Ripple Effect: Episode Three by Keri Lake….Review

Episode Three Is Finally Here!

What happened to Dylan at the end of Episode Two?

You have questions and the good news is, Ripple Effect Episode Three is now available, so the answers are waiting for you!

Synopsis:

RIPPLE EFFECT EPISODE THREE
Erotic Suspense/Erotic Romance

Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex

Grab Your Copy:

EPISODE 1

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

EPISODE 2

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Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

EPISODE 3 (NOW AVAILABLE!)

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

4.5

Episode 3 isn’t as gruesome and intense as the first two, but it’s still jaw as raw.

Keri builds on Rip and Dylan’s relationship or whatever fucked up thing they have. Rip is letting Dylan into his world more and that doesn’t come without problems. In the underbelly, you can’t allow yourself to love or be loved – it will be use against you.

“There is no God here. He’s not my savior. He’s an angel with black wings. A dealer of my death. My ruin.”

Rip is still trying to figure out what the end game in all this killing; while Dylan deals with the memories of her past that had been kept locked in her mind. She is also learning how to break down Rip’s walls.

“I’m a sadist to the core, a twisted bastard who gets off on pain, but her pain is also her pleasure, and that is the most beautiful fucking thing about the two of us.” 

As I said, this book isn’t as intense with the action and gruesome of the killings. But it’s a good build for what’s to come. Keri does a great job of building the plot while still keeping us intrigued to see what goes down next.

“Just goes to show you how the universe works. Beautiful pieces of forever that have no stability to last.”

About The Author

Keri Lake is a dark romance writer who specializes in demon wrangling, vengeance dealing and wicked twists. Her stories are gritty, with antiheroes that walk the line of good and bad, and feisty heroines who bring them to their knees. When not penning books, she enjoys spending time with her husband, daughters, and their rebellious Labrador (who doesn’t retrieve a damn thing). She runs on strong coffee and alternative music, loves a good red wine, and has a slight addiction to dark chocolate.

Website
Twitter
Facebook
Instagram
Amazon
Goodreads

Join her reader group for giveaways, sneak peeks of exclusive content, ARCs and eye candy: http://bit.ly/2lWjOFg

Ripple Effect: Episode Three by Keri Lake….Release Day Blitz

Episode Three Is Finally Here!

What happened to Dylan at the end of Episode Two?

You have questions and the good news is, Ripple Effect Episode Three is now available, so the answers are waiting for you!

Synopsis:

RIPPLE EFFECT EPISODE THREE
Erotic Suspense/Erotic Romance

Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex

Grab Your Copy:

EPISODE 1

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

EPISODE 2

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

EPISODE 3 (NOW AVAILABLE!)

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

About The Author

Keri Lake is a dark romance writer who specializes in demon wrangling, vengeance dealing and wicked twists. Her stories are gritty, with antiheroes that walk the line of good and bad, and feisty heroines who bring them to their knees. When not penning books, she enjoys spending time with her husband, daughters, and their rebellious Labrador (who doesn’t retrieve a damn thing). She runs on strong coffee and alternative music, loves a good red wine, and has a slight addiction to dark chocolate.

Website
Twitter
Facebook
Instagram
Amazon
Goodreads

Join her reader group for giveaways, sneak peeks of exclusive content, ARCs and eye candy: http://bit.ly/2lWjOFg

Bleed the Water Red by R.L. Griffin…Release Day Blitz & Review

Bleed the Water Red by R.L. Griffin

Release date: March 23, 2017

Blurb:

When Kate Tennison returns to the low country of South Carolina it’s with her tail tucked between her legs. She doesn’t want to be there and face the love of her life, who’s now married with a child. Distance has not broken the spell of fear that surrounds why she ran from her home in the first place.

Her story is a tragic one.

Mom in rehab.

Father dead.

Career annihilated.

When we run from something looking back over our shoulder, we miss the scars on the arms that now hold us.

Can the magic of the water heal her wounded heart or does something dangerous lurk underneath the perfect features of the new man she’s decided to take a chance on?

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2lN6Riu

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2lrLcJT

Amazon CA: http://a.co/2DNy2aF

First off, let me tell you that I enjoy reading R.L.’s stories. Her book, Quiet Lies is one of my favorite books and my favorite by her. And I was so hoping that this book would rank right up there with it. But somewhere along the lines, things fell short for me.

Bleed The Water Red is not a bad book by any means. I know a lot will enjoy this book more than I. And I do hate that I didn’t enjoy this book as much as I wanted to. But let me explain myself.

The plot line was amazing. I love how we were given small snippets throughout the story and were able to piece together our own thoughts. What I didn’t like was how things felt disjointed at times. It’s hard to explain without giving away parts of the story, but things are left out it seems or overlooked. It makes the writing come across as scattered. And that’s what hurt the story and pace for me. I felt all over the place at times. And I do understand that part of a psychological thriller is to have pieces left out, but in this particular scenario, the pieces were obvious but at the same killed the vibe for me. I knew what would happen in the end because of this. And for me, that really sucked.

Like I said, this book is good. I love R.L. and her writing. However, her writing in this book was not what I have to come expect from her. I know that this story came to her fast and I get that you just need to get it out. However, as a beta reader, proofreader and editor, there are a lot of things that I personally would have changed/edited. I am in no way knocking any of the proofreaders or editors on this, there is nothing wrong in that aspect. But for me, certain things were not working and made it plainly obvious what the outcome was going to be.

The characters are very well written. I love their backgrounds and where they are from. The amazing friendship between Layla, Poppy and Austin is awesome – I love these three so much. I enjoyed learning about Layla’s past with Gent and how all that comes together in the end. This part of the story was beautiful and heart-wrenching to watch unfold. Layla has some growing struggles to deal with it and does come in to her own eventually. It’s a really good story with different avenues that all come together in the end.

