. A little girl who somehow looked at me, expecting—no, damn near demanding—I protect her.
I saw the pain she hid, and as I grew older, I understood that pain. The pain of being so much to so many that there is really never a “you”.
I took control of my life…
I had to get away from everyone who pulled at me in order to claim myself. When I became the man I was destined to be, I began to live. Then, one drunken night, Ava Links, no longer a little girl, said the right damn thing to me, and everything changed. After seven years of fucking her while home on leave with no expectations, now my life is out of control…
One bad dream, one I love you, one night of pushing her the hell out of my life, one drummer stealing her heart, and one explosion took everything away.
Lies are told.
Lies are unraveling.
Lies are going to destroy.
These are my truths.
27 Lies: Luke’s Story (The Truth About Love) releases on October 16th!
Outside, Sandman screams and chants as we hurry him down the pre-planned route. Trigger is on the phone, giving coordinates to the guys in the sky for evacuation as he and Killshot go back inside the building we were occupying to grab our equipment.
Again, Sandman puts up a fight, and I am forced to the ground with him.
A whistling buzz pierces my ears, followed by an earth-shaking explosion.
The building has been hit!
The ringing in my ears is horrific. The pain I feel as brick and metal hit me is allowed for five, four, three, two, one, and now I dismiss it.
Sandman easily pushes away from the grip I have on him because, lucky for him, he was covered by my body. When I grab him, I quickly realize my shoulder is dislocated, but fuck if I let him go. Not when we spent years looking for him.
I hear Trigger yelling but, with the ringing in my ears, I have no idea what the hell he’s saying.
I look back at Sandman, who has a sick smile on his face. I push him to the ground and look back for my team.
Trigger is a mess. Blood is everywhere as he pushes parts of the building off of him. But I don’t see Killshot. I am caught in a moment of needing to help my men, yet not wanting to release my captive.
I look back at Sandman who knows the conundrum I am faced: His live capture or helping my men. What he doesn’t know is who I am.
Another whistle and another explosion rocks us.
I pull out my piece and look at the sick fuck.
Haven’t read this series yet?
Now is your chance, 27 Truths is NOW AVAILABLE!
From USA Today Bestselling author, MJ Fields, comes a gripping story of love and it’s many truths. #Whatsyourtruth
USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields love of writing was in full swing by age eight.
Together with her cousins, she wrote a newsletter and sold it for ten cents to family members.
She self-published her first contemporary, new adult romance in January 2013. Today she has completed seven self-published series, The Love series, The Wrapped series, The Burning Souls series, The Men of Steel series, Ties of Steel series, The Rockers of Steel series and The Norfolk series.
MJ is a hybrid author and publishes an Indie book almost every month, and is signed with a traditional publisher, Loveswept, Penguin Random House, for her co- written series The Caldwell Brothers. Hendrix, Morrison, and Jagger. All three books in the series are published. The Caldwell brothers don’t grow into alphas, when their mother passes away they become her legacy, her good in the world of bad.
MJ was a former small business owner, who closed shop so she could write full time. She lives in central New York, surrounded by family and friends. Her house is full of pets, friends, and noise ninety percent of the time, and she would have it no other way.
WANTED FOR ARSON. CATFISHED AT SANTA’S. ROBBED AT THE FALLS. SHAKESPEARE OR DIE. DRIVER PICKS TUNES.
I’m weird. This isn’t news to me or anything. I have lived in a UFO my entire life. This wasn’t a coincidence. My parents believe in extraterrestrial life. You know, “phone home” and all that crap, and they dragged my sister Mercury and me into their mess when they named us what they named us. So it wasn’t a surprise when after getting accepted to UW and expressing my desire to actually attend, they lamented that college is “just another ploy for the government to keep tabs on you, man.” In other words, “We won’t be helping you out, Jupiter.” That’s fine, though, because my best friend Frankie and I can be pretty clever chicks when we want to be. We found a way for me to get up there and it was in the form of a longtime crush, his equally cute cousin, and a kickin’ set of wheels. Buckle up, Buttercup, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Ezra Brandon’s soul was older than his body. He wasn’t always like that, though. In fact, at one point not long before what Frankie and I badged as “the change,” he’d been fully entrenched in activities that would indicate his soul was exactly the age of that body, but circumstances being out of his control, the soul tired of parties, friends, and happiness. He adopted the cynicism of a forty-five-year-old man, threw it on like an old coat, and buttoned it up to his chin. It insulated him from the outside world so well that within a year of the adoption, he was forgotten by everyone at Endicott Academy.
