Enter an unsettling world of volatile relationships, hot bikers, and even hotter sex that will have you on the edge of your seat and force you to keep a white-knuckled grip on your e-reader.
“Yeah.” Tank intervenes by knocking Louis’ arm away when he tries to hand me a menu.
I glare at the obnoxious arse. “I don’t get to decide what I want?”
“Nope.” He smirks, and it’s quite possibly the millionth one I’ve seen today. “I know exactly what you want. You just need to trust me.”
“Okay then,” Louis says. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” I practically shout. “The strongest you have.”
Tank shakes his head. “Get her a latté.”
I swear if looks could kill, Tank would be burnt to a char right about now. No one takes my coffee from me and lives to tell about it.
“Your system doesn’t need any more stimulation.”
“It’s caffeine, Tank, not cocaine,” I argue. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs, and Louis glances nervously between us again. He looks as though he wants to flee. Tank has that effect on a lot of people. Then again, it could be the fact that I just admitted to being a junkie and at any second he’s expecting me to break out my stash and start snorting lines off of his fancy table. Louis says, “Okay, so latté it is then.”
“No, I want—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but your man is too scary to say no to.” He backs away from the table, shouting, “But don’t you worry, it’ll be the best latté you’ve ever tasted. You just sit tight.”
“He’s not my fucking man,” I shout back, drawing the attention of every patron in the room, which is really only two other people, not including Louis and Kerri. I look around sheepishly and then wrap my arms around myself, turning my attention back to Tank. “Stop fucking smirking, you arsehole, or I’m walking.”
“Try it and see how far you get, Warrior Princess.”
“I’m betting I’d at least get halfway down the street before you caught up to me.”
“You wanna test that theory?” He challenges with a grin, though his gaze warms me head to toe with its intensity. “My money says you’ll make it to the door before I drag you back to the table, put you over my fuckin’ knee and spank your arse ’til it’s red raw.”
I let out a deep, shaking breath and lick my lips. Jesus Christ do I want that. I want it so fucking bad. My nipples turn rock hard and Tank’s gaze drops to my black singlet. I’m suddenly hot, wet, and hyper aware of his lingering gaze. This man is going to be the death of me.
Her dark romance, KICK (Savage Saints MC #1), won Best Dark Romance Read in the Reader’s Choice Awards at RWDU 2015.
A tattoo enthusiast, hardcore MAC addict and zombie fangirl, Carmen lives on the sunny north coast of New South Wales, Australia, where she spends her time indoors wrangling her two wildling children, a dog named Pikelet, and her very own man-child.
A romantic at heart, Carmen strives to give her characters the HEA they deserve, but not before ruining their lives completely first … because what’s a happily ever after without a little torture?
Published titles to date:
KICK (Savage Saints MC #1)
Sebastian Vaughn has a secret.
Lorelei Lansford is the epitome of perfection.
Warning: This is a story about pain and retribution. It does not have a happy ending. There is strong language, sex scenes and violence. It is not intended for those of a squeamish disposition. Blood Rites is dark, dangerous and smooth. You have been warned.
18+ due to mature sexual content.
Amity Cross isn’t her real name. That’s no secret.
Don’t send help. She likes it.
Braxton Alexander is a beast without remorse; a vessel filled with hate. Imprisoned for the murder of the one girl who loved him, now he is free, and hell bent on taking all of his pent up rage out on one person in particular.
Brycen Cole knows he must stop Braxton from taking everything he has and turning it to ash.
Gemma Woods has loved Brycen for years, but ever so slowly the happiness she once felt in the arms of her lover has turned to fear and resentment.
Braxton has one goal, one thought, and one mission – destroy Brycen Cole, by any means necessary.
Brycen runs a successful corporation and provides a lot of pay-checks; he also has a shady past and a dark talent for hiding things.
Gemma spots the wolf in sheep’s clothing but cannot stop gravitating towards him again and again.
What happens when the lines between good and evil become blurred?
Mandy Lou Dowson was born and raised in a small town in Ireland, in 1983, and at this stage in life, she’s pretty sure the town won’t let her leave. Family is a huge deal to Mandy. She has three wonderful children (most of the time), and two Siberian Huskies who are each as naughty as the other – in fact, she’s sure they egg each other on in silly cartoon voices when nobody is looking.
