Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 207

Tangible Spirits

Suspense, Paranormal SuspenseDate Published:  May 2017

Dead is dead. Gera Stapleton does not believe in ghosts.
In the infamous town of Jerome, Arizona, a once-friendly ghost named Mac has reportedly embarked on a petty crime spree, and, to her dismay, Gera is assigned the story. Has her journalism career come down to this? How can she accurately report a story on something she does not believe exists?
Now there has been a murder, and the townspeople are content to blame Mac for this, too. Determined to find the real killer—because there are no such things as ghosts, after all—Gera sets out to unravel the truth.
In a town filled with curiosities, Gera encounters a sexy hotel owner, an ornery sheriff, a helpful old woman, and a bad-tempered bartender. The more she digs, the more curious—and the more dangerous—this story becomes. What she discovers makes Gera question not only her beliefs, but her sanity, as well.
Is it possible? Could there truly be such a thing as these tangible spirits, after all?




About the Author
Becki Willis, best known for her popular The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series and Forgotten Boxes, always dreamed of being an author. In November of '13, that dream became a reality. Since that time, she has published eleven books, won first place honors for Best Mystery Series, Best Suspense Fiction and Best Audio Book, and has introduced her imaginary friends to readers around the world.

An avid history buff, Becki likes to poke around in old places and learn about the past. Other addictions include reading, writing, junking, unraveling a good mystery, and coffee. She loves to travel, but believes coming home to her family and her Texas ranch is the best part of any trip. Becki is a member of the Association of Texas Authors, the National Association of Professional Women, and the Brazos Writers organization. She attended Texas A&M University and majored in Journalism.
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Dark Desires

Title: Dark DesiresA Contemporary Romance CollectionAuthors: VariousGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: June 13, 2017


Blurb
Ready to meet your next book boyfriend? How about 22 of them?

Prepare to ignite your nights with some of today’s hottest contemporary romance novels, starring the baddest of bad boys, bikers, billionaires, and more!

Inside the Dark Desires omnibus collection, you’ll find over one million words of burning hot fiction from today’s NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY and International bestselling authors!

NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author Catherine Vale writing as Kate Nova
USA TODAY bestselling author Muffy WilsonandIvy Layne
Madisyn Ashmore
Normandie Alleman
Ann Omasta
JH Croix
Donna Alam
Jade Kerrion
Charlotte Casey
Rebecca Norinne
Ines Johnson
Cathryn Cade
T.L. Smith
Amity Cross
Amie Stuart
Author Quinn
Tameri Tiara
Beth Yarnall
Gabi Moore
Alix Nichols
K.C. Falls

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Excerpt

Undeniable by K.C. Falls
Kurt sat with his back to her—just another tall, blond gringo sipping his morning coffee to take away the misty chill of the mountains. He held his newspaper close to his face and the grin he couldn't stop. He could hear every word exchanged. She sounded just like he remembered her—all sass and spice. Here was a woman. His woman. And she was all he had ever wanted. His mate, never forgotten."Well, you were educated abroad. So tell me . . . What would be the I.Q. of a rock?""Doña, the rock has no intelligence. So it would be nought.""Your British schooling is showing, but that's correct. A rock has zero intelligence. So, when I say that your cousin Analis is as 'dumb as a box of rocks' you now know what I mean!""Jefa, this is the fourth cousin you don't like. I am running out of cousins.""Don't bullshit me, Juan. You have an endless supply of cousins. All I need is someone who can follow simple directions. This is cooking, Juan. We're not building the Panama Canal here. I want a girl or even a guy—if your asshole-macho-culture would permit—who can follow a few stinking directions. Why is this so hard?""Jefa . . .""Stop with the Jefa, the Doña and all the rest. You can grovel 'til the cows come home and it won't change the fact that this is the fourth barely grown girl you've served up who cannot carry out something that my kid could do while plugged into his video games, eating a sandwich and scratching his balls all at the same time. Dios mio, Juan. Are you the only one in your vast family who inherited any brains at all?"Kurt wondered if he had heard right. Did she say my kid? A son?

Dark Desires Boxed Set

Ready to meet your next book boyfriend? How about 22 of them?Prepare to ignite your nights with some of today's hottest contemporary romance novels, starring the baddest of bad boys, bikers, billionaires, and more!Inside the Dark Desires omnibus collection, you'll find over one million words of burning hot fiction from today's NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and International bestselling authors!NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author Catherine Vale writing as Kate Nova
USA TODAY bestselling author Muffy Wilson
USA TODAY bestselling author Madisyn Ashmore
Ivy Layne
Normandie Alleman
Ann Omasta
JH Croix
Donna Alam
Jade Kerrion
Charlotte Casey
Rebecca Norinne
Ines Johnson
Cathryn Cade
T.L. Smith
Amity Cross
Amie Stuart
Author Quinn
Tameri Tiara
Beth Yarnall
Gabi Moore
Alix Nichols
K.C. FallsAbout the Boxed SetDark Desires
by Various Authors; Featuring Chance by Charlotte Casey
Series
Rusted & Reckless #1
Genre
Adult
Contemporary Romance
Publisher
Carter & Bradley Publishing
Publication Date
June 13, 2017

