Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 323

The Shadow of Hope by Courtney Shockey

The Shadow of Hope by Courtney Shockey Series: Selene's Pass Trilogy, Book TwoGenre: Romantic Suspense
Cover Designer: Cover Me, DarlingRelease Date: April 16, 2016

The lone survivor of her family, Kayla Night yearns for companionship and a sense of belonging. She roams from town to town, looking to fill the void. When she unexpectedly finds the perfect place in Selene's Pass, she settles into a comfortable routine.

That is, until Adam Sharp knocks her off her feet. Literally.

This captivating man helps Kayla open her eyes to a new way of life. Slowly, happiness and hope flourish within her once more.

Little did Kayla know that she had already caught the eye of another man who wanted her all to himself. A man with more than pure intentions.

As strange events unfold, their paths will cross in unlikely ways. Fate will twist everything around, leaving them exposed and hopeless. But hope was never meant to be in this story. Just its shadow.






Book One: The Cover of Love

Hey there! I'm Courtney Shockey. I'm a writer with a twisted mind and an avid coffee drinker. I'm married with two children and janitor for three (and counting) fur babies. I'm a Walking Dead fan, but hate zombie movies. They're terrifying. Living on the outskirts of Houston, I work in the industrial field 40+ hours a week. Writing is done on my free time and keeps me sane! (If you read my stories, you'll know that's how I get my crazy out...)




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Kyser By Anthony Polinice

Fantasy / Sci-FiDate Published: 2/22/2016


Our world now is known as the Old Times. In the New Age, a young man comes of age, where one global sovereignty rules in a gender and class defined crumbling society, and discovers that its survival is in his hands, as he embarks on an exciting and dangerous adventure.