“Climb out the window and get covered in mud.”
“No, I did it last time. You do it!”
“R’uh, r’oh, here SHE is. Shhh.”
When she’s not writing, reading, or plotting her next book — or, you know, world domination – , she likes to relax with a few glasses of wine and some karaoke. You can usually find her procrastinating on social media of some sort, chatting to fans and talking nonsense.
She has also made a foray into Dark Romance recently, with her first title in the genre, Retribution, releasing in Summer 2015.
Don’t send help. She likes it.
Xavier “X” Blood is a contract killer. Cold, calculating, devoid of feeling.
He knows the best way to drive the life from another human beings eyes, but what he doesn’t bargain on is wanting to save a life he’s meant to take.
Mercy Reid was good at running from her demons. That was until she met X and her life was thrown into chaos.
Mercy finally has him on her side…and in her bed, but it’s at a cost far greater than she could’ve anticipated.
On the run, they must learn to trust one another beyond their burgeoning love if they want to get through the coming chaos. Revenge, truth, lies…heartache…insanity. All of it threatening to drive them apart.
Mercy will do whatever it takes to avenge the horror that Sykes put her through. Anything. Even if she has to drown the last of her soul in the bad blood that threatens to destroy the last thing she holds dearest in her heart.
Don’t send help. She likes it.
Theo and Sal Barbieri are brothers, tasked by their Mafioso father Roberto with a very clear purpose: kidnap Kaitlin McLaughlin. The beautiful daughter of Roberto’s Irish enemy. It’s high time Kaitlin was punished for her father’s sins—not to mention, her own.
And Operation: Kidnap Kaitlin is a roaring success… until it isn’t. When Kaitlin escapes into the busy streets of New York City, it’s a race against the clock to find her before Sal and Theo become the hunted.
Zeth Mayfair has traded his life as a hitman for a quieter existence, but it isn’t long before the past catches up with him in the form of Roberto Barbieri. Will he succumb to the lure of power that Roberto is offering? Or will he retaliate by killing every last Barbieri in New York to get them off his back?
Jason Ross is running. Woken in the night by a tip that the Gypsy Brothers are coming for him, he packs a bag and gets his girlfriend the hell out of dodge. Arriving in New York City in the midst of a heatwave is one thing, but being tailed by an entire drug cartel is another.
Worlds collide in Hell’s Kitchen as secrets come to light and sins are punished. Because we might be different in the light of day, but in the darkness, we’re all connected somehow.
Hell’s Kitchen is a serial comprising three volumes: Hell’s Kitchen, Tribeca and Bleecker Street. Volume One releases on March 3rd with a limited-time sale price of 99 cents.
The first full length Gypsy Brothers novel from the smash hit author Lili St. Germain.
How much is a life worth?
I grew up in Colombia, the daughter of a wealthy drug lord. I lived a life of extravagance, until one day a drug run went horribly wrong and everything came crashing down around us.
I was given away. A payment for a debt. The Gypsy Brothers Motorcycle Club became my new owners, and I did everything I could to survive.
The sounds of blades being sharpened brings my attention to the right. It’s such a sharp, distinct sound that can make some peoples blood run cold. Me, on the other hand, I love it. As I step into the secluded building, I see the man that directs me to what jobs I have for the night. You see, I do the jobs that no others want to do. I clean up the mess that murderers, rapists, degenerates, and the scum of the earth make. Men that are high and mighty that can get away with their crimes so easily, because they have the money to make their problems disappear. But what most of them don’t expect… is me.
T.L. lives in Brisbane, Australia with her 2 children. She started writing because of her love of reading. She used to doodle with ideas when she was younger, but never wrote too much. Her life dream is to be a full time author. If you ask her if she is like her characters, she says, “I am like both of the characters from my two book series. I think I have put a bit of myself in both….Krinos tends to say things without thinking, I do the same. She also rules the roost, and I do the same in my household.” Her celebrity crush is Chris Hemsworth, she loves chocolate ice cream, her biggest pet peeve is nails on a chalkboard., and she is not a fan of having her photo taken. She loves being part of the Indie Book world, and has made some amazing friends along the way. But, she acknowledges she could never do what she does if it wasn’t for the bloggers that pimp her and the fans that support her and read her books.