With that being said, please give the book a chance. It’s a great story line. I loved how this is tied to Quiet Lies. If you have read it before, you will like the tie-in. If you haven’t, it won’t hurt the story at all. I gave this book 3.5 stars because my only gripe was the disjointedness that I felt and how I was able to figure the ending immediately but the overall story line was what kept me moving forward and not stopping.

Will I continue to read R.L.’s books – hell yes! She’s writes amazing stories. This one just want for me and that sometimes happens. But it won’t stop me from reading any of her books.

About R.L. Griffin

 

R.L. resides in the Atlanta area with some cool dudes: her husband, son and two crazy dogs.  She was born and raised in the South.  She attended Georgia Southern University and moved to Washington, D.C. to intern in the United States Senate during the impeachment trial.  Falling in love with the city, she went to law school at American University, Washington College of Law.  By A Thread is R.L.’s second book, but is the first in a series that got her back into writing after a ten year hiatus.  She writes anything from romantic suspense to psychological thriller to romantic comedy. One of the things that readers always say is they never know what kind of story they will get from R.L.

https://www.facebook.com/R.L.GriffinByAThread/

http://www.rlgriffinauthor.com

https://www.instagram.com/rlgriffinauthor/

https://twitter.com/RLGriffinauthor

http://amzn.to/2mwRrx3

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1254833.R_L_Griffin

Cover Reveal…Ends Here by M. Robinson

COVER REVEAL / SALE / GIVEAWAY
ENDS HERE (Road to Nowhere Book 2)
RELEASE DATE: APRIL 4TH
COVER MODEL MARSHALL PERRIN
COVER DESIGN THE FINAL WRAP
COVER PHOTOGRAPHY WANDER

 

 

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
And all that fucking shit.
I had killed.
I had sacrificed.
The innocent and the corrupt. I knew blood and I knew
violence.
Never imagining I could know love too.
Mia Ryder was a woman to love. To cherish. To fucking claim.
Now, forever, and every day in between.
If there was anyone I’d go to Hell and back for, it was her.
Even if meant, going to war with…
My fucking brother.

 

 

“Don’t fuck with me, Noah. I gotta enough fuckin’ bullshit
to deal with. Don’t need your shit, too.”
“Tell me, Creed… she’s yours right?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes at me. “Then what’s her favorite color?”
I jerked back like he had hit me. Knowing exactly where he was going with this.
“Time’s up. It’s pink. How about her middle name? Don’t remember?” he mocked, cocking his head to the side. “They wanted to name her
Savannah after her grandmother who died of cancer. She never even got to meet her. But instead it’s Alexandra, after her momma. Why don’t you tell me her favorite thing to eat? Or drink? Favorite book? Or movie? How about you tell me
anythin’ that doesn’t include what she sounds like when she’s fuckin’ gettin’ off?”
“You little shit! Congrats, Noah, on knowin’ some trivial bullshit. I know what shes’s feelin’ by just lookin’ at her. I know what she’s thinkin’ without her sayin’ one goddamn word to me. And fuck yeah, I know how she likes to be touched, kissed, fucked and I’d rather be the man who knows all that, plus how to fuckin’ get her off,” I snarled, stepping up to him again. He
didn’t cower, if anything he stood taller. “Who the fuck you think you are, Noah?”
“The right man for her, that’s who.”
“Is that right? So what, you tellin’ me you love her? You love Mia?”
There was no hesitation with his response, when he clearly
replied with, “Yeah, Creed. I fuckin’ do.”
“Don’t start a war you can’t fuckin’ win, baby brother.”
“Consider this my breach.”
I nodded slowly, backing away. Taking everything in while
battling the urge to lay him the fuck out.
The lines were drawn now. Each of us on the opposite side for the first time in all our lives but if there was anyone I would go to hell and back for it was Mia Ryder. Even if it meant going to war with…
My fucking brother.


 

Pre-Order Ends Here for the sale price of $2.99! Will be $3.99 when it releases April 4th!
          Amazon Nook / Kobo / I-Tunes
HAVEN’T READ BOOK ONE?! NOW IS THE TIME! AVAILABLE ON ALL PLATFORMS FOR #99CENTS
ROAD TO NOWHERE IS ON SALE FOR $.99 FOR ONE WEEK ONLY
 
AMAZON / NOOK / KOBO / I-TUNES

USA Today Bestselling Author of Keeping Her Wet, Road to Nowhere, EL Diablo, The
Good Ol’ Boys Standalone Series, The VIP Trilogy, Tempting Bad, and Two Sides.
 
M. Robinson loves to read. She favors anything that has
angst, romance, triangles, cheating, love, and of course sex! She has been
reading since the Babysitters Club and R.L. Stein. 
She was born in New Jersey but was raised in Tampa Fl. 
She is married to an amazing man who she loves to pieces.
They have two German Shepherd mixes and a Wheaten and a Tabby cat. 



$20 Amazon or I-Tunes Card your choice 

 

Kiss Me by L.P. Lovell….Release Day Blitz

 

KISS ME #2 

The Kiss of Death Series

NOW LIVE!

AMAZON US 

AMAZON UK 

ITUNES 

 

Una 

I’m running.
I have more enemies than even I can fight, and a five-million-dollar price tag on my head, all because I helped Nero. The hunter has become the hunted, and now I have a life to protect—an innocent baby. And that suddenly feels like the most important mission I’ve ever had. I’ve never been so invested in surviving, so let them come. I’ll kill them all.

Nero

I had a plan and it was perfect.
She was my queen, my ultimate weapon. She played her part and helped bring me the power I sought above all else, but at what cost? Now she’s all I want, all I need. Una is mine. I will kill all who stand between us and burn the world to ash just to keep her.

A pending war. A test of survival. A partnership that would see their enemies tremble in their wake.
A ruthless king. A savage queen.

Kill me or kiss me? 

MAKE ME #0.5

#FREE

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK

ITUNES

 

KILL ME #1

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK

ITUNES

 

LP LOVELL

Lauren Lovell is an indie author from England. 
She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards.
Lauren is a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy. 
LP loves to hear from readers so please get in touch.