But not by me. No, not by me. He was just as beautiful to me then as he’d always been.
“You’re drooling again,” Frankie said, startling me. My eyes popped open. I brought a hand to my lips to wipe away any evidence of her accusation but felt nothing. Frankie snorted then laughed. I threw a disparaging glance her way.
“Why you gotta be so rude?” I sang at her.
“’Cause. You’re an idiot. You’ve got zombie face again, and it’s so obvious people are gonna start wondering if they should intercede on your behalf. Report your Forrest Gump ass to social services or whatever.”
I laughed. “I can’t help it, Frankenstein. He’s so on the brink.”
“On the brink of what, Jupiter?” She turned Ezra’s direction and drank him in. She leaned in close and whispered, “The only thing he’s on the brink of is a sudden exclamation of ‘What’s it all mean!’ before jumping headfirst through that window.”
We both looked out the second story toward the looming earth below and gulped.
I shook my head. “He is not,” I argued.
Frankie pointed toward the front of the classroom where Ezra was sitting, his hands buried in his chin-length brown hair, knuckles white with intensity. Maybe she was right. Maybe just a little. I stared at him again.
Ezra was tall, taller than most guys I knew. Six foot two inches, one hundred seventy pounds is what his old published lacrosse stats stated. He had killer light brown hair, eyes so light green you felt like you could see right through him, and a smile so catching, I could still remember it despite the fact I, nor anyone else for that matter, hadn’t seen it for almost two years.
“Life is like a box of chocolates, Jupiter.”
I threw another annoyed look her direction. “Can you please let me ogle in peace, Lieutenant Dan?”
“No, jackass. The bell rang. Get your rear in gear or you’ll be late again.”
“Gah!”
My next class was clear across campus. I scrambled to get my stuff together, decided it was as intact as it was going to get, and hauled ass up the aisle, but when I turned to complain to Frankie for the thousandth time since the beginning of our senior year that it wasn’t fair to assign kids back-to-back classes that far away, I was abruptly halted by the very body I’d been ogling not thirty seconds before. We collided in spectacular fashion—papers flying, books crashing. My elbow met his gut, which made him grunt and double over, which then made his forehead punch my left boob, which made me die a million mortifying deaths within a second.
“I’m so sorry,” I told Ezra as I felt my face warm to impossible temperatures. I took a second to glance toward Frankie for some sort of best friend intervention but only caught a glimpse of her signature Jupiter’s-a-dweeb facepalm instead.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice like silk, the inflection of which swam through my head, tingling down each strand of hair all the way to the ends, and making me shiver.
I watched like an idiot as he bent to gather all my stuff for me. He stood, handing me the lot, offering a crooked smile when I stared at him like he was a betta in a bowl.
“Thanks,” I wheezed, taking all that had fallen.
He shrugged, hiking his bag higher on his shoulder, tucking his own fallen papers and books between his hip and the palm of his hand. “See ya,” he offered before heading out the door.
Before long, Frankie shouldered me. “Whoa,” she said.
“Whoa,” I agreed.
I hope you enjoyed this exclusive excerpt from Get in the Car, Jupiter! Happy reading!
Title: Unstable
Author: S.E. Hall
Genre: Contemporary Romance
You can put up a front… but destiny already has your back
After eight years, Henley Calvert is headed home. Back to the family farm and small town she left behind, never to be thought of again.
Too much regret and shame to bear.
But she’s the only one left to see to her family’s legacy, so she must return to Ashfall and face all the ghosts that haunt her.
****
Gatlin Holt, the family farmhand, awaits her arrival, and lends a hand—in more ways than one. He reacquaints Henley with the lay of the land while helping her heal her soul with a new outlook on life.
Yet every time she thinks some peace may be within reach, Henley hits another roadblock. The biggest of which is Keaton Cash—her childhood nemesis who owns the farm next door.
****
And no, it’s not a love triangle. That’s impossible when Henley’s heart is closed, incapable of love.
S.E. Hall is back with her character’s signature sass and charm in Unstable, a new stand alone contemporary romance.
Henley stayed away from her small hometown for many years for a reason. Bad memories haunt every corner of her family farm and the little town she grew up in. But after so long away, she has to tie up some loose ends after her mother’s death and face her fears.