Web Page http://tlsmithauthor.wordpress.com/?blogsub=confirmed#blog_subscription-2
Google + —
Amazon Author Page —
Where do you live?
I live in Brisbane, Australia.
I have 2 kids and married, no pets
Why you started writing?
Started writing from my love of reading
Did you write when you were younger?
I used to doodle with ideas when I was younger never wrote to much
To be a full-time author
Favorite ice cream flavor?
Chocloate is my fav ice-cream
Biggest pet peeve?
Pet peeve – nails on a chalkboard
Secret celebrity crush?
I have a crush on Chris Hemsworth
Are you like Krinos? Or is she your alter ego? Krinos is out of the box, why did you choose a character like her? Is she you? Or your alter ego?
I am like both my characters from both of my books, I think I have put a bit of myself in both..
Krinos tends to say things without thinking, I do the same. She also rules the roost. I do the same in my house hold.
I am not a fan of photos LOL
Will Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers? Or is Dornan still one step ahead?
More shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.
“I want my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
There are two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very cheesy rendition of good cop / bad cop.
We’ve been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since told me — on one side, and her completely dumb but cute male offsider, Agent Brennan, on the other. In my head, to pass the hours, I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent Dumbass. I sit across from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing them down.
My throat is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of Coke in front of him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation running down the sides. I want it. I want to reach over and grab the can. I don’t even need to drink what’s inside. I’ll settle for the condensation making its lazy descent down the side of the bright red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates me from them.
“Let’s try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a matronly grandmother, even though this woman only looks about thirty. She’s got a slight southern inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s grandma.
I don’t reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next. Her next big thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and convince me that I should spill all of my dirty secrets onto this table between us. So far she’s used threats against Jase, a plea deal that would grant me immunity, and long stretches of silence.
None of that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross. This woman’s going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out some pliers and start yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll give her a single damned thing.
She snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her male offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves slowly, ripping a section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the stuff that must live permanently on the wall to my left. I watch, just slightly interested as to what they’re going to try and scare me with.
They don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5×7 photographs to the wall, I can’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that ended at my hands. I have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down the gloating grin that wants to spread across my face and settle for my resting bitch face instead.
Dunn peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze impassively. She might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up in the Gypsy Brothers MC for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in front of a cop.
“Chad Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles the table, coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is sticking up in a haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and straighten them. Boom. Three seconds later, she does just that, making sure all of the photos line up.
“Chad Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail against the photo of his bloated death face.
“Looks nasty,” I reply.
“It’s a nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added pure methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”
He wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.
“And you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten down to the quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep your nails tidy when you’re constantly trying to claw your way back from death.
Dunn looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the second photo. Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His face is a mess from the coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke laced with strychnine that made blood gush from his nose like warm water from a faucet. I still remember the way his blood felt on my hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my skull burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.
How I’d nearly died in my quest to kill him.
How it was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face, when I whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap to watch the fury rise in his cheeks.
As he realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last meal of poison and cocaine.
I glance at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look bored.
“Strychnine-laced cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to hospital for that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency room. They said you almost died.”
“It was a hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds just thinking about it.”
She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt that she’s cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say suddenly.
“Shoot,” Dunn responds.
I reach my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move. She could pepper spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch the interrogators. But she’s ballsy enough that she doesn’t want to take her hand away, even as I watch her flinch minutely.
“How do you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in my voice not reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my other hand. “Mine are hopeless. You spend much time in the field, Agent Dunn?”
She takes her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my lap. I know her skin must be crawling from my touch.
I hope the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have fucked with me.
“I take good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
“My child died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the top of my priority list right now.”
She bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says finally.
I sit back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.
“It’s a leg,” Dunn supplies.
“Ohhh,” I say, nodding. “Thanks.”