Cut Wide Open by Abby McCarthy…Release Day Blitz

PURCHASE TODAY


BLURB

One day you held my hand. One day you loved me.
Then you were gone.
At sixteen, I lost the only love I’d ever known. Thrown back into the foster system, pregnant and alone, I prayed that you’d come for me and save me from life’s cruelties. Only the next time I saw you, it was too late.
Doing what I needed to do to provide for my son, we were finally brought face to face. It should have been the best day of my life, but it was far from it. It was the worst.
That day a monster took me and held me captive.

I begged for my life. I prayed for my son. I dreamt of you, the memories keeping me alive.

You finally came for me. You were my heart. My Salvation.

But sometimes the heart is too damaged, too broken, to be saved.

And sometimes monsters have a way of coming back to haunt me.
*This is a dark story. It is intended for mature audiences. If you need a trigger warning then this book isn’t for you. I have other books of mine that I’d recommend like Current or Tainted by Crazy, but not this one.
Add to your TBR: http://bit.ly/2lsE5QU
 
4.5 Stars

This is the second book I have read by Abby and wow!! Her writing has grown and she has dipped her toes into the dark side of things. Actually, she jumped right into the dark side of things compared to the other book I read.

Cut Wide Open is the first book in what I am hoping will be an amazing series to come. This book is about Gunner and Charlie, aka Mouse. You get a lot of background on these two; starting out with where they come from, to what happened in between to the here and now.

Abby’s writing style really accentuated these characters – it helped breathe life into them and gave them a harder edge. You could easily sense the grit and rawness in these characters. Abby lays it all out there and doesn’t really hold much back. There are some scenes that she doesn’t go too into detail over, but the lead up to it, you get the idea and possibly thank her for not taking you to those depths.

I read somewhere about this book that Abby humanizes these characters and I couldn’t agree more. She makes the reader understand their reasoning for redemption and their hostility. You also understand where Mouse gets her strength and the perseverance to stand strong and move on. Not let her past dictate her present or future. And Gunner – lord, that man. His determination to never give up on Charlie is heart wrenching and shows another side to him.

Abby has started this series off with a huge hit and I can’t wait to see what she brings us next. She has introduced a lot of great characters to us with some interesting backgrounds that I am itching to know more about. I know that Charlie and Gunner’s story is far from over too.

If you enjoy a darker read, I would definitely recommend this book as one to add to your TBR list.

 


About Abby McCarthy

Abby McCarthy is reader and a lover of words. She is a blogger turned author and released her first novel in May 2014. She is a mother of three, a wife and a dog person. She has always written, sometimes poetry, sometimes just to vent about failed relationships, however in parenthood she has found her voice to help keep her sanity. Words have flowed from her, to review and with the support of amazing friends in the Indie community she has decided to pursue her dream of writing! She loves to write and read romance, because isn’t that something we all yearn for? Whether it be flowers and hand holding or just the right tug on your hair. Isn’t that what life is about? The human connection?


Follow Abby McCarthy

 
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Abbymccarthyauthor/?fref=ts
Website: http://abbymccarthyauthor.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/abbyemccarthy
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1TZd07V
 
 
 

 

Surprise Announcement from Lisa Renee Jones

SBPRBanner-PROVOCATIVE-BA

Provocative (White Lies Book One) by Lisa Renee Jones
Release Date: April 18th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

A Note from the author:

Hi everyone!

I am BEYOND excited to introduce my WHITE LIES DUET! This is a sexy, intense, psychological thriller, that is provocative in every way, thus why I named book one: PROVOCATIVE. And since this series takes me back to my indie roots, the pricing is lower than my New York titles, and the release dates are close together.

Here are the details on the series:

  • PROVOCATIVE, book one, will be out on April 18, 2017 and priced at $2.99 – includes the free novella REBECCA’S FORGOTTEN JOURNALS for those readers who purchase during release week or pre-order where pre-order is available.
  • SHAMELESS, book two, will be out on July 11, 2017 and priced at $3.99
  • BOTH books will be full-length!
  • I’m also giving away prizes on my blog every day in April to celebrate! Entry is super easy. Just comment! The link to my blog is HERE so be sure to subscribe!

And now, without further ado, the covers for the duet, blurb for book one, and CHAPTER ONE of PROVOCATIVE! I can’t wait for you to meet the dirty talking alpha, Nick “Tiger” Rogers. I hope you enjoy him as much as I enjoyed writing him!

Provocative Final Border

ABOUT THE BOOK

Book one in the sexy and intense new White Lies duet by Lisa Renee Jones!

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.

The moment I walked into Sonoma’s Reid Winter Winery and Vineyard and made eye contact with Faith Winter for the first time was one of those moments. Provocative because I know at least one of her secrets, of which, I suspect she has many. Provocative because she believes I was a stranger to her when we met, but I am not. Provocative because I sought her out, with no intention of touching her. But now I have. Now I want her. Now I have to have her. But that changes nothing. It doesn’t change why I came for her.

Pre-Order PROVOCATIVE Today!

Special $2.99 pre-order price – will increase after release!

Amazon alert: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeAmazonAlert

B&N: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeBN

iBooks: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeiBooks

Kobo: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeKobo

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34602810-provocative

Read Chapter One Now:

pro·voc·a·tive

adjective

  1. causing annoyance, anger, or another strong reaction, especially deliberately.
  2. arousing sexual desire or interest, especially deliberately.

Chapter One

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.