I lie in bed and blink my eyes open. I suffer too many sleepless nights and not enough material to tire my mind. At night, when I lie in bed, my mind tends to wander. After the usual subjects of school, work, friends, and family have been exhausted, it hungers for something more substantial. I’ve tried reading before bed, tried drinking, tried drugs, nothing helps. The doctors tell me it’s the other way around. I’m thinking too much and that’s what’s keeping my brain awake.
I blink again, trying to determine which plane of consciousness I currently inhabit, when something on the ceiling of my cubby catches my attention. It looks to be a butterfly. It’s an odd-looking thing with folded paper wings. It grows bigger, the fluttering stops and I watch in amazement as the wings unfold. Of all things, there is a message inside. “The sleeper is awake,” I read aloud. Curious thing. I ask myself, What does it mean? And, just like that, the butterfly folds back up, disappearing as mysteriously as it appeared.
A cold spreads over me, coursing through my veins, leaving a tingling in my toes and fingertips, numbing my senses. My heartbeat accelerates, a vain attempt to keep my blood from freezing, causing me to sweat a cold sweat. I’m having a ripple. I call them ripples simply because I can’t think of a better way to explain the fluctuation I experience when I transition between planes of existence. The ripple washes over me, carries me from the threshold of the present to the plateau of a vision.
I can’t explain what the visions mean or why they are coming to me. All I know is...
 I’m lying on my back in a field of freshly mown grass. I’m looking up at a star-filled sky. Jonyo is lying next to me. Jonyo passes me a joint. Here we are, just the two us blowing smoke rings and getting high. Silver streamers rise up to the sky through our rings as they go by. The moon is full and the Man in the Moon is smiling back at me.
The Man in the Moon speaks. “Thank you,” he says to me. He jangles his new jewelry, a hoop earring, for me to see.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, though I know not why.
“It’s good to have you back,” he says.
Jonyo nudges me. “Man, do you hear the music?”
I do. It’s low and far away. Off in the distance a band is playing. I stand to see where the music is coming from and find the man in the purple cape standing in front of me.
 “Where have you been?” I ask.
“I’ve been here the whole time,” the man says.
“Why have you come?”
He replies, “It is time for the sleeper to awake.”
“Why can’t I see your face?”
“In due time,” says the man before fading away.
Before he goes, I ask, “Who is the sleeper?” The question falls off into thin air, for the man in the purple cape is no longer there.
The field changes and I find myself on a stage. Jonyo is pointing to the audience. “They want you to play.”
Night has turned to day. I look out over a sea of faces. The crowd is chanting, I strain to hear, but I hear only silence. “Why can’t I hear them?” Then I remember where I saw this before...in a vision. “Wait.” I’m looking about. Images of crisp and vibrant colors, darkly outlined, like a cartoon. “Am I not in a vision right now?”
“You are.” The man in the purple cape is back. “You will hear them clearly,” he adds, as his cape ruffles in the wind. “In time.”
“Who is the sleeper?”
He’s fading away again until only his smile remains. “You are.” And, POOF the smile is gone.
My attention is drawn to a young girl in the crowd holding a pink flower. The flower hides her face. She holds the flower out to me. “Will you take my flower?”
I desperately want to see behind the flower. Exasperated I ask, “Why can’t I see your face?”
Jonyo nudges me again. “Dude, they are waiting for you to play.”
I look around the stage. Leni is on drums and Beni stands behind the mic. Scottie strums guitar. Jonyo plays his twanger, feet dangling over the edge.
“They got the old band back together,” I say, taking Juliette out, I begin to play. I’ve been neglecting her of late. My mind is filled with distractions but once I bring the harmonica to my lips, it’s as though we have never been apart.
The flower girl is on stage with me. Her hair is on fire but she does not burn. “I am the one,” she says and wraps her arms around my neck. Playfully she pulls me in and bites my lip. Our lips lock and I part mine to receive her...but she is gone, leaving only Juliette at the tip of my tongue. So I play. A sound so clear it resonates like a bell, echoing down the valley.           
The music calls forth a parade. Couples walk by holding hands. There are others, men and women running alongside, waving flags and banners; the band plays on. “We are the children,” the couples sing. Clear as day, I hear them. “Lead us, young lion. Lead us, Boy King.”
What on Earth do they mean?
People are dancing to my song. The music gets louder, more frenetic. The dancing becomes an orgy. Sex fills the air, the smell, the sound, the feel, so intense it lifts me off my feet. I’m light as a feather as I float over the crowd. I’m being drawn like moth to flame. Suddenly someone grabs my leg and pulls me back. It’s the man in the purple cape.
 “I just want a sip,” I plead with him.
“Trust me. That is not the wine you seek.” He points to the flower girl. “Your wine is over there.”
I thirst so. “When can I drink?”
“Your time will come,” he says. “And when it does the taste will never be sweeter.” He disappears again, leaving me in a thither.
“That is most annoying, “I say. Distracted, I turn around to see — the Great Father is standing before me. The Great Father reaches out to shake my hand. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you. Call me John.”
I recoil in his presence, stagger away; I lose my footing and fall off the stage, brace for impact, and expect to hit the ground hard. I find myself landing in a sand dune soft as a pillow. Brushing the sand off, I sit up. Before me is an aqua blue sea. The air is salty, gulls cry out overhead, the dune grass gently waves in the breeze; a school of fish swim by, pretty as you please, shimmering in the cartoon sun.
I turn to the Great Father. He stops me before I speak, insisting, “Please, call me John.”
I feel uncomfortable calling him by name. “It is not how I was brought up. I was told to respect...”
He holds out his hand, politely, to stop me once again, smiling as he says, “Please, it is I who should be bowing to you.”
“I don’t understand,” I start to say before noticing the beautiful mountain behind the Great Father. On the side of the mountain is a seashell. “Where am I?”
“You are back at the beginning,” John Kyser says and hands me a set of keys, three in all.
“What are these?”
“They belong to you. They are the keys to unlock the future,” John says. “They belong to the one who answers the question.”
“How is it they belong to me?” I am confused. “What question?”
The Great Fath--John disappears. The sand, the sea, and the mountain all fade away.
“Call me John.” I hear an ethereal voice say. I am sitting in front of a computer screen. There is a question on the screen. The words are blurred but the question mark is clear. Next to the question mark is a blinking cursor. My fingers hover above the keyboard and I wonder what I am supposed to type. I ask the ethereal voice, “What am I supposed to enter?”
I get a reply. “The word that means everything,” says the voice, “but has no meaning at all.”
The vision ends and my eyes flash open. Those words ring familiar and I know why. My friends and I have our own language we call kaberky, a made up word that we use when we forget the name of something, or the name doesn’t come to mind fast enough. It’s silly speak, something to keep us laughing.
The visions started about a year ago. It took a while for me to understand that the visions are of the future, my future. It’s all confusing and very frustrating.
I toss the sheets away and sit up in bed. It’s useless to try to sleep. Checking the compad on the night table, I see its only 5:10. I run fingers through my hair and use my nightshirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead.
   I get out of bed, and head to the back door. I’ve lived here my whole life. I exit onto the deck built by father in my eighth year.
The morning sky is clear but I don’t know it. The moment I take a step out the door, a thunderclap strikes me followed by a bolt of lightning. I cover my eyes to protect against the flash and in the bright light I see the butterfly message appear again. This time the paper wings are held between two hands. A raindrop falls, smearing the word, awake. I shake my head and the image vanishes. I look up expecting it to rain, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The stars are fading in the indigo light. There are no clouds, no thunder, no lightning. So what is it, then? I wonder as I lean on the rail and light a joint to clear my head.
Today is my birthday, a very important day in the Kyser Society. It’s my eighteenth birthday. I am a man today, ready to sign the Social Contract declaring which service I’m willing to join. It’s a major decision all boys my age go through. I have to choose between joining the Military or the Civil Service. It’s probably the reason behind my sleepless nights.
Based on my Martial Arts score in school, the military is the logical choice. I find that funny because I’m a pacifist at heart. The Civilian service appeals to me more, but I lack the skills to be a civil servant. Both services have their pros and both have their cons and I have all day to make up my mind.
Today is going to be the last day I wake up in dome #3 and look up at the hometown sky. It’s sad. Unlike my friends who couldn’t wait to sign up, I’m in no hurry to leave home just yet. This is the only home I’ve ever known.
I take a drag from the joint. What really makes turning eighteen so special is sex. I can legally have sex now. I can choose to wait until the next Draft where I hold a rank of 79, or I can visit a LaSalle House. To be honest, I’m about ready to burst. The LaSalle looks like a good option. No, not really—I would be foolish to throw away a 79 rank.
Being so highly ranked, I’m looking at getting an 8.5 or a 9 as a mate. If I have sex before Draft Day, I would drop so low in the rankings that I’d be grateful to end up with a 5 or 6 at best. Don’t get me wrong, 5 or 6 girls are still very attractive. I can honestly say that I have not seen one Kyser girl that isn’t attractive regardless of rank, but why settle for merely attractive when I can have near perfection? It all boils down to abstention.
If I was to join the Military, with my MA scores, I could go into the officer-training program. The minimum rank I can receive in officer training is a 9. If I was to join the Civilian service as just an ordinary woodsmith like my father, I would get no less than an 8. That’s heady stuff and definitely worth consideration.