An unexpected friend is found in Gatlin, a young man who works on her family’s farm. The two have an insta-bond and she’s able to face some of her past so she can begin to move forward. The biggest thing in her way is Keaton. Her childhood nemesis now owns the farm next door and she can’t decide whether to kiss him or kill him for driving her crazy.
I got all the feels with this story from bouts of laughter to tears. The story flowed well and I really liked the characters from the beginning. Keaton is no Evan (if you’re an SE Hall fan, you’ll know who I mean) but he’s close. He’s a dirty talking but sweet southern boy who pairs well with Henley’s stubborn and feisty nature. In fact, these two are so much alike, that’s probably why they spend a lot of their time driving each other nuts.
There are a few twists and turns, some I liked more than others but details would involve spoilers so I’ll skip them. Overall, if you like over the top cowboys, enemies to lovers, or a good small town romance, you’ll want to give this a try!
S.E. Hall, lover of all things anticipation and romance, is the author of The Evolve Series: Emerge, Embrace, Entangled, Entice, Endure and companion novellas Baby Mama Drama and Guide for Tools Looking to Date My Daughter by character Sawyer Beckett. S.E. also wrote the stand-alone Finally Found novels Pretty Instinct and Pretty Remedy. Her co-written works include The Provocative Professions Collection: Stirred Up, Packaged and Handled 1&2, One Naughty Night and full-length, standalone novels Matched and Filthy Foreign Exchange with Angela Graham as well as Conspire, a romantic suspense, written with Erin Noelle.
S.E. resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 3 daughters of the home. When not writing or reading, she can be found “enthusiastically cheering” on one of her girls’ softball games.
I’m a heroin addict. A junkie. A whore. I’ll do anything to get my next fix.
Anything.
Including walking right onto the property of Austin’s most ruthless and feared drug lord to beg for some H. I don’t know his name, only that people call him Boss. Oh, and that he won’t think twice to put a bullet in my head.
But like I said, I’ll do anything to get my next fix. Even if it costs me my life.
I’ve got to be really honest and tell you this book took me by surprise; in the best way. I was expecting so much more violence, tons more blatant drug use. I was wrong. Very contentedly wrong. While there were moments of intense violence, graphic drug use, the threat or horribly explicit things happening, those things faded into the background of two very broken people growing into wholer, more mature people. I knew when I started this book it was going to be dark. I knew it was going to be intense, what I didn’t know was how beautiful it would be. How deeply moving the character growth could be.
When Boss first appeared in the book I was sure I was going to hate him. Perhaps the prologue colored him in that light for me. I don’t know, but I knew I harbored discontent for his character. Then he began to develop into a real person, not a scary drug lord; just a screwed up mess of a man who had nothing left to care for. Then he grew on me a lot. His idiosyncrasies became something that branded him into my psyche. His pain became a reason for me to forgive his every fault. His staunch refusal to change his conviction gave me a reason to root for him. The way he loved and cared for Miri made me fall in love with him.
Miri was a hot mess when she first appeared on the page. I had a really hard time feeling sorry for her. I couldn’t put myself in her shoes, I couldn’t fathom how someone could end up in the situation in which she found herself. The more I learned about her and how she had ended up the junkie she became, the more compassion I had for her. She was fantastically strong when she was given the chance to be. I often didn’t agree with the decisions she made, nor did I like how little she trusted Boss, but I could wholly understand why she felt the way she did. She is likely far more broken that we ever got to know in this book and I am anxious to find out more about how and why she ended up in the situation she did in Junkie.
Junkie moves fast. Very fast, both in timeline and character arc. Though the book covers a few months of their lives, it feels like the time was much shorter. None of the development of the characters is off-page. If there is a major event that happens to one of them it happens in real time. I greatly appreciated that aspect of this book. I love experiencing things with the character, not having the event rehashed under the light of experience. It is told in dual perspective, which gave the added benefit of seeing the growth of each character through their own and the other’s eyes.
Junkie was an excellent read, I was engrossed for the entirety and can not wait to read book two, Jagger. I was left high on a ledge of anticipation with the ending of Junkie and am desperate for the relief I will surely feel once I am able to read Jagger.
*ARC was generously provided by the author in exchange for an honest, spoiler-free review*
Fighting the intense, gut-clenching fear, I tightened my grip, using his strong muscles to keep me upright as he washed my feet. The cloth skimmed up my legs one at a time, his hands scrubbing over and over as the foam rinsed away days of dirt and grime. The boss skipped my clothed midsection, straightened to his full height, and repeated the process with my arms, spending extra time on my dirt-caked hands and nails, and the track marks on my arms, only moving on when my skin glowed pink.