The moment I stepped into the mansion that is the centerpiece of the Reid Winter Vineyards and Winery wasn’t one of those moments. Nor were any of the moments I spent weaving through a crowd of suits and dresses cluttering the circle that is the grand foyer of the 1800’s mansion, fancy tiles etched with vines beneath my feet. Nor the ones spent declining three different waiters offering me glasses of various wines from one of the most established vineyards in Sonoma, meant to entice me to buy their bottles and donate money to the charity hosting the gathering. Not even the instant that I spotted the stunning blonde in a snug black dress that hugged her many lush curves proved to be one of those moments, but I would call it a damn interesting one. The moment I decided the blonde silk of her long hair belonged in my hands and on my stomach was also a damn interesting one. And not because she’s fuckable. There are plenty of fuckable women in my life, a number of whom understand that I enjoy demands for pleasure, which I will definitely provide, and nothing more. This woman is too prim and proper to ever agree to such an arrangement, and yet, knowing this, as she and her heart-shaped backside disappear into the congestion of bodies, I find myself pursuing her, looking for more than an interesting moment. I want that provocative one.

I follow her path formed by huddles of two, three, or more people, left and right, to clear a portion of the crowd, scanning to find my beauty standing several feet away, her back to me, with two men in blue suits in front of her. And while they might appear to blend with the rest of the suits in the room, they hold themselves like the parasites I meet too often in the courtroom, those who most often call themselves my opposing counsel. My blonde beauty folds her arms in front of her chest, her spine stiff, and if I read her right–and I read most people right–I am certain that she’s found trouble. But lucky for her, trouble doesn’t like me near as much as I like it.

Closing the space between me and them, I near their little triangle just in time to hear her say, “Are we really doing this here and now?”

“Yes, Ms. Winter,” one of the men replies. “We are.”

“Actually,” I say, stepping to Ms. Winter’s side, her floral scent almost as sweet as the challenge of conquering her opponents that are now mine, “we are not doing this here or now.”

All attention shifts to me, Ms. Winter giving me a sharp stare that I feel rather than see, my focus remaining on the men I want to leave, not the woman I want to make come. “And you would be who?” the suit directly in front of me demands.

I size him up as barely out of his twenty-something diapers, without experience, the glint in his eye telling me he doesn’t realize that flaw, which makes him about as smooth as a six-dollar glass of wine everyone in this place would spit the fuck out. A point driven home by the fact that he’s wearing a three hundred-dollar Italian silk tie, and a hundred-dollar suit, no doubt hoping the tie makes the suit look expensive, and him important. He’s wrong.

“I said, who are you?” he repeats when I apparently haven’t replied quickly enough, his impatience becoming my virtue as my role as cat in this game of cat and mouse is too easily established.

Unwilling to waste words on a predictable, expected question that I’d never ask, I simply reach into the pocket of my three-thousand-dollar light gray suit, which I earned by beating opponents with ten times his experience and negotiation skills, and finger the unimportant prick my card.

He snaps it from my hand, gives it a look that confirms my name and the firm I started a decade ago now, after daring to leave behind a certain partnership in a high-powered firm. “Nick Rogers?” he asks. “Is there another name on the card?” I ask, because, I’m also a fearless smartass every chance I get.

He stares at me for several beats, seeming to calculate his words, before asking, “How many Mr. Rogers sweater jokes do you get?”

I arch a brow at the misguided joke that only serves to poke the Tiger. Suit Number Two, who I age closer to my thirty-six years, pales visibly, then snatches the card from the other man’s hand, giving it a quick inspection before his gaze then jerks to mine. “The Nick Rogers?”

“I don’t remember my mother putting the word ‘the’ in front of my name,” I reply dryly, but then again, I think, she didn’t ask my father, to change my last name either. She just hated him that much.

“Tiger,” he says, and it’s not a question, but rather a statement of “oh shit” fact.

“That’s right,” I say, enjoying the fruits of my labor that created the nickname, not one given to me by my friends.

“Who, or what, the fuck is Tiger all about?” Suit Number One asks.

“Shut up,” Suit Number Two grunts, refocusing on me to ask, “You’re representing Ms. Winter?”

“What I am,” I say, “is standing right here by her side, telling you that it’s in your best interests to leave.”

“Since when do you handle small-time foreclosures?” he demands, exposing the crux of Ms. Winter’s situation.

“I handle whatever the fuck I want to handle,” I say, my tone even, my lips curving as I add, “Including the process of having you both escorted off the property by security.”

“That,” Suit Number One dares to retort, “would garner Ms. Winter unwanted attention in the middle of a busy event. Not that Ms. Winter even has security to call.”

“Fortunately, I have a phone that dials 911 and the ability to call it without asking her.”

If she’s your client,” Suit Number One says, clearly inferring that she’s not, “you’re obligated to operate with her best interests in mind.”

“My decisions,” I reply, without missing a beat, and without claiming Ms. Winter as a client, “are always about winning. And I assure you that I can think of many ways to spin your story to the press that ensures I win, while also benefiting Ms. Winter.”

“This isn’t my story,” Suit Number One indicates.

“It will be when I’m finished with the press,” I assure him, amused at how easily I’ve led him down the path I want him to travel.

“This is a small community with little to talk about but her,” he says. “She doesn’t want her foreclosure to become the front page story.”

My lips quirk. “If you don’t know how easily I can get the wrong attention for you here, and the right attention for Ms. Winter, you’ll find out.”

“We’ll leave,” Suite Number Two interjects quickly, and just when I think that he’s smart enough to see the way trouble has turned from Ms. Winter to them, he looks at her and says, “We’ll be in touch,” with a not so subtle threat in his tone, before he elbows Suit Number One. “Let’s go.”

Suit Number One doesn’t move, visibly fuming, his face red, that white ring thickening around his lips. I arch a brow at Suit Number Two, who adds, “Now, Jordan.” Jordan, formerly known as Suit Number One, clenches his teeth and turns away, while Suit Two follows.

Ms. Winter faces me, and holy fuck, when her pale green eyes meet mine, any questions I have about this woman and the many I suspect she now has of me, are muted by an unexpected, potentially problematic, palpable electric charge between us. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft, feminine, a rasp in its depths that hints at emotion not effortlessly contained. “Please enjoy anything you like tonight on the house,” she adds, the rasp gone now, her control returned. Until I take it, I think, but no sooner than I’ve had the thought, she is turning and walking away, the absence of further interaction coloring me both stunned and intrigued, two things that, for me, are ranked with about as much frequency as snow in Sonoma, which would be next to never.