Thinking of sex and objectifying women is something I do twenty-four hours a day. I’m eighteen, after all. Sex is everywhere. In everyday conversations, in publications and in decorations hanging on walls, there is no escaping it. I could be walking down the street and see lovers in the act. I could stand on my deck in the backyard, as I am doing now, and listen to my neighbors having sex—as they are doing now. In the yard next-door, there is a couple having sex. I think, because of the hour, it may be the gardener and his wife. I’m not sure. I could go over to see but don’t feel like getting myself riled up.
It doesn’t help to have two sexually active parents. The open-floor design of the dome I live in, with its air vents and steel grating between floors, leaves very little to the imagination. They are in the room directly above mine. As a small boy I used to try to block out their sounds by putting a pillow over my head. It didn’t work. When I first heard them together, the way mother was yelling, I thought father was hurting her. I was naïve. I wanted to run upstairs and help her. That naiveté went away the moment I started learning what the noises meant. That was during my tenth year when Sex-Ed really kicked in. That’s the year we started watching video with sound. Towards the end of the year, live instructors would come into the classroom to put on demonstrations for us. My eyes and ears were opened that year.
As I grew older, so did my curiosity. Instead of running upstairs to rescue mother, I started to peek through the grating to see what they were doing. I thought it vulgar at first, because I didn’t understand, but the more I watched the more fascinated I became.
From that moment on, I saw my parents in a different light. Mother, especially. Mother is tiny compared to father. She is 5’9” while he is 6’8”. She is a very attractive woman. I have seen her nude my whole life. Nudity is a way of life but I never put it together with sex until tenth year. Prior to that, seeing pictures of nude women was equivalent to going to Stadium Marketta with mother on her shopping days and looking at the lovely women half-dressed in House colors and never imagined them in positions or performing certain acts as portrayed by the class instructors.
I live in a world where the women are beautiful, the men, big and strong. You put those two together in an open society and the results are remarkable. The Society looks upon sex as natural as breathing. I still hear the couple next door and part of me still wants to go over and peek at the couple, but I can tell they are winding down. Funny thing, it would be perfectly normal for me if I did go over. Sex is not reviled. It’s not consigned or confined to the bedroom. To look at or watch other people having sex is not considered a perversion. In fact it is considered a compliment. Of course if I was underage it would be a different story. Children are forbidden to participate in any sexual conduct.
“Enough of that,” I say tossing away the roach and head back inside.
Back in the house, I hear the compad buzzing on my night stand. I run to get it before it stops and wonder who could be calling me at such an un-godly hour? I pick up the compad. It’s father. I scratch my head and rub the fog from my eyes. I must be reading this wrong. The icon showing father’s picture also displays the origin of the call. I have to read it again because I can’t believe what it’s telling me. He’s calling me from the store at Stadium Marketta. “It doesn’t make sense.” I scratch my head again.
Mother comes down just as I am speaking to myself. She’s wearing a silky nightshirt in House colors of green, blue, yellow and black. Still groggy from sleep, she walks passed me with one eye open. She squeezes my shoulder. “Morning,” she says. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”
“Mother, why is father calling me from the store?”
“I don’t know; try asking him.” She yawns, disappearing behind the screen to use the toilet. I stare at the compad afraid to answer it. I worry that this is a dream, and answering it will cause me to wake up in some alternate universe from which I will never come back. Mother comes out of the toilet and washes her hands at the sink. I let the call go to voice mail.
“How could he leave here without my knowing it?” I look around, trying to figure it out. How long was I outside? I look at the time. It’s only 5:25.
She sounds surprised. “He didn’t wake you?” She slips out of her nightshirt and steps under the showerhead turning the water on. She squeals as the water hits her.
It doesn’t even faze me anymore to see her in the shower. “I didn’t see him,” I reply, still scratching my head. “I’ve been up all morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep again?” She asks over the sound of the shower.
The question is irrelevant. “Why is father at the store so early?”
“He was supposed to take you,” she says, her back to me. She turns around. “Hand me the shampoo.”
When I was a kid, just learning about sex, I would not be able to stand here without showing signs of excitement, but now I have become so desensitized to it, I hardly bat an eye. I dig the shampoo out of the cabinet beside the shower and watch as she lathers up. I’m not sure how to read her right now.
“Why would he take me? Today is my holiday—my birthday. He knows I have the day off.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” she says and rinses her hair, wringing out the excess before turning off the water. “Hand me a towel.”
How can she be so ambivalent? This is really bothering me. Something is wrong and she is acting as if it isn’t. I fetch a towel from the same cabinet and hand it to her. “It’s not for work,” she says and proceeds to wrap the towel around her head. She steps out of the shower onto the drying screen. It’s pointless trying to talk to her now; she will not hear me over the dryer. The grate activates once both her feet step on it. Hot air bursts from vents in the floor and ceiling to dry her off instantly, except for her hair. The towel protects it. When she is finished, she goes into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
I waited patiently for her attention. “Then why does he need me at the store?”
“I’ll let him explain,” she says and points to the buzzing compad in my hands. “Why don’t you answer it and ask him?” She asks and bends down to take out the coffee pot.
I answer the call, while watching mother fill the coffee pot with water. “Hello.”
“There you are, son.” Father’s image appears on screen. He looks worried. “I looked for you.” He sees behind me. “You’re still home?”
“I was on the deck out back,” I say. “How did you leave without me knowing?”
“You mentioned last night that you might go for a bike ride in the morning, so I just assumed that’s where you were.”
I remember mentioning that I might go for a bike ride in the morning. I didn’t mean this early. “What’s going on, father?”
“I have a very important meeting and I need you to come to the store right away. I’ll explain when you get here.”
Every birthday is a mandatory holiday in the Society. That means no work or school. “Today is my day off.  What do you need me for?” I didn’t want to spend one iota of the day in or near the store. Meanwhile, I watch mother busy around the kitchen, readying breakfast, while pretending she isn’t listening.
“Come to the store and I’ll explain. I promise it won’t ruin your day.”
Mother raises her eyebrows, which tells me she knows something. It doesn’t matter. I can’t refuse my father. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” I hang up, and ask mother, “Is this some surprise you guys have cooked up for my birthday?” I try to probe her mind, but she has learned to block me out.
My compad buzzes again. It’s Regan, my life-coach.
She’s in a good mood. “Hello Anthony.” The icon tells me she is calling from her house. No location, just house. I open the icon so her face fills the screen. Regan is in her mid-twenties. I venture to guess she was an 8 during her Draft. She works for the Census Bureau in their Central Monitoring division. She is dressed in CB gray which isn’t flattering. “You’re up early this morning.”
I wonder if she is in on it. “Yes, I am,” I say, feeling grumpy. “I didn’t sleep last night.  And now, apparently, I have to work today.”
“Not today,” she frowns. “Today is your birthday.” She doesn’t even comment on the sleeping problem.
 “Father doesn’t think so.”
Regan sees mother in the background and gives her a shout out, “Hello, Eliza.”
Mother answers, “Hi, Regan.” Mother is hovering. Very strange, I thought.                                                          
Regan keeps talking. “I’m sure your day will not be ruined. I have your schedule right here.” She pulls up the calendar. “You have plenty of free time this morning. I’ll update it with this new development.”
I don’t want my schedule updated. To argue is childish. “Thank you, Regan.” I sit at the table. Mother puts a plate of eggs, and a cup of coffee in front of me, then kisses the top of my head.
Regan goes through the daily briefing starting with the weather. “Showers in the south valley, sunny in the north with temperatures in Meadowbrook reaching a high of eighty-two.”
She finishes the news. I can see there is something on her mind that she is dying to ask before continuing, “What is it?”
Regan is supposed to act stoically, professionally with no emotion; conduct dictated by the Census Bureau that Regan and I dispensed with years ago. Regan is more like a big sister to me. “Have you made a decision yet?”
I look over my shoulder to see mother has moved a little closer. I play it coy with a nod in her direction. “I have until midnight to declare.”
Mother slouches away. “Ugh!”
I laugh as she walks away. “I intend to enjoy every minute,” I say.
“So I take it that means no,” Regan says sarcastically, the way a big sister would say it. In reality, I don’t know firsthand what it’s like to have a big sister. I’m an only child. The only way I do know anything about how sisters treat their brothers is through Jonyo and his two sisters.
“I’ll tell you,” I snark back, “when someone tells me what’s going on.”
Reagan shrugs and continues with her morning brief.
I drink my coffee and listen. When she is done, I get up from the table and wash my face. I look around the room at the eight empty cubbies where the other children of a C4 House would sleep. When I was young, I asked so many questions as to why I was the only child. Those questions were avoided. Now I don’t even bother to ask. I go to my cubby and dress for the day.
I am going to ride my bike to the store; I am permitted to wear shorts when I ride. I put on a yellow and black t-shirt and blue and green biker shorts, tossing a kilt of the same colors along with the compad in my kit bag. Mother walks by on her way upstairs, carrying nightshirt and towel in one hand and mug of coffee in the other. “I have to get ready for the day.” She kisses my cheek and continues on the way. “Love you, son. Happy Birthday.”
I remind her, “Don’t forget, we have a lunch date.”
She doesn’t respond, just continues on her way, humming as she goes up the ramp. She’s acting very peculiar...