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Read Chapter One of Chance

About Charlotte Casey
Charlotte Casey’s roots in country go back to singing Achy Breaky Heart in her car seat at the top of her lungs. She finds nothing sweeter and nothing more desirable than a southern man with drawl. With a romantic at heart, Charlotte couldn’t imagine reading or writing anything that doesn’t revolve around romance. Her stories may be fiction but her characters will leap from the pages and pull you into their world.Charlotte's Links


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Chasing Shadows By Bernadette Marie

Romantic SuspenseDate Published: June 13, 2017Publisher: 5 Prince Publishing


Someone has decided to become the moral compass for the women in town, and now they're turning up dead. It will be up to Detective Lacy Pratt to find their killer before her relationship with Declan Matthews, brother to one of the victims, marks her as a target.





About the Author

Bestselling Author Bernadette Marie is known for building families readers want to be part of. Her series The Keller Family has graced bestseller charts since its release in 2011. Since then she has authored and published over thirty books. The married mother of five sons promises romances with a Happily Ever After always…and says she can write it because she lives it.Bernadette is also the CEO of 5 Prince Publishing and Illumination Author Events and Services.


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THE RANCHER AND THE CITY GIRL by Joya Ryan

THE RANCHER AND THE CITY GIRLTempting the Rancher, book 1
by Joya RyanPublisher: Entangled PublishingGenre: Contemporary Romance


Rancher and single father Reed Montgomery is a master at French braiding and princess tea parties. He’s also the most eligible bachelor in Cheyenne, Wyoming. So when he stumbles upon a flashy, sexy city girl, he knows two things: 1) she’s a walking disaster, and 2) he needs to stay far, far away.

But she needs him more than he wants to admit…

Charlotte Gram knows what it’s like not to be wanted. She’s in Cheyenne for the summer to help her grandmother heal after surgery, but the farmhouse “chores” are proving much harder than she thought. If her day couldn’t get any worse, the sexiest man she’s ever seen strolls up to save the day......and he definitely doesn’t seem happy about it.



“You are the worst car in this hellhole town and I swear—to—God…” Charlotte Gram kicked the driver-side tire of her rental car with her favorite stiletto. The dry summer air blew hot against her skin, and a small film of dust settled on her neck.

Gross.

Was dust a thing out here?

She was used to the Los Angeles smog and clutters of asshole people. She’d never thought she’d step foot in Wyoming. Ever. But this was the prairie state her grandmother had chosen to retire in, so that’s where Charlotte needed to be.

Wilma Gram had moved to Cheyenne five years ago when she’d inherited her family farm. Something about a great-uncle who had died and left it to her. Apparently Grammy took really well to the country life, because even at seventy-plus years old, she was thriving. Up until this summer, at least. She’d needed ankle surgery that would leave her in a cast.

With Charlotte the only one left who stayed in touch with Grammy, it was up to her to see the older woman through her recovery. Which meant several weeks of summer in this tiny town, working remotely from the house, and attempting to help Grammy run the farm and all the chores that went with it.

Not Charlotte’s specialty.

Still, a simple enough plan.

She could continue building websites, earn a living, and get back to her life in L.A. in no time. Besides, it wasn’t like her grandma had a massive farm operation…she didn’t think. Charlotte hadn’t gotten out to visit the great state of Wyoming since Grammy had settled in. Between building her career and surviving a string of bad relationships, Charlotte was happy just keeping her head above water and being the forever bachelorette.

Every time she got past date number three, she started to feel like the man she was with never wanted her in the first place. And it wasn’t just romantic relationships, either. Charlotte never seemed to fit anywhere or in anyone’s ideals. She wasn’t successful enough—yet—to be “accomplished,” and wasn’t creative enough to be “small-business hipster woman.” She was also too blunt to be ladylike, and too prudish to be a vixen. It wasn’t like she could help it. Her mother had done a shit job raising her, and her father bailed when she was young. She sure as hell hadn’t been able to count on anyone.

Basically, she’d spent her life in a constant state of unclassified and unwanted.

Commitment wasn’t something she was interested in chasing. Ever. Doing so would mean trusting someone to want her completely, preferably long term, which wasn’t likely. No, better to stick to her rules of no strings, no commitment, no family. Grammy was the only exception. No way would she have her own kids, no matter how many busybody women in Spin class told her that her eggs would dry up soon. She was only thirty, for Christ’s sake.

So yeah. She worked alone, lived alone…

…and would probably die alone.

It was kind of depressing, actually.

Charlotte blew a lock of dark hair out of her face and glanced around. The town was cute, at least. Downtown Cheyenne was basically sandwiched between an old-looking bank made of all brick and an antiques shop. There weren’t many people milling about, let alone the floods of people she was used to.

Everything felt still. Calm.

Claustrophobic.

She shuddered. “I bet this place doesn’t even have triple-A,” she said, eyeing her newest enemy, the rental car she knew nothing about that was making a pained, gasping sound. A soft rise of smoke billowed out from under the hood. Charlotte frowned. Day one and she couldn’t even get through this hillbilly town.