Ms. Winter maneuvers into the crowd, out of my line of sight, and while I am not certain I’d label her a mouse at this point, or ever for that matter, considering what I know of her, I am most definitely on the prowl. I stride purposely forward, weaving through the crowd, seeking that next provocative moment, scanning for her left, right, in the clusters of mingling guests, until I clear the crowd.

Now standing in front of a wide, wooden stairwell, my gaze follows its path upward to a second level, but I still find no sign of Ms. Winter. A cool breeze whips through the air, and I turn to find the source is a high arched doorway, the recently opened glass doors to what I know to be the “Winter Gardens,” a focal point of the property, and a tourist draw for decades, settling back into place. Certain this represents her escape, I walk that direction, and press open the doors, stepping onto a patio that has a stone floor and concrete benches framed by rose bushes. No less than four winding paths greet me as destination choices, the hunt for this woman now a provocation of its own.

I’ve just decided to wait where I am for Ms. Winter’s return when the wind lifts, the floral scent of many varieties of flowers for which the garden is famous touching my nostrils, with one extra scent decidedly of the female variety.

Lips curving with the certainty that my prey will soon to be my prize, I follow the clue that guides my feet to the path on my right, a narrow, winding, lighted walkway, framed by neatly cut yellow flower bushes, which continues past a white wooden gazebo I have no intention of passing. Not when Ms. Winter stands inside it, her back to me, elbows resting on the wooden rail, her gaze casting across the silhouette of what would reveal itself to be a rolling mountainside in daybreak. The way I intend for her to reveal herself.

I close the distance between us, and the moment before I’m upon her, she faces me, hands on the railing behind her, her breasts thrust forward, every one of her lush curves tempting my eyes, my hands. My mouth. “Did those men know you?” she demands, clearly ready and waiting for this interaction. “Did you know them?”

“No and no.”

“And yet they knew the nickname Tiger.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

“I’ll take the bait,” she says. “What reputation?”

“They say I’ll rip my opponent’s throat out if given the chance.”

“Will you?” she asks, without so much as a blanch or blink.

“Yes,” I reply, a simple answer, for a simple question.

“Without any concern for who you hurt,” she states.

I arch a brow. “Is that a question?”

“Should it be?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not,” she says. “You didn’t get that nickname by being nice.”

“Nice guys don’t win.”

“Then I’m warned,” she says. “You aren’t a nice guy.”

“Is nice a quality you’re looking for in a man? Because as your evening counsel, Ms. Winter, I’ll advise you that nice is overrated.”

She stares at me for several beats before turning away to face the mountains again, elbows on the railing, in what I could see as a silent invitation to leave. I choose to see it as an invitation to join her. I claim the spot next to her, close, but not nearly as close as I will be soon. “You didn’t answer the question,” I point out.

“You wrongly assume I am looking for a man, which I’m not,” she says, glancing over at me. “But if I was, then no. Nice would be on my list but it would not top my list, however, nowhere on that list would be the ability, and willingness, to rip out someone’s throat.”

“I can assure you, Ms. Winter, that a man with a bite is as underrated as a nice guy is overrated. And I not only know how, and when, to use mine, but if I so choose to biteyou, and I might, it’ll be all about pleasure, not pain.”

Her cheeks flush and she turns away. “My name is Faith.” She glances over at me again. “Should I call you Nick, Tiger, or just plain arrogant?”

“Anything but Mr. Rogers,” I say, enjoying our banter far more than I would have expected when I came here tonight looking for her.

She laughs now too, and it’s a delicate, sweet sound, but it’s awkward, as if it’s not only unexpected, but unwelcome, and an instant later she’s withdrawing, pushing off the railing, arms folding protectively in front of her body, before we’re rotating to face each other. “I need to go check on the visitors.” She attempts to move away.

I gently catch her arm, her gaze rocketing to mine, and in the process her hair flutters in a sudden breeze, a strand of blonde silk catching on the whiskers of my one-day stubble. She sucks in a breath, and when she would reach up to remedy the situation, I’m already there, catching the soft silk and stroking it behind her ear.

“Why are you touching me?” she asks, but she doesn’t pull away, that charge between us minutes ago now ten times more provocative with me touching her, thinking about all the places I might touch next.

“It’s considerably better than not touching you,” I say.

“My bad luck might bleed into you.”

“Bleed,” I repeat, that word reminding me once again of why I’m here, why I really want to fuck this woman. “That’s an extreme, and rather interesting choice of words.”

“Most bad luck is extreme, though not interesting to anyone but the Tigers of the world, creating it. You’re still touching me.”

“Everyone needs a Tiger in their corner. Maybe my good luck will bleed into you.”

“Does good luck bleed?” she asks.

“Many people will do anything for good luck, even bleed.”

“Yes,” she says, lowering her lashes, but not before I’ve seen the shadows in her eyes. “I suppose they would.”

“What would you do for good luck?”

Her lashes lift, her stare meeting mine again. “What have you done for good luck?”

“I came here tonight,” I say.

She narrows her eyes on me, as if some part of her senses, the far-reaching implications of my reply that she can’t possibly understand, and yet still, the inescapable heat between us radiates and burns. “You’re still touching me,” she points out, and this time there’s a hint of reprimand.

“Holding onto that luck,” I say.

“It feels like you’re holding onto mine.”

With that observation that hits too close to the truth, I have no interest in revealing just yet, I drag my hand slowly down hers, allowing my fingers to find hers before they fall away. Her lips, lush, tempting, impossibly perfect for someone I know to be imperfect, part with the loss of my touch, and yet there is a hint of relief in her eyes that tells me she both wants me and fears me.

A most provocative moment, indeed.

“Have a drink with me,” I say.

“No,” she replies, her tone absolute, and while I don’t like this decision, I appreciate a person who’s decisive.

“Why?”