About the Author

Kyser is Anthony Polinice's debut novel, first of a trilogy; Book II of Kyser will be available in Fall 2017; Polinice is a Network Engineer, and resides on Long Island with his wife, Lori and their two daughters, Madison and Taylor.

Purchase Links
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
iUniverse

A Musician's Tale : A Rock & Roll Saved My Soul Anthology

A Musician's TalePublisher: Rock & Roll Saved My Soul (March 20, 2016)Publication Date: March 20, 2016  
An artist's life is never easy. From the very beginning, they're face with struggles of criticism and self-doubt, making the lifestyle difficult. But from the ashes, they will rise.
Despite all the negative they face, they use it to their advantage, using it to fuel their artistic side. We use music to escape. So do those who write or play music, creating the sounds we love the most.A Musician's Tale - Telling their stories.
Rock & Roll Saved My Soul publishes anthologies in which all proceeds goes to different charities. They are looking for submissions for several different anthologies right now, so feel free to head over to the Facebook page and go to the Submissions Call album if you’re interested in helping them out by writing a story. They’ve published ones about domestic violence, bullying, rescuing animals, helping others out, and music saving lives so far. They’ll also publish books or short stories as long as all proceeds goes to charity.


Rock & Roll Saved My Soul Volume One:
US: http://goo.gl/wEf7b1
 | UK: http://goo.gl/A8G1oS
Rock & Roll Saved My Soul Volume Two:
US: http://goo.gl/fbC3T1
 | UK: http://goo.gl/GuOAXI
The Concert Experience: US: http://goo.gl/7CnaCD | 
UK: http://goo.gl/3mHtgiDark Fantasia:US: http://goo.gl/XjgZjO | 
UK: http://goo.gl/GfG0l6
Random Acts of Kindness:US: http://www.amazon.com/Random-Acts-Kindness-Saved-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00KXFTQIYUK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Random-Acts-Kindness-Saved-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00KXFTQIY
Fighting Chance:US: http://www.amazon.com/Fighting-Chance-Kate-Marie-Robbins-ebook/dp/B015LDXETEUK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fighting-Chance-Kate-Marie-Robbins-ebook/dp/B015LDXETE
Rescue Me: Stories of Hope:US: http://www.amazon.com/Rescue-Me-Stories-Renee-Jean-ebook/dp/B00OY9AEA4UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rescue-Me-Stories-Renee-Jean-ebook/dp/B00OY9AEA4
Authors Against Bullying Volume One:US: http://www.amazon.com/Authors-Against-Bullying-Bree-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B00O2BTXPQUK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Authors-Against-Bullying-Bree-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B00O2BTXPQ
Authors Against Bullying Volume Two:US: http://www.amazon.com/Authors-Against-Bullying-Bree-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B0106TCO2QUK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Authors-Against-Bullying-Bree-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B0106TCO2Q

Books Rock & Roll Saved My Soul has published:
Behind Closed Doors:US: http://www.amazon.com/Behind-Closed-Doors-Marie-Robbins-ebook/dp/B015JRFTSQ UK:http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebooks-Behind-Closed-Doors-Marie-Robbins-ebook/dp/B015JRFTSQ
Finding Rachel:US: http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Rachel-Brianna-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B015LEKCGG
UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Finding-Rachel-Brianna-Vanderland-ebook/dp/B015LEKCGG

Social Media:
Rock & Roll Saved My Soul: https://www.facebook.com/rockandrollsavedmysoul
Authors Against Bullying: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorsTakeAStand
Charity Book SeriesRescue Me: https://www.facebook.com/Rescue-Me-Animal-Anthology-1382765645296256?hc_location=ufi
Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/rockandrollsavedmysoulTwitter: https://twitter.com/rocknrollsavedmTumblr: http://rrsms-charity.tumblr.com/Instagram: https://instagram.com/rockandrollsavedmeLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/rock-and-roll-saved-my-soul-945603114Newsletter:http://wix.us3.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=b88d7500ba6b245b4aa4e8016&id=4ba050792bWebsite: http://novakfan21.wix.com/rockandrollsavedBlog: http://rockandrollsavedmysoul2014.blogspot.com/

Maddox Files: Back to Business by R. J. Davies Mornix

Maddox Files: Back to Businessby R. J. Davies MornixSeries: Maddox FilesGenre: Fantasy, Horror & Science Fiction
 