She kicked it again, letting another round of curses fly. She just needed this piece of crap rental to get to her grandma’s. It couldn’t be too much farther, could it? “Piece of shhii—”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” a husky voice rumbled behind her.

Charlotte stalled midkick and looked up to see a very tall, very strong, very cowboy man staring at her.

“It—shit—I mean, yes?” Her skin went hot, even though Mr. Cowboy was shadowing her in his capable frame. Could she possibly sound more like an idiot who didn’t know how to speak?

“I wonder if I could assist you?” he asked, pinching the tip of his Stetson and keeping those crystal blue eyes locked on her.

Mr. Cowboy was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that clung to chiseled abs and a broad, solid chest. The bits of dirty blond hair sticking out from under his hat matched the several-day-old stubble on his face.

She didn’t know if it was the jet lag or the altitude that made it difficult to swallow.

She looked down, her gaze devouring him like a life-size Snickers bar, repeating the mantra in her head when she hit his narrow hips…

Hungry? Why wait?

“Ma’am?” he asked again.

She snapped out of her ogling and grimaced when she realized her own mind and body had betrayed her. Sure, it had been a while since she’d had sex last, but she needed to get a grip. Wasn’t like she’d never seen a cowboy before. Because she had…in the movies.

“I apologize,” she said, harnessing all her assertive grace. “I’m a hot mess because of this car and I’m—”

“A city girl,” he finished for her with a smile, then effortlessly rounded the car and popped open the hood.

“You say ‘city girl’ like it’s a bad thing,” she responded.

That smile stayed on his face as he shook his head and looked over the engine.

“Not a bad thing. Cities can be fun. Lots of flash.” He glanced her way, only his eyes started at her feet and slowly slid up her legs. Her skirt felt tight against her thighs, her button-up top suddenly constricting. Or maybe Mr. Cowboy’s eyes were making her flush.“Nothing flashy around here, it seems,” she said, breaking his gaze on her.

“That’s not true. This place puts on a hell of a rodeo show every summer.”

She laughed.

He blinked.

Oh, he was serious?

“That sounds like…something,” she said, trying to polite, but the way Mr. Cowboy bent over the engine and messed with God-knew-what under the hood made his tan arms flex and that shirt of his pull tight over his shoulders. Well-defined shoulders. Shoulders that could handle fingernail scratches…

She shook her head again and reasoned that she was hungry and just needed an actual Snickers bar. That was it.

“Looks like you’re overheating,” he said, and stood to face her.

Her eyes shot wide and she smoothed her hands down her skirt. “I’m perfectly fine,” she defended.  He chuckled. “Nah, I mean your car. You’re low on coolant. I have some in my truck.” With that, he walked about fifty feet up the street to a massive truck and grabbed something out of the back. She thought she’d appreciated the front view of him? The back was even better. And those jeans? She didn’t know who designed Wranglers, but she was going to write that genius a letter because damn, they showcased Mr. Cowboy’s ass to perfection.

Maybe she could enjoy the sights of Wyoming just a little. She was set to be farm-locked for the summer. Maybe she had time to take advantage of the town before all the work and caretaking started?

Cowboy walked back to her with a jug of what she assumed was coolant in his hand and went back under the hood.

“Tough way for a lady to meet Cheyenne,” Cowboy said, focusing on the pouring he was doing.

“I must admit, this first experience could skew my judgment of Cheyenne from here on out.”

“Aw well, I hope you can leave with only a positive view of things,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands.

Positive view, indeed.

“Start her up and see if that helped,” he instructed.

She got in the car, and with the driver-side door open, he stood at the hood and she yelled, “Okay, going to start it up now…”

She did.

It did.

“You’re amazing,” she let slip out before she could think better of it. When she got out, she caught him smiling.

“No ma’am, just helping a woman in need.”

Speaking of a woman in need… 

“I’d love to buy you a drink to repay you,” she said.

“No, ma’am,” he said quickly, and her internal balloon deflated. But he leaned against the car and grinned. “I’d love to buy you a drink and show you a kinder side of Cheyenne. No repayment necessary.”

Her entire chest lit up with happy sparks, and she tried not to dance like a tween goof at the thought of a date with Cowboy. Apparently she had a thing for country boys, because she hadn’t been this attracted to a guy in a long time.

“When?” she asked.

He smiled and tilted his chin toward the bar on the corner, just a block down from where they stood. “The Cadillac Bar right there has live music tonight. You free around eight?”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said.

He pinched the brim of his hat again. “Pleasure meeting you…?”

“Charlotte,” she said.

“Tripp.”

Of course his name was Tripp. A man like him would never be a Blain or an Andrew. No, he was Tripp. Rustic, a little dirty, and all kinds of perfectly wrong for her. But perfectly right for a minimalist situation. She didn’t have to worry about long term or her heart with this man; she had to worry about her panties.

She had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t survive.




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National and International Bestselling Author. Break Me Slowly: #1 Bestselling book in Contemporary Fiction and Women's Fiction!