“Good luck and bad luck don’t mix.”

“They might just create good luck.”

“Or bad,” she says. “I’m not in a place where I can take the risk for more bad luck.” She inclines her chin. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.” She pauses and adds, “Tiger.”

I don’t react, but for just a moment, I consider the way she used my nickname as an indicator that she knows who I am, and why I’m here. I quickly dismiss that idea. I’d have seen it in those pale green eyes, and I did not. But as she turns and walks away, and I watch her depart, tracking her steps as she disappears down the path, I wonder at her quick departure, and the fear I’d seen in her eyes. Was the root of that fear her guilt?

That idea should be enough to ice the fire in me that this woman has stirred, but it stokes it instead. Everything male in me wants to pursue her again, and not because I’m here for a reason that existed before I ever met her, when it should be that and nothing more. It is more. I’m aroused and I’m intrigued by this woman. She got to me when no one gets to me. Not a good place to be, considering I came here to prove she killed my father, and maybe even her own mother.

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Book two: SHAMELESS will be out on July 11th!

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About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense. Sara’s character is strong, flawed, complex, and sexy – a modern girl we all can identify with.

In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, Lisa has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is presently working on a dark, edgy new series, Dirty Money, for St. Martin’s Press.

Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.

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Website: http://lisareneejones.com

 

 

Ripple Effect: Episode 2 by Keri Lake…..Blog Tour & Review

 

 

 

EPISODE TWO: As a calculated assassin, Ripley thrives on always being in control. But when the woman he’s sworn to kill makes an offer he can’t refuse, his control is what he risks losing most.
Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.
 This series continues to get dirtier, grittier and more intense as we go.

We get to know more about Ripley and how he works – the inner workings of his brain. He’s no prince charming and he definitely shows no mercy to anyone. He’s a man we fear yet his intensity draws us in.

“For a monster, he’s stunning.”

Dylan is a firecracker. She’s learned to live life in the worst of ways and understands one thing – life will kill you, if you let it. She will not be a victim. She holds nothing back when it comes to Ripley and has no problem voicing her opinion, even though she knows he could easily end her life without thinking twice of it.

“But this is my world, and getting fucked over is all I’ve known.”

Keri has no boundaries when it comes to her writing. She’s got a fucking wicked mind and I would mind being trapped there for awhile. I love how she is able to take the most disrespectful and degrading things and makes them desirable in that moment; yet you can see how messed up it is too. You know it’s wrong, but you just can’t stop the curiosity.

I am ready for Episode 3 to take me even further into this dark and erotic world……

I open my eyes to the sting of sterile scents, like disinfectant and alcohol. A quick scan of my surroundings shows crisp white sheets, the cool fabric brushing against my legs—my bare legs. The dripping of water from before pounds louder, without the chasing echo. Scents. Sounds. Touch. As if my body has turned into a sharper frequency, everything around me seems more alive. More intense.
  Attached to my left arm is an IV whose tube connects to a bag labeled saline, hanging off a hook sticking out from the wall. Two white patches are stuck to my arm, and I can’t begin to imagine what the hell they are. Maybe he mutilated me? What the hell is this guy, a doctor?
  The stabbing pain from before has dulled to an ache of intense hunger or the craving of pills, I can’t discern. Nausea still grips me the same way it had when I drank too much cinnamon liquor one night and ended up at the side of the toilet with my sugar crashing. I’m not a diabetic or anything, but I remember Chanel gave me a glass of orange soda and the jitters disappeared. I feel cool and sweaty at the same time, clammy and exhausted.
  I stare down at myself, noticing a thin white shirt. My bra has been removed along with my panties, leaving me naked beneath the oversized garment that must belong to my captor. The heavy comforter, far too elegant and plush for the mattress on which I’m lying, covers only my ankles, as if I’d kicked it off. Or someone else had.
  What did he do while I was out?
  I perform a quick mental rundown, only remembering flashes of the bathtub, which I’m certain was nothing but a dream. From my fingers to my toes, I concentrate on any pain. Wriggling my toes doesn’t point out a weird absence of one, flexing my calves, thighs, nothing. I attempt to pull my knees together, testing whether or not it produces an ache that might suggest he’d raped me, but chains keep me from crossing my legs.
  In my pathetic assessment, I find there’s no damage, nothing to suggest mutilation of any sort. And no evidence of blood on the sheets.
  With my arms still bound, I turn to the faint musky scent on my skin and breathe in the clean aroma. He did bathe me.
  He. Rip.
  His name loops over and over inside my head in some desperate bid for my conscious half to hang on to it. As if I’d forget the name of the killer who tied me to a wall in his dark and dingy basement.
  My mouth is bone dry and I push a swallow past the burn in my throat.
  The single light that illuminates my surroundings is both a blessing and a curse, as I begin to see things in the wall of darkness that separates my little halo. Hallucinations? Maybe. The drugs still swimming through my body certainly don’t rule out that possibility. A pale white spectral figure dangling from the ceiling shakes my core, and I screw my eyes shut, hoping it’ll fade away. The withdrawals have settled over me, commandeering my mind, and have me seeing things that don’t make sense.
  Like the terrors of my youth.
Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she’s earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

For news, updates and sneak peeks at the sexy cover model candidates for her annual Cover Model Contest, subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/HJPHH

 

 

 

Ripple Effect: Episode 2 by Keri Lake…..Release Day Blitz

 

 

 

EPISODE TWO: As a calculated assassin, Ripley thrives on always being in control. But when the woman he’s sworn to kill makes an offer he can’t refuse, his control is what he risks losing most.
Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.
 

 

 

Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she’s earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

For news, updates and sneak peeks at the sexy cover model candidates for her annual Cover Model Contest, subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/HJPHH

 

 

 

Excerpt Reveal….Affliction by Jenika Snow

 

 

Coming April 4th

 

 

 

It wasn’t until Cameron that I knew what real darkness was…or that I’d crave it so much.