Dice Maddox was once a great private investigator. As fate would have it, her partner died in a car accident. Dice ended up in a dead-end job with a cheating fiancé. She has had enough and would like to reclaim her old life or a piece of her old life. The problem is going back to work as a private investigator; she is facing many unforeseeable challenges. She wonders if she can do this kind of work again. Then Ryan Winters walks into her office; she isn’t sure if he is crazy or sane, but he needs her help. After a recent car accident, he finds himself married to a gorgeous woman he has never met before. She’s hiding something. The closer Dice looks into the case, the more she finds herself wondering whether the woman is a demon or an alien. What has she gotten herself into? 
An unseen battle was happening in the universe. It's a power struggle between good and evil. She chuckled at the thought. As the battle wore on, the lines between the two were getting blurred. Good was mucking up things and getting their hands dirty in the process ... real dirty. They no longer could hold their heads high and look down their noses at her kind.
It was becoming more of a battle between those with good intentions and evil ... at the end of the day, was there any difference? There was none that she could see. Yet, as a dutiful warrior she would trudge on for her team. Earth was another playground where its occupants were merely pawns in this drawn out struggle. Back on Earth, she inhaled deeply. Smelling them ... the humans everywhere, it was like a childhood memory. She had some good times here.
Power ... control ... these were the weapons of choice for her side. The tug-of-war raged on. Sitting in human form in a small cafe ... she mused as she kept a watchful eye on him sitting across the room from her. They sat in the same small restaurant.
Her target ... Mr. Ryan Winters, young, strong, handsome ... but more importantly brilliant. Catching him now before he became successful was a power play move that would pay off in the long run. Fragile ... the whole lot of them ... including Mr. Winters. She felt comparable to the wolf hidden amongst the flock of sheep in sheep's clothing ... mingling with them, smiling at them ... all the while plotting and planning against them.
On the outside, she appeared to be a very attractive female, and this time around she would go by the name of Lily Winters.
She spied her prize sheep across the room. He was keeping a watchful eye on a table where two young ladies were seated and deep in conversation. They hadn't noticed him. He sat alone, reading or pretending to read a book. The woman that captured his attention appeared attractive, average height, fit ... and her dark hair had the ends tipped blue. He waited until her friend got up and left, then approached her. He said something ... she laughed, then got up and left.
It was a wise move. Lily Winters was not going to let her sheep stray too far. No, no, no, she had plans for this one. A delicious grin spread across her red lips as she watched Mr. Winters pay his bill and head back to his office like the good little sheep he was. She mused at the thought of her delicious plans for him.
    Balboa Press | Indigo/Chapters R. J. Davies Mornix dreamed of being a published author since she was eight years old. She has always been a fan of science fiction and fantasy. She grew up in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, had lived in Toronto for a few years, where she met her husband, Dave Mornix, who has been her biggest fan and supporter. She now lives back in Sault Ste. Marie with her husband, two sons, Davey and Denziel (the Best), and their two cats, writing plots, conversations, and scenes in ratty notebooks, napkins, and slips of torn-up, coffee-stained envelopes. When asked why she writes, her answer is, "It's a need, really, like breathing ... I have to do it." 

Weave a Murderous Web by Ken & Anne Hicks

WEAVE A MURDEROUS WEB
by

Anne Rothman-Hicks & Ken Hicks

GENRE: Mystery


No good deed goes unpunished. Mark Samuels, a somewhat seedy matrimonial lawyer, is dead from an overdose of suspiciously pure cocaine. Jane Larson, a hotshot litigator for a large law firm in New York City, is sucked into the world of divorce and child support when her friend Francine asks her to help out one of Mark’s clients. Jane quickly learns that the case is a complete loser and that her new client, Gail, is a demanding and unscrupulous prima donna. However, through some skillful legal work and a tip-off from a mysterious informant, Jane uncovers a safe deposit box where the deadbeat husband has been hiding a large chunk of cash. She also attracts the attention of a fellow lawyer (Bryan) who is handsome and successful and an excellent protector from the threats to her life that suddenly start popping up with alarming frequency, along with murders of people related to the case—among them the deadbeat dad and an undercover cop. It soon becomes apparent that Jane's discovery of the cash has only started to unravel a web of lies, drugs, and criminal activity. Ultimately, she is involved in a race to recover a suitcase of money that Jane hopes will help police catch the murderer before she becomes the next victim.


I opened a drawer and pulled out a legal pad to record the names of mother and daughter.

“There’s just one thing maybe you should know,” Francine said.

My pencil poised in midair, and then wrote “one thing” with an exclamation point. I still have that piece of paper in the top drawer of my desk.

“Yes?”

“Well, Carmen Ruiz has kind of taken an interest in this because of the women’s rights angle and what happened to Mark and all.”

“Carmen Ruiz? Last time I heard of her, she was spending time at a fat farm.”

This was code. Everyone knew that the ‘fat farm,’ as I had injudiciously put it, was also a place where people could lose other bad habits, such as drugs.

Francine winced again and swallowed hard. “That’s unkind, Jane.”

Chalk one up for the meek.

“You’re right, Francine. How is Carmen doing?”

“She’s got a new gig on cable. One of the local news stations.”

I nodded. I was safe from unkind remarks if I kept my mouth shut. At one time the cognoscenti had called Carmen the “female Wolf Blitzer” because she had enjoyed asking the hard questions, especially of men who were not used to being pushed around. The fact that she had the flashing good looks of a gypsy queen didn’t hurt, but now she was scuffling on cable news.

“She said she called you a couple of times.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.”

I was on the verge of getting back the advantage, never easy in a conversation with humanitarian types like Francine, especially if your mother always places such types on a pedestal, a very high pedestal.

Martha has not been affiliated with any organized religion since her mind began to function at age eleven. Still, she shares Jesus’ distrust of wealth and is fond of quoting both his advice to sell all you have and give it to the poor and his adage that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.

“You don’t even believe in Jesus,” I argue.

“I don’t have to believe in Jesus as God to know he’s telling the truth,” she retorts.

When I had accepted the job at Adams & Ridge, Carmen had had some unkind things to say to mutual friends about my going for the gold. Her whole premise that Martha’s goodness had gotten lost in one generation to my grabbiness had cut a bit too close to the bone. I hadn’t forgotten.

“Carmen’s working on a series about children and the courts,” Francine said. “Kids falling into poverty are a very big problem.”

“I’m aware of the problem, Francine. I’ll skip over the question of what has made Carmen give a good hoot in hell about children all of a sudden. What does any of this have to do with that coke-head Mark?”

“Oh, nothing much. Nothing at all really.”

She was hedging, worried that the prospect of helping Carmen might have made me shut the whole thing down before it ever began.

“Go on, Francine.”

“It’s just... she knew Mark fairly well and doesn’t think his death was accidental. She says Mark did drugs too much to do something that stupid.”

“So she thinks he did it on purpose? Is that it? He committed suicide over the predicament of his client and child?”

“Not exactly,” Francine said.

In hindsight I can see clearly how nonchalant she wanted to seem, playing with the gold locket and dropping it inside her sweater, glancing in the direction of the window as if a pretty bird had alighted there.

“Carmen thinks Mark was murdered.”