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Memories of Me by Dani Hart

Title: Memories of MeAuthor: Dani HartGenre: Contemporary RomanceRe-release Date: June 12, 2017


Blurb
*Inspired by true events*(Characters are a work of fiction)
When you close your eyes and open them again you expect to see the world as it was a fraction of a second ago. Maybe a slight change from a passing breeze, but you are still in the same place, unmoving and unchanged. You don’t expect to be somewhere else where the faces are unfamiliar. Where you are unfamiliar. 

With one blink I had no family, no home, no name, and no past. I was alone, until I met the Reilly brothers. They gave me purpose again. A reason to trust. A reason to love. A reason to rebuild a life full of forgotten memories. Together, they would try to rewrite my history.

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Author Bio
I have always been drawn to words. They have this magic to touch my soul when I need it the most, whether through reading or writing. My love for writing started as most little girl's with a diary. It evolved into a big girl journal and then transformed into a notebook of poetry during the dark days of high school. I followed my dream to USC (University of Southern California) to study theatre, creative writing, and screenwriting. Finally, I understood how to take the stories in my head and commit them to paper. I was fortunate enough to sell my first professional script during college and have been writing ever since. 

In 2013 I took to self-publishing. I realized quickly that my passion resonated across many genres, so currently I have published young adult, fantasy, paranormal, dystopian, new adult, and women’s fiction. With both of my kids in school full-time now I am able to immerse myself in my passion more and when I’m not writing I’m enjoying the short time I have with my babies and my husband.

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Time for Love By Laura N. Andrews

Title: Time for LoveAuthor: Laura N. AndrewsSeries: Timeless Love, Book 2Release Date: May 20, 2017Publisher: Hot Tree PublishingCover Designer: Claire Smith
 Buy Links Amazon: http://amzn.to/2otPOFe
All other links: books2read.com/time-for-love

Endearing and shy, Nicholas Edwards prefers to stay in most nights. On one of his rare evenings out, he meets confident businessman Caleb Roimata .
Although at first he seems arrogant, charming and irresistible Caleb encourages Nicholas to come out of his shell, and together they fall into a relationship full of passion and love.
When Caleb’s past causes doubts to rise and drama to unfold, will they be there for each other and be what the other needs?
And when all is said and done, will there still be... time for love?



“You heard me,” Caleb replies quietly. He’s completely still as my eyes re-find his. And again, the intensity causes me to break the contact, my gaze falling to Caleb’s lips once more. “Damn, your eyes are beautiful, Nicholas. They’re so bright and blue,” Caleb says.

I only take in the first part. “What do you mean, beautiful? Are you drinking on the job?” I tease. The man has to be on something to say that. Of course, he also called me adorable. Definitely under the influence.

“I allow myself one drink. Not enough to diminish my ability to see the truth. Don’t you know how cute you are?” When I don’t respond, Caleb leans in closer. “I want to kiss you.” Again, he’s met with my shocked silence. “Do you want to kiss me, Nicholas?” I nod, and he places his drink down before standing up abruptly. “Come.” He takes my hand, and a hot current rushes up my arm, so distracting that I let him pull me from my chair and lead me through the club.

“Where are we going?” I ask, uncertain and excited.

“My office,” Caleb says over his shoulder. Just as I start to wonder why he’s taking me to his office for a kiss as opposed to here, he suddenly stops and lowers his mouth to my ear. “I like to keep my personal life very private, and I have a feeling one kiss with you won’t be enough.” He nips my earlobe and I gasp.

I can only smile and nod in agreement before he winks and takes me with him.


 Buy Links Amazon:  http://amzn.to/2otPOFe
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Timeless Love Series, Book 1On sale for half price!
This Time books2read.com/thistime 
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Canadian born Laura N. Andrews moved to Australia when she was three years old. When she finished high school, she successfully completed her studies in law enforcement. Since then, she's been working for over five years as a pharmacy assistant. When she's not working or spending time with family and friends, you can find her either curled up with a book or writing one of her own.

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Feel Me Fall By James Morris

Young AdultDate Published: 05/02/2017

Secrets and survival in the Amazon
Emily Duran is the sole survivor of a plane crash that left her and her teenage friends stranded and alone in the jungles of the Amazon. Lost and losing hope, they struggle against the elements, and each other. With their familiar pecking order no longer in place, a new order emerges, filled with power struggles, betrayals, secrets and lies. Emily must explain why she's the last left alive.
But can she carry the burden of the past?
Discover the gripping new adventure novel that explores who we are when no one is watching, and how far we'll go in order to survive.