Next, he lifted my long red hair off my neck and slid the cloth across the top of my back and shoulders, then around the front to wash the exposed part of my chest where my tank top dipped low. I glanced down as his enormous, bruised and scabbed hands worked over my skin, only then realizing my white tank was completely transparent and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Instinctively, my hands flew up to cover my breasts. He chuckled, a smooth, deep sound so seductive it could easily charm a roomful of people and melt every pair of panties in a five-mile radius.
“A little too late for that, doll. Seein’ as I’ve already got a good look at everything.”
Something about his cocky drawl, the crooked smirk on his face, and that single raised eyebrow felt like a challenge. My courage, boosted by the decadent lull of my best friend, heroin, had me meeting his gaze head-on. Determined to show the boss I wasn’t a cowering scaredy-cat, I fingered the hem, tugged the wet tank over my head, and tossed it to the floor with a loud splat. The man’s eyes widened, which only fueled my desire to make him eat his stupid words. Still staring directly into those sapphire eyes, I stuck my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and shoved them down, stepped out, and kicked them aside. Completely naked, I stood my ground and raised my own brow in return, hands on my hips.
Our eyes were locked a few more seconds before he threw his head back and burst out laughing. The action made him look years younger than I originally believed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that, doll?”
Instead of answering, I snatched the soapy washcloth from his hand and quickly finished washing my newly exposed skin.
“Here.”
Jerk.
The boss scrambled to catch the cloth I whipped at his chest before turning to storm out of the shower. I yelped when he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me toward him. The blazing heat of his chest was pressed against the bare skin of my back and I trembled from head to toe. The boss held tight and lowered his mouth to my ear.
“First, don’t ever fucking throw shit at me again.” Chills broke out across my skin at his angry threat. “You will not disrespect me in my own house, especially after I fucking took you in instead of killing you the second you set foot on my property. Got it?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my upper arms until I whimpered.
“Y-yes. I get it.” I struggled to keep from screaming out of pure terror. What was I thinking? Mouthing off to a drug lord while naked in his shower and a house full of his goons one floor below. I couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable.
After digging his fingers in for another long moment to prove he was in charge, the boss released me and spun me around as he picked up another bottle. “Your hair is fucking disgusting. It needs to be washed.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and once more, shame flooded me with heat. This man had a way of making me feel as though I was less than human. He held out the bottle, shaking it in my face. “Either you do it, or I do, doll. But you’re not getting out of here until you’ve cleaned the junkie stench off.”
The backs of my eyes stung and my face caught fire. I couldn’t look at him as I took the bottle and poured some shampoo into a shaky hand. He washed himself quickly then stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest as I lathered my hair and rinsed off under the spray.
“Again,” he demanded. I bit my lip to keep from telling him to fuck off and did as I was told.
When the last suds swirled down the drain, the boss was silent as he reached around me and cut off the water. He carefully folded the washcloth, laid it on the edge of the sink, and stepped out of the shower enclosure. He handed me a towel, and picked one up for himself. I tried not to watch as he rubbed the fluffy white cloth over all of those tan muscles, but it was futile. Staring, I was mesmerized by the sight as the boss wrapped the towel around his waist and shucked his wet briefs from underneath. I gulped, knowing he was now naked beneath the soft terrycloth, a mere foot away.
When the silence became uncomfortable, I clutched my own towel to my chest, dug up what little courage I had left, and turned to face him with a huff. “We showered together and I don’t even know your name.”
He quirked that damn eyebrow again and smiled, white teeth gleaming in the middle of his dark designer stubble. If I didn’t know he was a widely feared drug lord and a pushy, high-handed, scary motherfucker, I’d find his expression almost charming.
“Boss.”
“I know you’re The Boss, I want to know your name.”
“My name is Boss,” he repeated. “Or Boss Man. Either one works.” As if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if forcing unwilling women into a shower were an everyday occurrence, he shrugged and brushed a hand through his wet hair.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” This guy was so damn frustrating. He shot me up with H, dumped me in the shower, humiliated me, washed me, but wouldn’t tell me his name. Whatever. I turned my back to him.
Big mistake.