It is indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with spots of unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections. Huh. I wonder who it belonged to.
“Two Ross brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade bombs in their fuel tanks, can you believe that?”
I shrug. “Sounds like they must have had it coming.”
Dunn points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and neck as I remember those three months of horror and torture I endured at Dornan’s hands before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s father Emilio flew backwards with a meaty thump as the top of his head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying everywhere. Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was that their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more satisfying it would have been to hang them by their feet and burn their eyes out with cigarettes and blowtorches, or pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, one by one.
That would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy me, the same men who murdered my father.
Still… they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.
“That’s got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two pictures. The blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made of iron after the atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve endured. If this bitch wants to rattle my cage, she’s going to have to try harder.
“And then we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the wall. Jimmy’s face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from his temple where Jase shot him barely noticeable in the extreme close-up.
“He looks unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why you’re showing me all of this.”
Dunn frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“Here’s the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of me. “We’ve got you. We have your DNA on the first two victims, and motive. We’ve got probable cause to take you to trial.”
I sift through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened to Jazz and Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their motorcycle fuel tanks exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t pretty, what became of them. But to me, it’s beautiful.
I drop the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal chair I’ve been sitting on for the past five hours.
“These people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these boys. They were like brothers to me.”
Agent Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk somewhere in there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got more motive than anyone else, and no alibi for any of these murders.”
“Motive?” I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”
Agent Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think. Say it. They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father, and you want to arrest me? Say it.
“I’m not authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,” Dunn says finally. “But I really think you should start talking, Miss Portland.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me. I’ll tell you something. Let me write it down.”
Dunn’s beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a moment, probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right back at her. If she wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor, she arrested the wrong girl.
After a beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my attention to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep in his chair.
“I’ll make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point to the coke can and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides the can over to me with one finger. With a smile, I pick up the can between my cuffed hands and take a long drink.
The fizzy liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I drink as much as I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back down on the table and smiling at Dumbass. I slide the can back towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re friends. Let him think I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. He looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into the room.
She looks between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s face and shakes her head.
Sliding into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us as she addresses Dumbass.
“She killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to her partner. “You sure you want that back?”
“Allegedly,” I add.
The oaf stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back in my direction with an embarrassed look.
In the past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this interrogation room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions. Fear. Shock. Despair. Now, I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within me. Anger that is thinly disguised as apathy to these two morons.
Dunn drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I hold up my cuffed wrists helplessly.
“I can’t write with these things on,” I say.
Dunn gives me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and circles around to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.
I WANT A LAWYER. I write it as obnoxiously large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER three times.
Agent Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at her mouth. I grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me, motherfucker. I sit back in my seat and snatch up the Coke, draining the rest of the can before they think to take it from me.
“We can play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she says curtly, fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in front of her. I smile.
“I’ve got all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t. Dornan has Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot himself, and Jase and I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get the girls out of danger before he kills them. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t even comprehend what else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get back at us.
Agent Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and stalking towards the door. “I’ll give you some time to think about your position,” she says.
“Isn’t this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I have the right to an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”
Really, I just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here. Not that I’m sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need something, and talking to these two is proving fruitless. A cold panic is building up inside my stomach, in the hollow space where my baby once lived and died.
God, it’s still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little baby takes hold and squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could forget about her, because losing her has cursed me with more pain than I could ever imagine.
If I had any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re gone, bled from me in the moments after our daughter was born, still and dead, in the early hours of the morning when the world was still dark.
He took her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and buried, a rotting corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing more.
Dornan Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.
Agent Dumbass follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut. I immediately stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked from the outside. Of course. I go back to my chair, collecting the pen someone so thoughtfully left for me and shoving it into my pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody sometime soon.
Which, as it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.
About an hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your lawyer’s on the way,” she says, closing the door behind her again.
This could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on tape. A hit man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like a sitting duck in here, and I don’t like it one tiny bit.
But what greets me isn’t any of those things.
It’s so much worse.
I don’t move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the room. Dressed in a suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather briefcase by his side. He looks positively fucking amused.
“Well,” I say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these days, won’t they?”