A fast paced legal thriller.

Jane Larson takes on a divorce case at the request of a friend. She quickly discovers it is not only her client who is after her husband's assets and others are prepared to kill for them. With bodies dropping like flies around her, her own life is in danger as is the reputation of an ex-lover as she races against the police and an unknown killer to uncover the truth.

I've only visited New York once but this book brings to life the inhabitants along with the sights and sounds of the city exactly as I remember them. Jane Larson is a likeable if sometimes brash and prickly character who I could relate to. Suspense and intrigue builds but never at the expense of realism and the story and all the characters that play a part are totally believable.

Great read. By Maria on March 22, 2016


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Anne Rothman-Hicks and Kenneth Hicks first started writing books together while Anne was a student at Bryn Mawr College and Ken was a student at Haverford College— a long time ago, when, as their children like to say, dinosaurs roamed the earth.

In 1973, they came to New York City while Ken attended law school at Columbia University and Anne worked as an editor in publishing. They have lived here ever since and do not intend to leave voluntarily.

They wrote their first novel together in 1976, hoping that it would be a success and Ken would not have to even start working as a lawyer. Alas, that book is still in on the upper shelf of their closet, but they kept at the writing business. In 1984, they published Theft of the Shroud, a novel, through Banbury books, distributed by Putnam. That same year they also published a series of 10 books based on the most popular names for boys and girls, as well as a book about the stars for children. Following these successes, Ken quit law for two years as he and Anne devoted themselves fulltime to writing and their children. However, children need to eat and be clothed and go to school, and these things all cost money, so Ken resumed the practice of law. Still, they continued to write, and rewrite, and rewrite some more.

Prior to the publication of Weave A Murderous Web, Ken and Anne wrote Praise Her, Praise Diana, (Adult thriller) Melange Books LLC, 2014, Kate and the Kid, (Adult mainstream) Wings ePress 2013, and Things Are Not What They Seem (Tween fantasy) MuseItUp Publishing 2014. Anne and Ken have also self-published two small-format photography books, which are available on the Apple iBookstore – Hearts (no flowers) Signs of Love in the Gritty City and Picture Stones.

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Polar Reaction by Claire Thompson

Title: Polar Reaction
Author: Claire Thompson
Release Date: April 8, 2016
Genre: M/M/M Romance

A passion hot enough to melt a glacier. A love that shakes them to the core.

The savage Antarctic winter is closing in, and three research scientists are scheduled for the last flight out until an unexpected blizzard traps all three of them in the compound. There’s Tuck, who only joined the project to be close to sexy-but-straight Brendan, the man of his dreams. And Jamie, who has always admired the other two from afar.

Thrown into a dangerous situation, the three of them turn to each other for survival, solace and more. As Brendan overcomes his confusion over his impulses, the trio begin a sexual exploration that explodes into passion and unbridled lust.

Yet once the rescue helicopter airlifts them to safety, Brendan comes to his senses, returning home to his carefully constructed, closeted life. But there’s a Brendan-shaped hole left behind in Tuck s and Jamie s hearts. There’s only one way to fill it by breaking through Brendan s reserve to reclaim the man they both love."
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Goodreads Book Giveaway Polar Reaction by Claire Thompson Giveaway ends April 17, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway

Excerpt
Brendan stepped out of the bathroom just as they turned to enter. He was fully dressed, not that this surprised Jamie. Brendan smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, which was dark gold when wet.Jamie hooked his thumbs into his back pockets, aware this dragged his jeans down enough to reveal most of the snake tattoo. He stared at Brendan, daring him to notice. Brendan’s gaze swept over both men’s bare chests and he caught his lower lip in his teeth.“We wondered if you were ever coming out.” Tuck’s voice was teasing. “Looks like you’re all dressed up and no place to go.” Tuck sidled closer to Brendan and tugged at the top button of his outer shirt. “We turned on both heaters. You won’t need all these layers.”Brendan stood stiffly, allowing Tuck to unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders. If Tuck was aware of Brendan’s discomfiture, he gave no sign. “Let’s watch a movie. We can use your laptop.”They walked into the sleeping quarters. Having something to do seemed to ease Brendan’s anxiety. He went to the laptop and flipped open the lid. “I should check the weather too.” He sat down and began to type. His brow furrowed and he frowned. “Fuck.” His voice was quiet, but Jamie heard the anguish in it and glanced up sharply.Brendan looked from him to Tuck with a pained expression. “We lost it again. The satellite connection.” They were all silent. What was there to say? Jamie took a deep breath and exhaled. He was done panicking over the situation.When he’d cried, something he hadn’t done in years, it had somehow cleansed him, not only of his sorrows, but of his fears. Whatever was going to happen, he wouldn’t change it one iota by flipping out. What Tuck said was true, this was all they had. Today, this moment, this life, this was it. No dress rehearsal, no do overs.He looked from blond, sexy Brendan to dark, handsome Tuck and smiled, surprised that his calm wasn’t forced. He shrugged. “We know they’re monitoring the situation. They aren’t going to forget about us. It’s not like they could get through now anyway. We might as well relax and enjoy the time we have together, right?”Tuck’s expression eased, the worried pucker between his eyebrows smoothing. “You’re right, Jamie. Where’s that Southern Comfort, anyway? It’s kind of growing on me.” He turned to Brendan. “What DVDs do we have that we haven’t already watched six hundred times?”“Steve had the big collection.” Brendan paused, pursing his lips. “I actually have a few old movies you might like.” He moved toward his cot and opened his footlocker, rummaging through piles of rumpled clothing. He held up a DVD case. “How about this? A classic.”“What is it?” Tuck asked.“Lawrence of Arabia.”Tuck raised his eyebrows. “With Peter O’Toole?”“Yep.”“That’s a great movie.”Jamie, not familiar with the movie and barely aware of who Peter O’Toole was, perked up. “Who, Lawrence of Arabia or Peter O’Toole?”Tuck laughed. “Lawrence, though O’Toole was awfully convincing…” Jamie found himself more interested in the movie.Brendan popped the DVD into the laptop and turned it toward the sofa, their usual spot for watching movies. Tuck touched his bandage and made a face. “I think I should probably lie down, don’t you? Why don’t we set up the laptop so we can see it from my cot? We can keep this double bed setup.”“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Brendan shifted the card table so it was facing the cots, while Tuck winked at Jamie, who grinned. The situation was funny in a way, the two of them plotting to seduce the straight guy, everyone tiptoeing around what they knew was going to happen.Jamie still held himself back. He wasn’t going to push himself between those two, but he wouldn’t be a jerk either, playing hard to get. He’d just go with the flow and see where it took him. He busied himself with pouring portions of the sweet, strong liquor into the juice glasses. Tuck, meanwhile, rearranged the pillows so they were resting against the wall.The three of them settled in, leaning back against the pillows, their drinks in hand. By unspoken agreement, Jamie and Tuck lay on either side of Brendan. They watched the movie awhile, sipping their drinks. After their second round, they set their glasses aside and focused on the film, which so far, to Jamie’s surprise, was pretty good for something made forty-five years before.“Hey, ” Jamie observed. “That O’Toole guy actually looks like you, Brendan.”“You think so?” Brendan shrugged.“He does look like you.” Tuck turned from the screen to examine Brendan’s features. “It’s your wavy hair. And also the sensual mouth and the strong jaw line.” He ran a finger along Brendan’s jaw. Jamie watched, fascinated, as Brendan actually shivered to Tuck’s touch.Jamie scooted closer so his leg was touching Brendan’s. He dared to drop his hand to Brendan’s thigh. Brendan turned toward him, his gaze moving from Jamie’s hand to his face. Tuck’s hand appeared on Brendan’s other thigh. Brendan’s head whipped in his direction.Tuck’s voice was soothing. “Relax, Bren. We aren’t going to eat you. We just want to touch you. To explore a little. That’s okay, isn’t it? We all agree we want this, right?”“Yeah.” Brendan’s voice was soft. He allowed Tuck to push at his shoulder until he was lying flat between them. On the screen, Lawrence appeared over the top of a huge simmering sand dune, his white robe whipping in the wind, but Jamie stopped even pretending to pay attention.
He slid down beside Brendan, moving his hand along Brendan’s thigh to his crotch. Boldly, he cupped the inviting bulge, delighted to feel it harden beneath his fingers. He met Tuck’s eye and they smiled complicity. However nervous Brendan was, he wanted this.