Two large hands wrapped around my shoulders, and I was jerked back against his body once more. Both of us were currently clad only in towels, his slung low around his waist and mine tucked under my armpits. There wasn’t as much skin-on-skin contact as in the shower, but this felt much more intimate. Slowly, Boss spun me around to face him, and I had to muffle a frightened cry. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. The transformation from playful to furious was immediate and absolutely terrifying. For the first time since I’d showed up on his lawn, I was truly, without a doubt, scared shitless.
This man, the one in front of me—so different from the man who laughed in the shower—is what I expected from the drug lord I heard rumors about. Horrible rumors of unspeakable acts of violence. A ruthless man to be respected and feared.
Boss pressed the length of his half-naked body against me, and growled, teeth glinting behind curled lips. “That’s the second time you turned your back on me after mouthing off. I’m only going to say this once more, Miri, so listen carefully.” He lowered his head and his breath ghosted across my neck. I shuddered and a whimper escaped my throat, the result of a horrifying combination of lust and fear. “You are my guest. You snuck onto my property and you’re goddamn lucky I didn’t let Milo shoot you on sight. No, I saved you, took your ass in, gave you your fucking heroin, and washed a couple weeks’ worth of filth and scum off of you using my very expensive body wash that, incidentally, I never share with anyone. I expect you to be grateful for my hospitality and treat me with some goddamn motherfucking respect, got it?” His hands tightened around my arms incrementally as he spoke. His message was quite clear as his touch became more and more painful. I knew his thick fingers would leave bruises on my pale, fragile skin.
Legs shaking, I nearly pissed myself when faced with the lethal side of this man.
“I want to hear you say you understand, Miri.” Boss let go and stepped back until his eyes bored holes into me from beneath heavy brows.
Filled with terror, my heart pounded and my breath caught in my lungs, rendering me speechless. His eyes narrowed, not happy with my silence. Somehow, I managed to choke out two words.
I sell drugs. Heroin to be specific. And I’m fucking good at my job. Enough to fight my way to the top position, controlling all of Austin’s supply.
So what if I had to kill the previous boss to do it. I do what has to be done. Never cared about consequences because I never had anything to lose.
Until I met Miri. My doll. She’s my weakness and somehow, my enemies found out about her.
If they hurt her, they will regret the day they ever heard my name. Boss. They call me Boss for a reason. What I say goes, including the price on the heads of anyone who dares to fuck with what belongs to me.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best-selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
My favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
Benny loves his pretty little dolls.
It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
(pre-final edits)
Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.
Ten years is a long time when you’re thirty-two. We’d seen our share of ups and downs, but I could honestly say, they were mostly up. That’s the thing about happiness, though. It lulls you into a false sense of security.
Julie is a southern California native, a fan of a really good story (preferably a romance with a happily ever after), really good pie (preferably pumpkin)and copious amounts of coffee (preferably Folgers).
As the daughter of a meth dealer, Wavy knows not to trust people, not even her own parents. Struggling to raise her little brother, eight-year-old Wavy is the only responsible “adult” around. She finds peace in the starry Midwestern night sky above the fields behind her house. One night everything changes when she witnesses one of her father’s thugs, Kellen, a tattooed ex-con with a heart of gold, wreck his motorcycle. What follows is a powerful and shocking love story between two unlikely people that asks tough questions, reminding us of all the ugly and wonderful things that life has to offer.
BRYN GREENWOOD is a fourth-generation Kansan and the daughter of a mostly reformed drug dealer. She is the author of the novels All the Ugly and Wonderful Things, Last Will, and Lie Lay Lain. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas.
Moments.
I was warned about Tristan Cole.
There once was a boy, and I loved him.
Brittainy Cherry has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She graduated from Carroll University with a Bachelors Degree in Theatre Arts and a minor in Creative Writing. She loves to take part in writing screenplays, acting, and dancing–poorly of course. Coffee, chai tea, and wine are three things that she thinks every person should partake in! Brittainy lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with her family. When she’s not running a million errands and crafting stories, she’s probably playing with her adorable pets.
A long time ago… 
USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields love of writing was in full swing by age eight.
WANTED FOR ARSON. CATFISHED AT SANTA’S. ROBBED AT THE FALLS. SHAKESPEARE OR DIE. DRIVER PICKS TUNES. 
I sell drugs. Heroin to be specific. And I’m fucking good at my job. Enough to fight my way to the top position, controlling all of Austin’s supply.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best-selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