Excerpt
Chapter One

I have tried so hard to forget, but memory is a stubborn thing. Memories linger no matter what I do. They’re there all the time—and worse. Even my dreams aren’t safe. I have vicious nightmares, and they’re real—too real—and suddenly I’m back there. I can’t will them away, I can’t squeeze them away, and the more I try, the more they burrow in my head. I want to cut open my skull and dig my fingers into my brain and just pull them out.
I press the Call Nurse button.
            This place, this room; it’s no better than a white coffin. Sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in on me and I have to remind myself nothing’s moving. Nothing at all.
            Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe.
            A nurse enters. She’s got skin the color of rich walnut. She says, “It’s late, you should be asleep.”
            “I can’t.” She tilts her head, knowing it’s a lie. The truth is I don’t want to. “Can I have some coffee?”
            “You’ve got to sleep sometime, honey.” She walks over and gently grasps my bandaged hand. “Do you want me to stay with you a while?”
            Usually my mom is with me, but she must’ve had to run home. Reduced to a little girl, I nod.
            I close my eyes, but my mind runs and runs. Tubes and fluids enter my body, but there’s nothing to stop the anxiety. My heart pounds and sometimes I fear I’m on the cusp of crossing into whatever lies on the other side of sane. Being in the hospital makes it harder. The white walls and sick people only remind me that I am so far from normal. My mom’s apartment in Los Angeles is less than five miles away, but it might as well be a million.
The nurse, staff, doctors, everyone; they all know me for one thing. The thing that will define me for the rest of my life. I am a survivor. The only survivor of Air Brazil, the plane that crashed in the Amazon jungle carrying 134 passengers; 37 of them students, teachers, and chaperones from Riverdale Academy High. I used to hear about plane crashes and wondered how the victims felt in the seconds before impact, wondered what it was like to know you were about to die.
Now I know. And I’d give anything not to.
            I knew those people from school. Every. Single. One.
They aren’t faceless names. They are people and they are dead.
The counselor didn’t help, either. She told me not to feel guilty. Survivor’s guilt, she called it. She warned I could expect to be angry and sad. I could expect to be confused. I wanted to tell her I was angry and sad and confused long before I got onto that plane.
            My counselor told me to write my story down. By writing I could make sense of all that happened. I keep thinking if I remember everything the way I need to that the memories will fade away. That I can accept what happened. I can accept that I survived and everyone else died.
The laptop on my nightstand is waiting for me. I’m scared to touch it.