About The Author
Claire Thompson is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has been writing for nearly two decades, and has published over 60 novels. She writes BDSM romance and non-con abduction tales, spanning both m/f and m/m genres.
Her love affair is with all things D/s (Dominance/submission). Her work began as a romantic exploration of the BDSM life style, and then veered somewhat to the darker side of fantasy. She loves delving into the dark psyche of a twisted mind, and gaining insight into what might motivate such a person to do what they do. She does not create all black and white villains and heroes, but rather strives to develop real, complex and flawed human beings.
Claire doesn't want to simply provide an erotic thrill or evocative description. She seeks not only to tell a story, but to come to grips with, and ultimately exalt in the true beauty and spirituality of a loving exchange of power. Her darker works press the envelope of what is erotic and what can be a sometimes dangerous slide into the world of sadomasochism. Ultimately her work deals with the human condition, and our constant search for love and intensity of experience.  
Connect with ClaireWebsite - Facebook - Twitter - Newsletter - Romance Unbound
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BERTIE by Shanna Hatfield

Bertie by Shanna Hatfield Series: Pendelton Petticoats, #6Genre: Sweet Historical Western RomanceRelease Date: April 7, 2016


Dust off your dancing shoes and choose your formal attire for the Petticoat Ball Party on Facebook April 7, 2016 from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.(Pacific Time) Giveaways, games, and guest authors will make for a fun and memorable event as we celebrate the release of Bertie!Here is the link to the party: https://www.facebook.com/events/423018991216234/
Invite your friends to the second annual Petticoat Ball, and you could win a $25 Amazon Gift card. Just join the event, click on the "invite" button, invite your friends, then post how many you invited in the comments of this post: https://www.facebook.com/events/423018991216234/permalink/451482635036536/ One randomly drawn person will win, but you get additional entries for every 50 people you invite!Also, ask your friends who join the party to share that you invited them in the comments in the post. Each friend who mentions your name, earns you another entry in the contest!Winner will be announced prior to the start of the party April 7!

She needs an adventure -
     He needs the warmth of her smile…

Bertie Hawkins survived a traumatic ordeal that stripped away her sunny outlook on life and left her afraid of every shadow. Terrorized and tired of reliving the past, she accepts an offer to change her situation. Although she only intends to work through the summer, the peace she finds at Nash’s Folly keeps her there every bit as much as her interest in a mysterious new ranch hand.

Desperate to escape his memories, Riley Walsh buys a run-down farm in Pendleton, Oregon. To pay for the many necessary repairs, he goes to work for his neighbor, never intending to fall in love with the effervescent girl who helps around the house.

Riley isn’t the only one enchanted with Bertie. His own crazy mule and the neighbor’s son both share his infatuation, driving him past the brink of jealousy.

A sweet romance that embraces the trials and triumphs of yesteryear, Bertie blends laugh-out-loud adventures with heartwarming moments.




Involved in the unfolding story, she didn’t hear anyone approach until a warm hand caressed her bare foot.

Yanking her foot up, she gazed down into Riley’s face. The fiery look in his eyes made heat pool in her belly and her mouth go dry.

“I’ve seen a lot of birds perched in trees, but never one so lovely.”

Bertie’s cheeks flushed at his compliment. “You’ve suffered a heat stroke, Riley Walsh. Apparently, you’ve lost the ability to see properly, otherwise you’d know I’m a wilted mess.”

To emphasize her point, Bertie pushed at the damp curls that had fallen around her face hours ago. Her dress was limp and she felt about as fresh as a wrung-out dishrag.

“I can see just fine, Roberta Elizabeth.”

Much to her surprise, Riley grabbed hold of the limb and swung himself up into the tree, sitting in front of her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Reading.”

“I can see that.” Riley grinned and tapped the book with his finger. “I meant why did you come out here to read? You could do that at the house.”

“It’s miserably hot in the house and Aundy decided I needed a break. I’ve discovered arguing with her does no good at all, so I took the book she handed me and came out here.”

Bertie tried to adjust her skirts to hide her bare legs but Riley held the hem, keeping her from moving. “Riley…”

“If you’re trying to cover up those pretty ankles, you might as well not bother. I’ve already seen them. Enjoy the breeze while you can. I don’t know how you women survive on days like today, fastened into layers of petticoats with stockings and drawers and corsets and…”

Bertie leaned forward and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Riley! You shouldn’t speak of such things. It’s improper.”