I’ve let the world weigh down on me; pull me under until nothing makes sense anymore. Maybe that’s how I let myself get into the mess I’m currently in? Maybe that’s how I’m in my current situation with a man I knew could save me from a fate worse than death. Even if being with Cameron, giving him the very part of me, the only part that’s worth anything—my body—might very well ruin me, I have to survive.

Drug lord. Crime Boss. Murderer. I should fear him, be horrified by what he wants from me, by who he is. But instead, I find myself wanting to please him, wanting to give myself over completely.

Because I know that gives me control over him.

Cameron Ashton reins over the gritty underworld, the danger and violence of depravity, from his throne. A pistol is his sword, and apathy is his second-in-command. I know he’s dangerous, know he’ll break me and not think twice. But he’s my only chance, the only way I’ll survive.

        He’s possessive and controlling. And he does own me, every part of me. The darkness in him runs stronger, deeper than it ever had in me. Maybe we’re not so different? Maybe giving up my control to Cameron, giving him my very soul, makes me the powerful one?

Maybe, in the end, I’ll be the one who owns him.



Warning: This is a filthy, dark romance. There may be subject matter and triggers that are sensitive to some readers. In the end, this IS a romance, albeit a twisted one. If you’re looking for a story that gives you the warm and fuzzies, this is not the book for you.
Chapter One



The sweat running down the valley between my breasts was reminiscent of fingers moving along me. I was hot, my body flushed, my heart racing. Everything in me felt alive, ready to tear through my skin like another entity wanting to escape.

I was drunk, and I felt incredible.

The bodies pressed tightly against me, moving sexually, suggestively, made me feel even better. It made me feel alive. I moved with them, swaying to the music, inhaling the scent of sex and alcohol that seemed to surround me. I was sure a lot of people would be fucking tonight. No doubt it would be dirty, their inhibitions having been left at the club as they took home a random person. It would be the kind of sex that drunk people had, sloppy, carefree.

I wasn’t a good girl. I didn’t follow the rules. And my life was less than memorable. I lived like today was my last, because for all I knew it would be. It could be.

I came to this club when I couldn’t stand the box that was my life, the one that was sealed tight, no airholes, no light getting through the crack. I got wasted, danced until my body was covered with sweat, my muscles sore, and some poor, hard-up frat guy got off in his jeans by grinding against my leg. I was a wreck in many ways, and I had no doubt that people assumed I was slutty by the way I dressed, by the way I moved on the dance floor.

But how I dressed and acted didn’t make up who I was: a virgin who was lost, who had no one, nothing. I was an inexperienced woman who came here and danced because I wanted a little bit of release…the only kind I ever got. How I felt here was like being consumed by the water, of being helpless but weightless, of being sucked down to the very bottom where no light was permitted.

I wasn’t light. I was darkness wrapped up in a five-foot-five frame, with dark hair, a wild streak, and no one to stop me.

Maybe I was a contradiction to myself, a lost girl who didn’t know what she wanted in life. But it’s who I was, how I got through each day.

I embraced it, knowing that maybe my upbringing made me this way, that having an absentee mother, a drunk for a father, and a penchant for getting slapped on occasion by said parents had shaped the woman I now was.

I wasn’t broken, but I was damaged.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with my parents or what I didn’t have growing up: love. Maybe I was just born this way.

Either way I didn’t try and stop it. I didn’t try and change.

“You look good out here dancing, girl.” The feeling of a guy behind me, of his hands on my hips, his hard cock digging into my lower back, had dual sensations moving through me. “You feel good,” he said again, his voice thick, aroused, slurred from the no doubt many drinks he’d consumed. “What’s your name.”

I thought about lying, pretending I was someone else. Instead I said, “Sofia.”

The truth.

I wanted him to get off, because knowing I had that kind of control, that kind of power, fueled me. But on the other hand I felt disgust, mainly for myself. I felt and smelled his hot, liquor-laced breath along my neck. I shivered, and the way he groaned made me assume he thought it meant I was into this.

I wasn’t, but I didn’t stop from grinding on him.

I lifted my hands, closed my eyes, and just thought about something else. I wasn’t here, wasn’t trying to get this guy to come in his pants. I was far away, so distant that nothing could touch me. I was the one who had control, and that control made me feel free, alive.

“Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.”

“Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.”

I shook my head. He needed to shut up.

“Come on, girl.” He ground his dick against me again. He felt small, even though he was hard.

“No. Either shut up and dance with me, or go find someone willing to go home with you.” I didn’t even know if he heard me over the rush of the music, but if he said one more word, I’d just go get a drink.

He tightened his hold on my hips, digging his small dick into my back. “I bet you’re wet for me right now, aren’t you?” His breath was hot, humid. It was acidic and I gagged.

I was bone-dry, not even the teasing of arousal playing over me. I never felt anything when I danced with these guys. It was what made me feel free, made me feel powerful in an otherwise unstable world. I might not have any kind of control with my personal life, with my finances, with anything that could ground me, but at this club, where the drinks flowed, the sex was potent, and my power was immense…I was the one in charge.

I’d been called a dick tease, a bitch, whore, a cunt…any and all of the above. None of that mattered. They were verbal bullets, and in this club I wore my bulletproof vest.

I pushed away from the guy and made my way to the bar. He was either cursing me out or had hopefully moved on to someone more receptive to what he was actually after. But when I got to the bar, the people crammed together, shouting, lifting their hands to get one of the three bartenders to come their way. I decided tonight was done. I’d hit the bathroom, then call a cab.

Pushing my way through the throng of bodies, the air stale, humid, the heat suffocating, I said a silent prayer that the line to use the bathroom wasn’t up the ass. But there were still a few girls ahead of me. I leaned on the wall, resting my head back against it, and stared up. I noticed the video camera aimed right at me. There were several in this hallway, two in the back, one pointing at me, and another aimed at the dance floor.