###

I was dead to the world and when I came to I was drowning. Water gushed into my mouth and I was tumbling, flailing, not knowing what end was up or down. I heard the sounds of screaming and the roaring of water and then nothingness. Coming up for air, I held something, something rectangular. The seat cushion I was holding kept me afloat. I was in a river and I didn’t know why. I kicked and kicked and it made no difference. I never believed in God, an all-powerful being that allowed so many horrible things to happen, but as I saw the rocks up ahead, I prayed.
The current sped faster, churning like boiling water and I thought I was going to die.
I was 17 and I was going to die.
All the time wasted. All the things I never got to do.
I had one thought over and over: I don’t want to die. Someone else, but not me.
I held onto that seat cushion for dear life and plunged into the rapids. I was a human rag doll. The torrent sucked me into a watery hell and I couldn’t breathe; my eyes shut, mouth shut, face tight against the murk, willing everything to stop. I couldn’t breathe. I started to panic.
Someone else, but not me.
I needed air, my body screamed for it and I opened my mouth about to take in water when I bubbled up to the surface and gasped. As quickly as I was brought above, I was taken under again. I slammed against the rocks and buried my face deeper into the cushion. I saw nothing, heard nothing, and imagined I was in a womb. I could only wait for the terror to pass. There was no outlet; my fear was so deep and tangible I couldn’t scream. It felt like an actual substance that enveloped my body, my brain, my very being. I receded further and further within myself, a dark hole, my entire body a taut muscle.
Suddenly, I took a shot to the head and saw stars. A high-pitched squeal rang in my ears. I fought the growing sensation of darkness that threatened to overcome me, but I knew to give in meant death. I was tempted. So, so tempted. I forced my eyes open and saw the water, the dark water and wondered in that emptiness if I hadn’t died already.
My prayer must’ve been heard.
The water calmed and I was spit out near a bend. I realized I had to give up the cushion, my lifeline—it was holding me back. I let go, cursing myself as it floated away and I swam, giving everything I had. My body had nothing left but I commanded it, willed it, to swim. As I approached the shore, my shoes finally touched bottom and I heaved myself onto land.
I don’t know how long I lay there catching my breath. But there is no greater feeling of security than the sensation of the earth beneath your stomach, hands grabbing dirt. The scent of decay and wet leaves smelled like a bouquet. All this time I’d taken the ground beneath me for granted. Now I was thankful for this place to rest.
I was soaked. My jeans pressed against me, my hair drenched, my socks squished against my feet. I didn’t understand. I had left on a flight from Los Angeles with a layover in Panama City and then on to Asuncion, Paraguay for a year-end class trip. We were traveling as an inter-disciplinary trip for history, international relations, foreign language and biology. We were going to have the trip of a lifetime.
Then it hit me, a delayed reaction: I almost drowned. I almost died. My body seized and I was overwhelmed. I cried; I didn’t even know why or for what, but I sobbed on that little stretch of dirt. I heaved, gasping for breath. Every inhale was a wheeze, and I caught myself hitting the ground, my hands balled into tight fists, pounding and pounding.
Moments passed and I cried myself empty. I told myself: get up. You have to get up.
I placed my hands in the dirt to help me stand and looked around thinking: What is this place? There was green everywhere, too much green, and a river the width of three football fields in front of me. The air was heavy, a physical pressure against my skin. I was in the jungle, a tangled web of trees and totally foreign. Any other time, I might’ve been amazed by its majesty, only now I felt small. Trees towered behind me, the river flowed in front, and I was trapped.
It was then I felt the weight of my cross-body bag. I’d been wearing it the whole time. Not very heavy, I managed to unhook it and was about to open the zipper when I heard screams.
Floating down the river were more people. I wasn’t alone! A ripple of joy overtook me until I saw their faces reflecting what I sensed my own might look like—bruised, bleeding, and utterly thrashed.
Exhausted, I shouted my voice hoarse, “Over here!” I waved my hands over my head. “You can do it,” I encouraged. “Almost there!”
Some didn’t move at all. They floated, faces down, rolling through the current, lost in the rapids, disappearing for far too long. Those were the ones who didn’t thrash. Others were swept in the rapids, their screams barely heard over the rushing water only to be silenced on the other end. I was watching people die. The bodies were like a slow leak, trickling down the river a few at a time, and yet almost none of them emerged alive on the other side of the rocks. I couldn’t save them. They were too far away.
Someone else, but not me.
I didn’t mean like this.
Then I saw Viv and my heart nearly stopped.
She struggled in the water, past the rapids, a bobber about to go under. She was never athletic even though she was stick thin. Water gurgled from her mouth and she barely moved. I couldn’t bear to lose her. I wouldn’t allow it. I was terrified of my own exhaustion, but I jumped into the water and found a strength I never knew. I swam out to her. Her head dipped under the water and I would not let that be the last time I saw my best friend alive. I grasped her flotation cushion and then headed back to shore.
She looked at me, dazed. “Emily, it’s you.”
“Yes, it’s me.” I could barely contain my relief.
The sun shone over my head, reflecting in the ripples. “You look like an angel.”
I knew Vivian was out of it. “Stop talking now. Just swim. We’re going to be okay.”
I reached the shore for a second time and pulled her up with me. Once on land, she pulled me into a hug and nothing had ever felt better. Always shorter than me, her face burrowed into my chest and I felt I was protecting an abandoned baby bird. Her inky dark hair, usually so pretty was now plastered to her head, her make-up had washed away, and she was just this tiny thing. Her whole body shivered. “Tell me it’s a dream, tell me it’s a dream….”
“I wish it was, Viv.” I would’ve stayed hugging her if not for the other people in need of help.
Nico, Viv’s immature boyfriend, splashed ashore, his glasses gone, his nose bloody, red streaks smeared across his face. He was panting and heaved over, and I thought he might throw up. We had a history, but there was no time for irritation. Any familiar face was cause for celebration. He seemed surprised to see me. “You made it.”
He then eased Viv from my arms and into his.
Further down the river there was movement. It was Derek, all limbs and urgency, his face pockmarked with acne and not a hint of stubble. He splashed onto shore, his fingers digging into sand and he kissed the earth.
Twenty yards away, Ryan Wray followed. One of his prosthetic legs was missing—he’d lost his legs below the knee after contracting a rare case of meningitis a few years earlier—and he crab-walked onto land, his one pant leg empty, wet, and flat. He wasn’t alone. He helped guide Mean Molly with him. She was far from mean then, almost drowned, flustered and frantic. Once she got out of the water, she toppled in the mud, curling into a fetal position.
I stayed where I was as Ryan, Molly and Derek staggered along the shore, finally meeting up with us.
There was no time to rest or reflect. The river scattered more survivors along the shore. I pulled in a man and stopped in alarm when I saw that one of his arms had snapped off. I gently laid him down and he didn’t even notice until he turned his head. He said with an eerie calm, “That looks painful.” I recognized him from the plane. He’d sat a few aisles in front of me and slammed back drinks whenever we hit a patch of turbulence. On land, he didn’t even scream. His face was pale and blood spurted in rhythmic pulses from below his shoulder.
“What do we do?” Nico said.
I had no clue. I only knew we needed to do something. “Derek, your belt!”
Derek looked from his perch on the mud and shook his head. I couldn’t believe it.
“Derek, give me your belt! He’s losing too much blood.”
Derek, in shock or otherwise, didn’t move.
I searched for anything that would act as a tourniquet, but my efforts were in vain. The man’s blood had dwindled to a dribble, leaving a red puddle in the mud.
Another woman emerged from the water like a swamp creature, stumbling. We sat her down and she gazed at the water. She had a head injury like mine. Blood ran from her scalp and there was a small spot where her hair had been chafed away. It wasn’t a wound. It was a hole. Looking closer, I could see something I didn’t want to—her skull and what lay within. Her eyelids fluttered and she swayed, falling unconscious. I tried to grab her, but gravity took her to the ground. I nudged her once, twice; she didn’t respond. “Wake up,” I pleaded. “Please wake up.” She never moved again.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run from this place.
It seemed like a Halloween parade. They had to be in costume or using special effects; the injuries and deaths couldn’t be real.
They were all too real.
One man drifted to shore, his face down in the water, his wispy gray hair splayed out on the water’s surface. We grabbed ahold of him and he was heavy, far too heavy for his slender body. We saw why. The flotation device had kept him afloat, but he’d drowned somewhere along the way.
The last man we helped suffered so many burns his face was charred and etched in pain—I had the horrible thought of grill marks on steak. Once on land he jumped back into the water. Maybe the water had soothed him. I tried to reach out and grab him. “Let me help you!” But he was hysterical, too fast, and we watched as he floated away. I tell myself that he would’ve probably died anyway.
It’s terrible that I only knew them as The Woman, The Old Man, The Man Without an Arm and The Burned Man. Somewhere people knew their names, their histories, secrets and loves. Many of them rested at our feet, their chests still, mouths open. We were among the dead, and I found that we all, consciously or not, distanced ourselves from the horror.