He shrugged and kissed her hand, holding it in his instead of releasing it. “Never understood why it’s so improper to talk about what you wear. Why, didn’t I see a lacy pink…”



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The first book in the Pendleton Petticoat Series will be available for FREE digital downloads April 6-10.
AundyPendleton Petticoats Series, Book #1 One stubborn mail-order bride finds the courage to carry on when she's widowed before ever truly becoming a wife, but opening her heart to love again may be more than she can bear.http://amzn.to/1U2hHx4

USA Today bestselling author Shanna Hatfield writes character-driven romances with relatable heroes and heroines. Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

Convinced everyone deserves a happy ending, this hopeless romantic is out to make it happen, one story at a time. When she isn’t writing or indulging in chocolate (dark and decadent, please), Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller.


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Click here to enter the giveaway to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card and other assorted prizes!

From The Ashes (Force of Nature #1) by Amber Lynn Natusch

[image error] Piper Jones can't catch a break. After a lifetime of animosity and indifference from the supernatural community, she thought she'd finally found a home with the vampire king’s enforcers. Then the dark and mysterious Merc walks into her life, and it takes a disastrous turn for the worse. Now under attack by enemies both known and unknown, Piper has little choice but to flee her refuge—and start over in a place few vampires ever go. Rural Alaska seemed to fit the bill, except for Knox and his crew of werewolves. The pack shares a connection with Piper that few of them can explain, and none of them can escape. With time running out for answers, Piper must fight the demons of her past to ensure her future—or die trying. A NEW SERIES FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR AMBER LYNN NATUSCH!   RELEASED TODAY! KEEP READING TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE BOOK!    About Amber Lynn Natusch Amber Lynn Natusch is the author of the bestselling Caged, as well as the Light and Shadow series with Shannon Morton. She was born and raised in Winnipeg, and speaks sarcasm fluently because of her Canadian roots. She loves to dance and sing in her kitchen—much to the detriment of those near her—but spends most of her time running a practice with her husband, raising two small children, and attempting to write when she can lock herself in the bathroom for ten minutes of peace and quiet. She has many hidden talents, most of which should not be mentioned but include putting her foot in her mouth, acting inappropriately when nervous, swearing like a sailor when provoked, and not listening when she should. She’s obsessed with home renovation shows, should never be caffeinated, and loves snow. Amber has a deep seeded fear of clowns and deep water…especially clowns swimming in deep water. To learn more about Amber and her books, visit www.amberlynnnatusch.com. Author Links  Subscribe to Amber’s Newsletter

Finders Keepers by JJ DiBenedetto

FINDERS KEEPERSBook 1 of A Jane Barnaby Adventure series
by

JJ DiBenedetto
GENRE: Action/Adventure





It should have been a simple job. All archaeology student Jane Barnaby had to do was pick up a box her professor needed and deliver it to him at his dig site, along with his new car. Yes, his office was in Oxfordshire, and his dig site was in Spain, a trip of 1,400 miles across three countries and two bodies of water. Still, it should have been simple.

And it was, until Jane discovered she picked up the wrong box by mistake. Not the one with boring pottery samples, but instead the one with priceless ancient Egyptian artifacts. The one that a team of international art thieves is after.

Now she’s chasing – and being chased by – the thieves. And she’s picked up a pair of passengers who claim they can help her outwit them, get her professor’s pottery back and return the artifacts to their rightful owner. If only she could figure out which one of them is working with the thieves and which one she can trust in this high-stakes game of finders keepers.



According to Dr. Welldon, the trip from Oxfordshire to Dover should take two hours, two and a half at the outside. Being careful, Jane had built in extra time. Her intention had been to leave by ten AM and give herself four hours to reach the port, and then an hour to buy her ticket and figure out how to get the car aboard the boat. But that was already shot to hell; she didn’t start until eleven thirty, and she’d lost nearly an hour missing the ramp onto the M40. She couldn’t afford to fall further behind, and that meant she couldn’t miss Exit 1A.

Unfortunately, Jane was so busy thinking about how off schedule she’d gotten that she missed several signs indicating the approach of the exit. The first sign she actually saw told her that it was 250 feet away. And it was a right-hand exit. She was four lanes over to the left. Jane took a deep breath, muttered to herself, “Oh, God, I am an idiot!” and proceeded to cut off a taxi, a tour bus and what looked like a brand-new black Mercedes.

Jane only had a momentary glimpse into the Mercedes, but she was pretty sure that she saw a Styrofoam cup fly out of the driver’s hand and shower him with coffee. She felt guilty, but only for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her brain to register the other Mercedes – the one directly in front of her.



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J.J. (James) Dibenedetto's fans would swear he's got a sixth sense when it comes to seeing into the minds of others and often wonder if his stories could possibly be fiction. He enjoys suspending disbelief with suspenseful paranormal tales that are a perfect blend of reality meets fantasy.

His popular Dream Series continues to delight readers with each and every exciting installment.

Born in Yonkers, New York, he currently resides in Arlington Virginia with his beautiful wife and a cat he is sure has taken full advantage of its nine lives. When it comes to the cat, he often wonders, but then again it might just be his imagination.

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Punishing Me by Cat Mason

Punishing Me, Shaft On Tour, Book 6By Cat Mason  Release Date: April 2, 2016

The second in command of security for the band may go by Mack now, but all Ireland sees is the boy who used her and left her broken hearted when they were just seventeen years old. Could this be her chance at revenge after all these years, or will it cause old feelings to rise to the surface and cost more than she is prepared to give?
Mack has been the number two and the butt of most jokes for as long as he can remember. When he is suddenly thrust into the top dog position he is determined to prove he has what it takes to run the security team during the last leg of the tour.
The only thing he didn’t count on was Ireland Tyler.

The wild and crazy bassist is far from the sweet and naïve girl he met all those years ago and it has him wondering how well he really knew her at all. Will Mack be able to resist her and do his job, or will he be consumed by the flames and be the one left wanting more this time?Buy The Book Buy Punishing Me Other Books In The Series AMAZONAMAZONAMAZONAMAZONAMAZONAbout The Author    Cat Mason is a thirty year old, married mother of three. When she isn't writing; she is spending time with her kiddos or reading. She was born and raised outside of St. Louis, Missouri, just over the Mississippi River in Granite City, Illinois. Cat writes romance of all kinds with twists of humor.
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