I had no doubt there were a dozen more at other locations. Although this place was wild on most nights, it also had a reputation for being safe—well, as safe as a nightclub could be. It had just been renovated by the new owner over the last year, a man I’d heard rumors about, and one I never wanted to meet.

Dark and dangerous. Violent and psychotic. He’s not a person you want to meet in a dark alley. He’d just as soon slit your throat for looking at him the wrong way.

Rumors, of course, but it was those words, whispered by everyone and anyone, that told me there had to be a little bit of truth behind them.

I feel sorry for anyone who pisses off Cameron Ashton, because he’ll solve that problem with a shovel and a six-foot-deep hole.

Pushing off the wall when it was my turn inside, I used the facility, went over to the sink to wash my hands, and stared at myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back looked sad, and not in an emotional way. My reflection showed a hot mess. My eyeliner was starting to smear under my eyes, pieces of my dark hair stuck to my temples, and the lipstick I had on, once red and vibrant, now looked dead and colorless.

I finished in the restroom, pushed my way through the crowd, and finally opened the door that led outside. The cool night air washed over me, and I involuntarily closed my eyes, moaning softly. It felt good out here, the crush of bodies and heat a distant memory the longer I stood here.

The alcohol that had once numbed me, clouding my head with the nothingness, started to clear. Maybe I hadn’t been as drunk as I’d thought. Being behind those doors was like another world. The lights, music, the people trying to get off any way they could, brought you down low to a depraved, sticky and disgusting level. It’s what I loved.

I needed to get home now, had work in the morning, had to get back to my shitty life. I fished my cell out of the miniscule handbag I carried with me, dialed the cab service I had memorized, and told them the address. Coming here for the last year should have had them knowing me by name. As I waited for them to arrive, ten long fucking minutes, I moved away from the front doors and leaned against the wall off to the side.

I glanced up, the streetlight close by bright but not quite reaching me fully. Looking to my left, I noticed another security camera, this one pointed at the front doors. Never let it be said this place didn’t have their shit together.

The sound of a lighter going off to my right had me glancing over. I saw the flare of the flame, smelled the scent of the cigarette as its owner inhaled and then exhaled.

“Hey, girl.”

I exhaled. God, of course the guy from inside, the one with the small dick and the need for me to go home with him, would be out here. I didn’t bother replying, didn’t want to engage. Instead I turned my head in the other direction and glanced at a few people across the parking lot smoking. I felt the lightest touch on my arm.

The hell?

I glanced to my right, and before I knew what was happening, that light touch from the asshole turned into him pulling me farther into the shadowy side street.

 

Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.

Author Links

 

 

 

Chapter Reveal…..Ripple Effect: Episode 2 by Keri Lake

 

Coming March 10th

 

EPISODE TWO: As a calculated assassin, Ripley thrives on always being in control. But when the woman he’s sworn to kill makes an offer he can’t refuse, his control is what he risks losing most.
Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.

 


Drip.  Drip.  Drip.
My mind fights the all-consuming blackness closing in on me as I lay on the thin mattress whose springs poke into my back.  The beams above me shiver with dust that falls on my face every time he walks overhead. Chains beat against the cement wall I’m tethered to with every tremble that wracks my body.
Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  
Somewhere water leaks an incessant pounding in my skull, and I count every drop.  Six hundred thirty-eight.  Six hundred thirty-nine.  Six hundred forty.  A cold, moldy scent invades my nose, and the cough that rattles my chest turns into a gag, staving off the impending black hole I’m being sucked inside.  
He stole my pills, and what feels like shards of broken glass rolling inside of my stomach keep me from falling asleep.  Not that I want to sleep.  Not that I could.  But I need to, because the pain is too much.  It claws my insides like a beast, desperate for escape, demanding more of the sweet venom, the nothingness that keeps it tucked deep inside of me.  Muscle spasms create a line of tension through my body, so taut, I feel like my limbs will snap away.  
“Help me!  Fucking help me!”  My words bounce back at me from the walls, all hoarse and scratchy as though I’ve been screaming for days.  Have I?  I’ve blacked out a few times, only to wake to that dripping noise and the incessant pain.
I’m sweating in spite of the frigid tendrils that snake beneath my skin like frost crystals.  My body shivers and sickness twists my insides into a nauseating roil, threatening to climb my throat any second.  
I need my pills.  
“Please!”  I turn my head in time to expel the bile shooting up my throat.  Fire trails behind it as the acids burn my nostrils with another heave.  Over and over, I choke, head slung awkwardly to the side as the fluids leak down my cheek.  A coughing fit steals my next breath and another round of bile splashes on the floor somewhere beside me.
An ache throbs in my skull as I lay back onto the bed and the churning in my stomach intensifies.  The sensation of bugs scampering across my arms jerks my muscles, and I shiver at the crawling of my skin.  I cry out, kicking against my binds.  “Get off of me! Get off!”  It doesn’t go away, though.  It intensifies, a nightmare come to life, and I’m certain there are spider legs beating against my flesh, digging, attempting to burrow themselves into my bones.  “Get off of me!  Oh God, get them off of me!”
Urgency tugs at my gut.  I need to use the bathroom more than I ever have and the panic sends me kicking and screaming.  Bloating in my stomach balloons and the pressure to release has me arching up off the mattress.  No, no, no.  Please not this.
I’m going to soil the goddamn bed and be forced to sleep in my own filth.
Everything flicks to blackness.
In dreams, I’m carried into a bathroom, my whole body quaking and jerking.  I want to get away, but comfort blankets me in the warmth of the stranger’s arms and the heat of his skin as I lay against his solid chest.  A harsh and blinding light beats down on me.  Focusing through the glare, I stare at a set of angel wings inked across his chest and a crisp orange scent that is both delicious and nauseating overwhelms my senses.  My stomach feels light when he sets me down and the heat washes over me in waves of bliss.  Soft cotton trails down my temple as he wipes a washcloth over my face.
He pushes the wet strands of hair from my eyes, and my breathing calms, as I stare into the multi-colored eyes of a monster.

 

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Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she’s earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

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