About the Author

James Morris is a former television writer who now works in digital media. When not writing, you can find him scoping out the latest sushi spot, watching House Hunters Renovation, or trying new recipes in the kitchen. He lives with his wife and dog in Los Angeles.
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SECRETS OF THE HANGED MAN by Bruce Blake

SECRETS OF THE HANGED MANIcarus Fell series, book 3
by Bruce BlakeGenre: Urban Fantasy


Icarus Fell thought the afterlife couldn't get any worse...until Hell came looking for him.

When you are the orphaned child of a disgraced nun, and you're saddled with a ridiculous name like Icarus Fell, you don't expect things can go drastically downhill.

Until death comes along and an archangel recruits you for a job you screw up so badly you nearly lose your son to a demonic priest and a fallen angel.

And then, burdened by the lives lost because of your foul ups, you travel to Hell, a detour that costs you more dearly then you could ever have imagined.

No, things couldn't get much worse in the afterlife...unless Satan sends his lap dog to bring back the one thing he thinks belongs to him.

You.

Why couldn't death be easy?


The man tottered past the door without a second look and entered my territory. I held my breath. I didn’t imagine for a second he’d hear me breathing, but it’s what you do when you don’t want people to find you, a tactic every kid learns playing hide-and-seek.

He stopped a few feet away, wobbling side to side like a man standing on the deck of a ship at sea rather than a stable patch of cement behind the fifth best Italian joint in town. I didn’t fancy the look of him: he resembled a man unable to hold his booze.

Desperate to prove me right, he jerked to the side, bent at the waist and threw up on a pile of garbage bags.

“Jesus, dude. Careful. I think you got some on my shoes.”

Startled, the man fell back, his ass squishing on a damp piece of cardboard. He surveyed my dark corner, staring right at me without seeing me, probably shocked at a trash heap that spoke English. I toyed with the idea of fucking with him, but my annoyance at his presence squashed the desire. It made more sense to get rid of him because the dinner rush would be done soon, and I didn’t want to share the bounty.

I leaned forward and his gaze found me, not exactly like looking in a mirror for him because his rumpled and creased business suit and recently-cut-but-out-of-place short hair didn’t match my look. In eight months, I’d been near a barber once to ask for change, never for a trim. And opportunities to wash oneself or one’s clothes came along infrequently when living on the street—ditto the chance to shave—so I’d done neither in weeks. My patchy teenage beard probably made me look more like a crazy man.

“S...sorry, ah, dude.” The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then his hands on his pants. “I didn’t see you.”

He didn’t sound as intimidated as I’d hoped. “No sweat, man. Just don’t puke on me again.”

“Sure.”

He clawed at trash bags, clambering in the manner of a turtle flipped on its back until he got his feet under him, then brushed at the grime on his overcoat, smudging it across the lapel with his grubby hands. Smearing complete, he stood watching me, arms dangling loose at his sides.

I faded into the shadows, looked at the end of my joint to make sure it was still lit, then took a deep drag, the burner’s orange glow illuminating my lips and the tip of my nose. With one eye closed to keep the smoke out, I held my breath for a few seconds, then puffed it free of my lungs in a swirling cloud. The man breathed deep, inhaling the sweet odor of marijuana, and looked at me expectantly.

“You want a hit, dude?” Maybe if I shared my weed, I wouldn’t have to share the food when it arrived.

“S...sure.”

He took a step, hand extended to accept my offer.

“Grab a seat.”

I shuffled over in a rustle of cardboard and plastic, creating space for him to sit and thinking that, if I got him high enough fast enough, he wouldn’t notice when room service showed up. The guy looked a lightweight, so it shouldn’t take much.

He slouched forward to take a seat and lost his balance; on the way down, his forehead smacked against the brick wall and he tumbled into my lap. I jerked my hand away, barely keeping him from knocking the joint out of my fingers.

“Come on, man. First you lose your cookies on me, now you sit on me? Get it together.”

“S-s-sorry.” The stuttered word bore the distinct slur of inebriation, or maybe the ding he’d taken to the noodle caused it. He shinnied himself off me, coming too-close-for-comfort to pawing my balls as he did, then scooted his butt around until he found a comfortable spot amongst the garbage. “My name is Jack.”

He held out his hand for me to shake, but instead of the usual societal formalities, I offered him the joint. Jack took it between his thumb and index finger and inhaled with the exaggerated sucking sound made by people who don’t normally smoke. He held his breath and passed the reefer back. I grinned when his lungs revolted and a held-in cough bulged his cheeks, making him resemble a poor impersonation of Dizzy Gillespie.

“Good shit, hey?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed struggling to inhale a breath of fresh air. “Good shit.”

I took another pull of the joint. “I haven’t seen you around before. You’re not dressed like most of the guys who hang out here.”

He looked down at his suit and I followed his gaze to the streak of puke down the front of his jacket, the spots of grime on the lapel. His purple tie hung askew and the creased tails of his mauve shirt hung over his belt.

“Had a fight with my girlfriend,” he said and belched the mixed aroma of puke and ganja. I waved my hand to clear the air; he swallowed and grimaced. “She’s pregnant.”

“And this is how you celebrate?”

Jack shook his head and winced with pain. “Nothing to celebrate. Kid can’t be mine.”

“Shitty, dude. Another drag?”

He blinked, then rubbed his hand across his eyes like someone scrubbing the sleepiness away. I waited for a second, but he didn’t seem to have heard me, so I elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention.

“You all right, man?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He took the joint, blinking. I thought the smoke caused it but, when he turned, I saw blood flowing into his eyes from the gash he’d given himself in the forehead. A trail of dark fluid ran from his hairline, past his eye, along his cheek and down to his jaw.

“Dude, you got some blood there.”

Jack’s eyes rolled up, looking for the wound like a dog chasing its tail, then he giggled at himself for trying to see his own forehead. He transferred the joint to his left hand, touched his head and lowered his fingers in front of his eyes.

“Banged my head,” he said and took a toke. “Hurts.”

“I bet.”



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ON UNFAITHFUL WINGS
To some, death is the end; to others, a beginning. To Icarus Fell, it should have been a relief from a life gone seriously awry.

But death had other plans.

Icarus doesn't believe that the man awaiting him when he wakes up in a cheap motel room is really the archangel Michael, or that God's right hand wants him to help souls on their way to Heaven. Icarus doesn't believe there's a Heaven, so why should they want his help?

But the man claiming to be the archangel tempts him with an offer he can't ignore--harvest enough souls and get back the life he wished he'd had.

It seems Icarus has nothing to lose, until he botches a harvest and the soul that went to Hell instead of Heaven comes back to make him pay by threatening to take away the life he hoped to win back.

To save the wife and son he already lost once, Icarus will have to become the man he never was. Somehow, he will have to learn to believe.

ALL WHO WANDER ARE LOST
If we're good, we go to Heaven; if we're bad we go to Hell. No one wants to go to Hell.

Except one man who wishes people would just remember to call him Ric.

In the aftermath of a serial killer's murderous spree, souls who didn't deserve damnation went to Hell. The archangel Michael doesn't seem concerned, but Icarus Fell can't bear the guilt of knowing it's his fault they ended up there.

But how can he save them when the archangel forbids him from going and his guardian angel refuses to help?

The answer comes in the form of another beautiful, bewitching guardian angel who offers to be his guide. They travel to Hell to rescue the unjustly damned one by one, but salvation comes at a cost and the economy of Hell demands souls.

Is it a price Icarus is willing to pay?



Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don't take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.

Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn't really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the "u" out of words like "colour" and "neighbour" than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l's). The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.

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Taming a Jackaroo By Sidney Valentine

Author: Sidney ValentineTitle: Taming a JackarooGenre: Aussie Cowboy RomanceRelease Date: June 10, 2017Publisher: Hot Tree PublishingCover Designer: Claire Smith

 BUY LINKS Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2mU7AAD All other links: http://books2read.com/jackaroo


City girl and serial non-dater, Affrica Clarke travels to Boulia, Australia, to investigate the environmental impacts of the local mining company. Unless she proves herself and wins that promotion, she’ll lose so much more than a pay rise. Yet everything goes wrong the moment she lands in the outback. With no research equipment, only skimpy clothes packed by her best friend to help her score a date, and a tight deadline to submit her report, she’s screwed. So when a sexy cowboy offers to play chauffeur, she’s all over it. But she’s there to shut down the mining activities, not fawn over the guy who’s supporting them, no matter how sizzling the attraction between them.
Billionaire jackaroo, Sam Preston tempts fate as an adrenaline junkie, living each day as if it were his last. Angry and wounded, he’s in town to sell his cattle ranch to the local mining company and be done with his past—until he meets hapless city-chick Affrica, who has no clue about surviving in the desert. Sam doesn’t know how to stop being a daredevil even though Affrica reminds him of the happiness he once had.
Can Sam let go of the past before he loses the one person who's finally breathed new life into him, or is it not possible to truly tame a jackaroo?

 BUY LINKS Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2mU7AAD All other links: http://books2read.com/jackaroo
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Sidney Valentine is an Aussie girl who loves everything about traveling. She lives in Sydney, Australia with her husband and spends her time exploring the wild outdoors. But she always carries with her a writing pad in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. While she works in marketing during the day, she never stops writing her romance stories set in Australia as a way to rejuvenate from the bustle of the real world. She is often found at local coffee shops with her laptop, writing about people falling in love.

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